Delta Stardust was conjured from the ether, stitched with tangled vines of Appalachian folk, electrified cosmic pulses, and digital alchemy—a ghostly fusion of the old world and the next dimension.
The band set out to craft something haunted and mystical, music that echoes like a spectral transmission from the depths of Memphis and North Mississippi, where the air is thick with history and the delta hums in strange frequencies.
The sound kept evolving, warping, expanding into the unknown. They call it “Roots Psychedelic,” where ancient soul and futuristic hallucinations dance in the same eternal fire.
And now, the first spell has been cast.
On January 24th, Snakes Made of Light, their debut album, slithered into existence via Robot Distro, a division of Golden Robot Records: ten original songs, each a portal, each a hushed secret from another time and place.
“These songs want to transcend, but they also want to be from somewhere,” says the band’s Michael Graber. “It’s the eternal push and pull—the gravity of roots, the weightlessness of psychedelia.”
Recorded in the dream-drenched corridors of Seahorse Studio, the album was co-produced by Graber and John Kilgore, their resident engineer, co-conspirator, and fellow wanderer of the sonic unknown.
The journey begins with “Thank You,” a warm embrace of gratitude wrapped in sound. Then, like a sharp left turn in a psychedelic haze, “Memphis Tattoo” drops you into a story of wounds healed and scars that hum like tuning forks.
“Owl in My Backyard” arrives like a vision, a hypnotic shamanic download from the feathered messengers of the night. “Feelin’ Good Blues” delivers a sunburst of joy before “Two Questions” erupts, pedal steel dripping in reverb before the whole thing whips into a sonic storm.
And the journey spirals on. “Having a Ball, Y’all”—because sometimes, the only answer is to dance under neon festival lights. “The Great Spirit” bows its head in honor of a beloved mentor; a spectral presence still lingers in every note.
“Cakewalk My Shadow Through Town” invites you into a street parade of the surreal, and “What the Fuck Did You Put in My Drink?”—well, that one speaks for itself.
Finally, “Sister Freedom” lifts off into the stratosphere, unshackled, untamed, an ascension wrapped in melody.
This is Snakes Made of Light—an album forged from cosmic dust, river ghosts, and electric visions. You might not know where you’re going when you press play but trust us: you’ll get somewhere.
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