When I’m told stuff, I tend to listen. So when Death
Hags tells me that “this is a limited winter solstice cassette” and that it
“contains sacred transmissions from the underworld,” I immediately think to
myself, “Maybe I should listen to this in the dark. Dance a little. Meditate.”
Perusing beyond the front of the j-card, I find a command almost verbatim to
the one my mind suggested to me: “Listen to it in the dark. Dance. Meditate.”
Has Winter
Solstice Special read my mind in some way? I certainly feel black and
purple, blown out like a photograph in the woods at night. Because that’s how
Death Hags makes me feel – Death Hags makes me feel like I’m late to a séance,
but if I stick around and just listen to Death Hags, the séance may just come
to me. Drum machines clatter like hoofbeats approaching from behind, and the
synthesizers rip the night in two, cleaving the sky and preparing the way for
whatever entities your imagination can prepare from all the occult imagery you
got stored up in there from various satanic panics. I knew all that was going to come to good use someday?
Death Hags definitely does some Siouxsie Sioux and
Cocteau Twins and Garbage things, and any goth worth their weight in purple lipstick
and purple nail polish and black hair dye would be bonkers to not have this on
repeat. Why pine for dusk in moody 1980s graveyards when you can actually do
that thing, but now? Nostalgia and functionality, all smooshed together in one
convenient cassette. Get into what Death Hags are getting you into.
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