Gravel Veil from Pavement Saints by Mournel

Through cracked foundations, whispers emerge. "Gravel Veil" captures that first hesitant step into forgotten territories—where burial grounds meet urban decay. The sound of hesitant footfalls across weathered stone opens a portal between worlds, each crunch revealing the fragility of what separates present from past.

We discovered this liminal space at dusk, when the cemetery's edge dissolved into an abandoned lot. Rain had fallen earlier, leaving puddles that reflected fragmentary epitaphs onto concrete barriers. Our microphones caught both: the resonance of ancient markers and the hollow echo of modern neglect.

The detuned pump organ breathes like the space itself—exhaling memory in long, mournful waves that swell beneath layers of worn magnetic tape. As field recordings of shifting gravel merge with distant bell tolls, we aim to evoke that peculiar sensation of being observed by absent witnesses. The sounds never crescendo into revelation, maintaining instead the patient tension of standing at a threshold.

What begins as mere atmosphere gradually reveals its emotional architecture—sorrow intertwined with stubborn persistence. The bowed saw that emerges midway suggests lament without language, its wavering tone mimicking how memory distorts under the weight of time.

When we performed this piece at the old Westland Chapel, several attendees reported feeling a physical presence behind them. Perhaps this track does what all proper remembrance should: it makes absence palpable.

We listen for graves breathing and make those sounds into music. Forgotten crypts, drowned tombstones, moss-swallowed bones—our recorders capture what lies under silence. Memory refuses to vanish. We preserve what whispers from broken stones.