In early March of 2020, STAHV played its last show before lockdown with Sorcia and Grim Earth. It was a loud, cathartic night of rock music. STAHV was coming off dates with The Obsessed, The Well, and R.I.P. and had a new EP out called The Sundowner. That night at Slim’s Last Chance Saloon in Seattle, I was afraid to hug people, but I did a few times anyway. It was hard not to. This was a metal gig, after all. Plus, things were different.

Then everything changed. We all went inside our houses. Nothing was normal. Livestreams permeated my feed; obsessions and fears flooded my mind. During this chaotic time—when grocery shopping felt like a heroic act and reading the news a baptism by blood—I recorded the 18 or so minutes of music on אֵש.

And I put them away.

As the world reeled from COVID-19, the actions and inaction of our unforgivably inept president, and the righteous unrest (not to mention the collective Caucasian soul searching) of the Black Lives Matter movement, I didn’t look at this music. Instead, I learned cover songs, read books, immersed myself in work, tried to keep my head on straight. Until last week, when everything went up in smoke and flames. Like a moth, I got drawn back to these three odd tracks.

I finished them in a flurry. Six months on from their genesis, I knew exactly what to do with the songs. This wasn’t as difficult as the other STAHV recordings. On the prior two releases, I didn’t know what I was carving away to find. The resulting sounds were mysterious, unexpected. This time, I could see the product and kept pushing until it revealed itself. The end product has more heart, more loneliness, and more synthesizer.

So many members of our community are hurting: the venues, bands, singer-songwriters, independent agents. I won’t charge money for the music on this EP. Anything I make from it will go back to other artists. In truth, I love supporting music as much as—likely more—than I do making it.

Esh means fire in Hebrew. It’s the only name this EP could have.

So, here it is:
Conceived in lockdown.
Birthed in fire.
אֵש