There is something deeply human about the way we try to make sense of life. About the need to gather memories, emotions, heartbreak, hope, and all the loose fragments of our experiences into something that feels coherent. Maybe that is why we tell stories in the first place.
We turn chaotic experiences into a “story” so they become understandable and bearable. We are constantly trying to find meaning between all the loose fragments – in memories, relationships, loss, fleeting moments or major changes. And perhaps we tell stories not only to others, but mostly to ourselves. So life somehow holds together. So we can keep going.
“It is a sad day that you don’t have a role in any story.”
With their sixth album Mythomania, Susurrus Station dive right into this emotional and philosophical space. Moving between cinematic soundscapes, rugged beats, folk influences, poetic lyricism and a certain dreamlike melancholy, Jason Breeden and Sara Dyberg have created a record that feels less like a linear narrative and more like wandering through memories, myths and inner landscapes. Now based in the Washington countryside, the duo weave together their different backgrounds – from jazz and experimental music to film, art and field recordings – into a sound that feels both intimate and expansive.
In our conversation with C-Heads, Susurrus Station talk about our almost obsessive relationship with storytelling, the blurry line between truth and distortion, creating as a duo, and why they hope their music might make people feel just a little less alone in the world.
photography by Daniell Lefebvre
Jason and Sara, welcome to C-Heads. Congratulations on your sixth album, Mythomania. How do you celebrate a release these days, and does it still feel special to put something out into the world?
J: Thank you. Hmm. I have tried to remain patient during the release and have more fun with all aspects of the process. I usually prefer to move on to something else, but it feels like it should get its proper due. I guess it’s as good a time as any to try and throw a thimbleful of elixir into a hurricane.
S: We are playing a couple of record release shows close to home where we should see a lot of old friends. And yes, it still feels special. An incredible amount of time and work went into this record and we are really happy to have it in tangible form. Some folks may have heard some of the songs at shows, but a majority will be new, and we have this beautiful limited edition LP to share. The actual gatherings feel more important now than they ever did.
This time the album circles around the theme of storytelling — when did you first realize how much we all love stories and the act of telling them?
J: Regardless of the baser attempts to exploit the impulse, it’s still kind of all we really do—aside from hopefully securing the barest necessities, and even that is probably wrapped up in some narrative or other. Is it what makes us human? I’m not sure when I realized it. Maybe the realization is the division, or perspectival shift into adulthood. So it was probably late for me—maybe I am still realizing! The title started from the standpoint of observing this compulsiveness in our character, and its necessity for survival, being at the mercy of a civilization with runaway tendencies. But it is a sad day that you don’t have a role in any story. Or maybe you are tired, and must go to sleep to let your brain make some up for you.
Storytelling can connect people, but it can also distort things. Where do you personally see that line?
J: I think it’s there from the get-go, before it is conscious, if you mean a slight uniqueness of perspective. Distortion is inherent. That’s what we really love. But if you mean willful delusion, that is definitely the flip side of the coin.
You both come from quite different backgrounds. How does that contrast show up in the way you create together?
S: We often start at opposite ends in a way. Jason will get excited about a lyrical idea, whereas I often start with a rhythm or a melody that just won’t leave me. I think we complement each other really well in this regard, and it helps us to not be boring. Depending on who starts a song, it will develop differently.
“I hope that people feel free and a little less alone in the world.”
Working as a duo, are there moments when one of you really wants to push their own vision through? And if yes, how do you usually solve that?
J: I try and set things up to be able to take advantage of happenstance, though I can be quite persistent, probably to the point of being monomaniacal. But it isn’t too often that we just have an outright difference of opinion.
S: Yeah, we usually agree on most things and try to just let things happen rather than force one idea. This record presented some disagreement in the later stages of the mixing and mastering process. Jason would write me in the middle of the night with theories on EQ curves and compression, and I would spend the following day listening back to try and hear in a different frame of mind than what was coming naturally to me. It’s hard mixing for an unknown listening situation, trying to make it sound good on earbuds, headphones, hi-fi, etc. We both perceive this record as holding great importance to us and wanted it to present the best it possibly could out there in the world.
Seven Veils is one of my favorites on the album. Can you tell us a bit more about that track?
J: Thanks. It was kicking around for a bit. I don’t know, I remember wanting to make a bunch of Bacchanalian instrumentals at the time. And I felt like vocals would ruin that one. Sometimes words don’t seem adequate. But I gave it a bit of a tie-in, imagining these tales crossing over cultures and eras to become something poignant to someone, the details forever evolving.
S: This is the track we started the longest time ago. And one that goes against my earlier generalization of how we usually approach songs! It was a late night session with Jason playing Wurlitzer and me playing drums. We recorded it that way live, just the two of us. My drumming is pretty much the opposite of a drum machine, which we use a lot elsewhere on the record, so the tempo swings are pretty intense and we decided to just accentuate that and layer it up with a bunch of percussion. I remember writing the violin passage and thinking I was moving around inside some sort of mystical world. Then our friend Cory Gray, Old Unconscious, added the beautiful horn and piano parts, and that was just like the cherry on top.
What is your personal favorite song on the album at the moment, and why?
S: I like that your question includes “at the moment”, because it certainly changes! For a long time it was Cities of Quartz. It’s such a good song to end the record on and we loved having our friend Dan Bejar, Destroyer, sing on it!
Throughout the recording and releasing of Mythomania, Meshes of the Afterlife has been a constant favorite of mine, partly because of the fragile optimism it somehow imparts, but also because of the video! And that ties back into your first question about putting something out into the world. Making the video for Meshes felt like one of those things that just came together serendipitously. We filmed it with a lot of help from our friends out here in Washington on a magical afternoon, and when we premiered it in March, the community came out in force and walked our woodsy “red” carpet, made with moss and flowers and oak branches!
J: At the moment we have just finally figured out how to translate Spirit of the Ivory into a live situation with just the two of us, so that one is pretty fun right now as it has sort of taken on a new life. I think it is easier to move on and do that if you feel good about the recording. It’s always really fun to play Cities of Quartz, and I think the album has captured it pretty well. It seems like an appropriate sort of rebuke to static thinking. I don’t even remember what set me off on that one. But it also makes me really happy and nostalgic to be singing with Dan.
“In a way, we’re all caught up in the minutiae of debris in the outer orbits of these grander historical cycles.”
The title track Mythomania also carries a bit of social commentary. Do you think music should be critical sometimes?
J: Sure, I think it can be nearly anything, just so long as it isn’t too one-dimensional. If you put all of these feelings and thoughts into the basis of something, those aspects are going to be there, and come out in different measure depending on the context. Sometimes a theme can grow to represent larger things when it started with something more personal. I generally try to work past any reactionary impulses and into what is hopefully a vantage where it is possible to shed some more light on things. In a way, we’re all caught up in the minutiae of debris in the outer orbits of these grander historical cycles. I don’t think it is too simplistic to call things like you see them, though.
I really like the lyrics on the album — they feel very poetic at times. Is writing something that also helps you understand yourselves better?
J: It is definitely a prism for parsing out elements and coming to terms with new circumstances that we are confronted with. Some things are easier or harder to work into your worldview. Everything is always morphing.
And finally, what is something you hope people feel rather than understand when listening to the LP?
S: I hope they will feel some of the tranquility and dreaminess this record has given me. That there is still hope somehow.
J: I think it’s out of our control at this point. But I hope that people feel free and a little less alone in the world.
Follow Susurrus Station for more:
www.susurrusstation.com
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