“The most ‘real’ we’ve ever sounded”: Stephen O’Malley on sunn O)))’s return

The masters of vibrational low-end intensity, sunn O))), are back with their first album of new material since 2019, channelling the duo’s telepathic interplay at a moment when their pummelling escape is needed most. Here, Stephen O’Malley is in conversation, exploring the enduring power of durational music and the eternal desire for transcendence.

Few bands are as dedicated to the bracing – yet subtle and beautiful – extremities of volume, texture and tone as sunn O))). Since 1998, Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson have opened up a sonic crawl space where the mighty drone reigns supreme: swathes of viscous, reverberating sub bass that clings to the ribs and moves the air. Perhaps it’s best summed up by a question that adorned one of their band T-shirts: “Ever breathe a frequency?”

For all the profoundly meditative qualities of their sonic onslaught, their sound is a physical experience – the most maximal minimalism imaginable. sunn O))) may use guitars, but in terms of sheer, gut-wrenching presence, they operate on another level: sound pressure akin to the power of a vast dub reggae system running the valves hot. Their (tenth) self-titled LP finds them drawing inspiration from the forests of Woodinville, Washington, and the earthy grandeur of the Pacific North-West. Indeed, O’Malley and Anderson enjoyed hiking expeditions during recording, and this expansive atmosphere permeates the six compositions that make up the record.

Aside from sunn O))), of course, O’Malley operates as one of the underground’s most tirelessly questing figures; a connector of sounds, scenes and people. He’s collaborated with everyone from Alan Moore and Jim Jarmusch to Scott Walker and Alvin Lucier. As a label owner (he runs Ideologic Organ), record collector and all-round head, his enthusiasm is infectious.

In this conversation, O’Malley reflects on meditative listening, drawing on three decades of immersing himself within vast soundscapes. He explores the transcendent, eternal power of durational music – an approach that feels especially resonant, even healing, in our troubled moment.

Tone is central to sunn O))). Would it be fair to say that tone is as important as composition? Are they one and the same?

While the music is built of timbres and harmonies, the actual texture – the grain and the body – of the sound is something sunn O))) is focused on the entire time. Among many other details of composing and conceptualising, writing parts to play is only part of the process; dialling in the sound, the tone, is at the heart of it. I always say that the instrument I play – the guitar – is part of a bigger circuit that ends on the speaker pushing out the vibration and moving air in a way that we feel in our bodies.

sunn O))) has always been a theatrical and ritualistic experience live – I’m thinking specifically about the robes and the smoke and the meditative aspect. Do you have to enter that zone in the studio, too?

I’d actually push back on the word ‘theatrical’. It’s interesting, because it’s often used as a descriptor in the UK, whereas it may not be in, say, Sweden or Germany. And that may be because of the rich horror culture you have, you know? Thinking about Hammer and so on, with the dry ice and the sets… But I’m reticent to tie it down. The more time goes on, the more practice you have. And with any practice, you become more adept in it. I consider it almost like yoga, at this point. There’s many ways to express something, on a human level, whether that’s through literature or painting or dance. Ours happens to be this music: amplification vibration material. Last time we talked, I used the idea of ‘analogue sculpture’ in describing sunn O))). I still love the vocabulary of sculpture, especially contemporary or post-modern minimalist sculpture, but I don’t feel like sunn O))) need to introduce ourselves any more. We can jump in at the deep end because we’ve been around for a while – and that doesn’t necessarily mean we’re some kind of ‘mature institutional’ thing, because we’re always changing. The development and change is what keeps it interesting.

How does it work in the studio as sunn O)))? What relationship do you have with your producers?

In terms of the studio, the technical team’s contribution is essential; on our new record, Brad Wood’s concept of how to record and mix us was a really incredible way to present the sound and the tone super accurately. I think it might be the most ‘real’ we’ve ever sounded. Life Metal (2019) was captured very realistically, too, and Steve Albini engineered and recorded it, with us producing. But with this record, it’s almost like making a film: there’s a scene, and you want as many cameras as possible to get the entire picture. That’s what Brad did, whereas Albini – though I’m not comparing them – was more about placing a mic in the perfect position for a voice, the ‘voice’ being the amp. Brad, by contrast, was more: “I’m going to put a mic on every single sound source – each speaker, several in the actual room we’re in, several in the other room – and, hey, what does it sound like outdoors in the forest next to the water? Let’s get a mic out there, too. What does the music sound like from that perspective?”

The yoga analogy you used earlier is interesting. People often describe an intense psychological effect at a sunn O))) show. Many – myself included – have experienced a strong feeling of disconnect from the conscious mind, to somewhere else entirely…

I think it’s remarkable that this music can have an effective ability or action on people, and that they have these kinds of experiences. That’s incredible. It’s not a scripted thing; it’s remarkable and I appreciate that. A lot of people want to express it: they get into a flow state, meditative state, a spiritual remove from the world. Yes, it’s sometimes described as punishing or suffocating or overwhelming – but the fundamental loss of control? These are states you can reach psychedelically, or you might have an out-of-body experience, or experience it in nature. But it’s like, wow, if this is happening, then it’s remarkable and I have less inclination to question it, because it provides meaning, and a meaningful experience to an audience. And there’s a responsibility that comes with that: to be as authentic and as careful as possible, to make it as real as it can be.

Do you find it draining?

For me, there’s physical fatigue after a show, for sure. If nothing else, you’re standing in this super-intense sound field for 90 minutes or two hours. You’re standing right at the centre of a high-vibrational sound field. But there’s also exhilaration. I never feel a negative exhaustion. Being on tour? That’s another topic. You’re sleeping in a bunk, travelling, trying to keep healthy, trying to keep the mental health thing going with being away – but it’s a great opportunity. For me, personally, it’s way different now from when I was drinking. I don’t drink any more, but that was something that went hand in hand with music for me for decades. Becoming sober, I was afraid of what it would do to the music. What is the experience going to be like sober? Is this going to be boring? Is this going to sound terrible? Was there a certain lubrication that came from drinking a lot of wine before the show in a kind of ritualistic, ceremonial way? And to my shock, it was actually way more intense and beautiful and colourful and crazy – like, “Oh my god, it sounds like this?!” I got another perspective, like the audience; by speaking with people about their experiences, I got another point of perception.

Continuing the theme of ritual and ceremony, your new solo record, Spheres Collapser – a site-specific work recorded on church organ in Lausanne, Switzerland – shows a very different side of meditative music to that of sunn O))). Can you tell us about the project’s genesis?

I was in Switzerland in 2021 at an artist residency, trying to develop a project with the choreographer Cindy Van Acker. The project itself never came to fruition, but I ended up with five pieces, and two of those were harmonic pieces for pipe organ. I was with Kali Malone, my wife, who performs on the album alongside Frederikke Hoffmeier [a.k.a. Puce Mary], and we had initially been looking at a range of pipe organs for her work. There’s a church in Lausanne, Église Saint-François, with four grand organs, and we had the chance to work on the scores I’d initially developed for the collaboration. The idea was to record a piece involving all three of us on the grand organ – the largest in the church… These are architectural instruments; they require a large scale in terms of the building. It was incredible to work on these organs.

I’m interested in your journey – from underground black metal and hardcore and death metal, doing fanzines and so on, to music of longer duration. Moving from the deep metal underground to grand organs is a fascinating path.

It comes down to something I probably share with a lot of readers, which is being into different bands and artists, and then those bands being into or working with other different artists. You follow this tree, and the tree becomes bigger – and eventually it becomes a forest. And I love music. It’s the centre of my life, along with my family, and thank god it is, because it’s so rich. There’s always more to discover, and that only compounds as you go through life. How many times can a mind be blown by new artists? Weekly? Monthly? Daily? I’ve never been a cynic.

Some of the earliest durational music I encountered? Kinda going through post-punk and industrial – Current 93, Coil, Test Dept – stuff like that. And then Alan Lamb, an Australian composer who’d do stuff like put contact mics on long wires out in Western Australia, making field recordings of these wires as they vibrated in the wind, or they’d decrease in tension because of heat and the sound would change… He did a record called Night Passage, which particularly struck me. This was my first experience of long durational music.

Thinking about yourself as a listener, as well as a musician, do you have any particular rituals regarding your own listening practice?

I’ve always been an album listener. I like listening in full, I like the scale of it and I enjoy the experience of having an hour with music. I mean, through my twenties, thirties, forties, I’d listen to music constantly – five albums a day, almost as a mental health or meditative thing; I’d just listen constantly. But now, if I want to check out things that are new to me, often it comes from friends’ recommendations. I love going for a walk with my headphones. I don’t love headphone-listening in itself, but I’ve regained a practice of walking the city – around Paris or New York, say – and listening to full albums. Sometimes it’s records I’ve been getting into the past few months that might be obvious to a lot of people, but I’ve just happened to never have gotten into them – Powerage by AC/DC, say. That was never a favourite AC/DC record when I was younger, but man, the tone is just fucking insane… also, the first two Psychic TV records or Drive like Jehu. Drive like Jehu are absolutely killer, so I’ll go walk round Paris with them playing [laughs].