Dax Riggs

Dax Riggs has spent much of his career dancing in between the worlds of metal, punk-blues, and psych rock. Known for his otherworldly lyrics, folk metal ballardry, and a gift for capturing the beauty in darkness, he first garnered a cult following during his early days with teenage death sludge band Acid Bath–one that’s stayed with him through the country punk garage folk of deadboy & the Elephantmen as well as his soul-stirring solo work. It’s been 13 years since Riggs’ last release; his whereabouts the subject of wild speculation. Truth be told, he was looking inside for the things that fall outside of the commercial realm.

Riggs returns from the wilderness with 7 Songs for Spiders, a meditation on life and death under the influence of shadow and the tribulations of a spiritual animal. It was recorded at his studio in the swamps of Southern Louisiana with his outlaw band of Cajun cosmonauts: Lucas Broussard (guitar, synth), Kane Cormier (bass), and Scott Domingue (percussion). Inspired by world music, gospel, and proto-metal sounds, and reverberating with an undercurrent of rebellious joy, 7 Songs for Spiders has its head in the clouds and its feet in the grave. The album’s sound is a heavy dream–like an iron cloud hotwired with phantom energy. Elements that guided Riggs back to a hairier sound were all the children of the 13th Floor Elevators, like Josephus from Houston or The Troggs. Kraut rockers showed him what could be done with rock and roll. Transformed by classical Indian singers and Black gospel alike, Riggs confesses, “my brain will never be the same again.”

There are songs about human beings collapsing in upon themselves, songs about sympathy for the villain, songs about God and what your gods tell you about yourself. They were written at home in Acadiana, a region settled by descendents of French exiles from Canada. It’s an area with a history of the outcast and an appreciation for outsider art and music. “I’ve always felt a connection with the spirit of this place. There’s a vacuum for rock music here in ‘Cajun hell,’ so it’s the perfect place to go inside yourself–where I’ve always gone,” Riggs says. 

It’s in this environment that Riggs, alongside his band, explored a more experimental sound: a mix of ethereal dreamscapes, other dimensional vocals, and heavy guitar worship. Fuzzed out guitars melt into Moog synthesizers, splattered with space echo and covered in leaves from the forest floor. First single “deceiver” is a country and western doom ballad with the seemingly ambivalent refrain “Ain’t no great deceiver / Ain’t no bride of Jesus either” coupled with the fiercely energetic “Now I know how the Son of Sam is feeling.” The lumbering gothic Southern rock of “ain’t that darkness” leads way to “even the stars fall,” a crash landing of the soul on fire where Riggs testifies “I got my soul all tangled up in a song,” and the psychedelic dirge of “sunshine felt the darkness smile.” Like night and day, it’s a theme running through the album–a perpetual exploration of the sun and the shadow that follows. It goes without saying, but this shit is apocalyptic.