Celtic Circle Productions – C.C.P. 053 322.35MB FLAC
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16 Bitch Pile-Up - 2007 - Bury Me Deep
Troniks – TRO-250 194.47MB FLAC
Finding Bury Me Deep twice does not weaken the album’s story. It completes it. This is music about something supposedly finished returning in another form, and here the recording itself refuses to remain represented by a single set of files. A second upload is not merely redundant storage. It is another witness, carrying its own encoding, levels, tags, artwork, extraction history, and route through the network. The dead boy would not go away, and neither will the album. Each copy rises through a different patch of digital earth.
This larger FLAC edition encourages close attention to the album’s faintest evidence. Bury Me Deep rarely depends upon a single spectacular blast. Much of its power lives in the unstable space between recognizable events: low movement at the edge of hearing, environmental sounds whose locations cannot be determined, voices degraded into transmissions, machinery that may be nearby or impossibly distant, and stretches where the listener begins imagining disturbances before being certain they occurred. A lossless file does not magically reveal the original room, but it preserves the available ambiguity without deciding in advance which quiet details are expendable. On an album built from residue, uncertainty, and buried information, that distinction feels especially appropriate.
The recording behaves like an investigation conducted after everyone capable of explaining the scene has left. Instead of showing a body rising dramatically from the ground, the trio gives us scattered indications that the burial was unsuccessful. Something shifts. A sound repeats after it should have ended. An ordinary fragment of the world becomes suspicious through placement alone. There is no dependable narrator to separate evidence from atmosphere. The listener must construct the event from partial traces, and every attempted explanation creates another unanswered question.
This is one reason the album’s narrative titles are so effective. They provide just enough information to set the imagination in motion while leaving the actual images unregulated. “They Buried the Dead Boy... But Not Deep Enough” establishes a mistake, but not who made it, why the boy died, or whether the burial was intended as mourning, concealment, or protection. “The Dead Boy Would Not Go Away” transforms death from a condition into a conflict of wills. The living want an ending. The dead boy refuses their preferred arrangement. Nothing else needs to be explained for the entire album to become morally and psychologically unstable.
The music repeatedly tests the difference between absence and concealment. A buried thing is absent from view but remains physically present. A quiet sound may appear gone while continuing beneath louder activity. A memory can be excluded from ordinary thought while altering every decision made around it. Bury Me Deep understands horror not as the sudden arrival of something foreign, but as the return of something already incorporated into the landscape. The soil is frightening because it has accepted the body. The room is frightening because the disturbance may have been inside it all along.
The reduced trio of Sarah Bernat, Sarah Cathers, and Shannon Walter gives this record a different emotional temperature from the earlier five-person documents. The music no longer needs to demonstrate the thrilling social instability of a large improvising group. It can become patient, cinematic, and strangely private. Each sound seems to carry more surrounding darkness because fewer actions compete for immediate attention. The trio leaves enough unoccupied space for anticipation to become an active participant. The listener begins furnishing that space with imagined causes, and the imagined causes may become worse than anything a conventional arrangement could state directly.
The physical comedy and lurid exploitation-film imagery surrounding the album do not cancel that dread. They protect it from becoming precious. The blood-soaked beach photographs, fluorescent lettering, and deliberately excessive presentation place the release in a world of cheap horror tapes, staged corpses, tabloid promises, and handmade fantasy. Yet the sound avoids delivering the expected splatter spectacle. It retreats inward, toward waiting, listening, and the slow corruption of ordinary surroundings. The packaging shouts that something horrible has happened; the music whispers that it may still be happening.
Hearing another digital version also reveals that an album is never only its official sequence of sounds. It is the succession of containers through which those sounds survive. A factory-pressed CD becomes a rip. The rip becomes FLAC files. Files enter a RAR archive, receive names and tags, travel through a hosting service, settle onto another hard drive, and eventually pass through a listener’s converter and speakers. Every stage appears to bury the original event beneath another layer of mediation, yet every layer also keeps it reachable. Preservation and burial begin to resemble one another. Both place something into protective darkness with the hope that it may later be recovered.
That is why keeping multiple uploads can be musically meaningful rather than merely compulsive accumulation. Different transfers may carry small discrepancies in gain, silence, track boundaries, metadata, scans, or source history. Even when the audio proves digitally identical, the packages document separate acts of care. Someone considered the recording worth organizing and sending forward. A duplicate is evidence that the album occupied more than one person’s attention, more than one folder, more than one moment in the archive’s growth.
Bury Me Deep ends without granting the living their desired conclusion. The dead boy still will not go away. This second appearance on the blog gives that ending a wonderfully literal afterlife. One upload surfaced in April, another in May, and each now stands as its own entrance into the same disturbed ground. Listeners who compare the two may discover audible differences, alternate scans, tagging variations, or perhaps complete sonic identity. Every result is useful. Even identical copies tell us something: whatever was buried has returned intact.
Sunday, March 29, 2026
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