Screaming Meaning into the Void: An Interview with A.L.N. of Mizmor
Mizmor (A.L.N.) and Hell (M.S.W.) are releasing their long-awaited collaborative album, Alluvion, which reflects two decades of creative partnership in the Pacific Northwest. Conceived years ago, Alluvion’s blueprint resurfaced when the duo, steeped in mutual artistic resonance, collaborated in a truly visceral vision. Alluvion serves as a guide through emotional struggles. Blending meditative sounds with heavy sludge, dark doom elements, and haunting vocals that express profound depth. The album contrasts calm and chaos, known and unknown, taking listeners on a powerful journey through the mind. Recorded at Abilith Studio and mixed by Sonny DiPerri, Alluvion features four tracks, spanning over forty minutes, with A.L.N. and M.S.W. playing all the instruments.
In a recent conversation with J. Donovan Malley, A.L.N. of Mizmor delved into the profound relationship behind Alluvion, tracing its roots to a 20-year creative symbiosis with M.S.W., and the album’s role as a cathartic compass through emotional and existential turbulence. The dialogue explored how their partnership—forged in Pacific Northwest DIY scenes and tempered by divergent solo paths—culminated in a work that oscillates between meditative stillness and corrosive heaviness. He also reflected on Mizmor’s 2023 album Prosaic and its place in Mizmor’s discography, the absurd nature of human existence and ways to address it, amongst other topics.
J. Donovan Malley (F.M.P.): Let's get right to it, so I don't waste your time. Share everything you can about the upcoming album Alluvion, the collaboration with Hell, the production details, and anything you can tell me about the album.
A.L.N.: The backstory is that M.S.W. and I have been pretty close friends, and music has been a part of our relationship since the beginning. We've been friends and musical partners for about 20 years, probably since we were around 14 or 15 when we started playing in bands together.
F.M.P.: Was Sorceress the first project of yours together, or does it go back further?
A.L.N.: Yeah, it goes back further. I joined his three-piece band in Salem because they needed a vocalist named Sun Marine—like “submarine” but with an “n”—around 2005. That band was active for a couple of years before breaking up. Some of its members, including M.S.W. and me, went on to form a kind of proto-metal, sleazy rock and roll band influenced by the Eagles of Death Metal and Black Sabbath. We called it Love Machine.
That band released one record, and the last song on it was titled "Sorceress", which had a heavier metal sound. Instead of creating another Love Machine record, we chose to adopt a more metal aesthetic, and our next album—featuring the same members as Love Machine—was Sorceress. Toward the end of Sorceress, M.S.W. began working on his solo Hell project while I contributed as the vocalist on half of the songs from the first album. That was what I wanted Sorceress to start sounding like, but others in the band preferred to stay within the psych rock and metal camp. So, M.S.W. launched his project, which was incredibly heavy and aligned with my vision. I felt somewhat included in that and thought, "Yeah, this is really cool," but it was very much M.S.W.'s thing.
I had been a born-again Christian for a couple of years at this time. I moved to Germany to study the Bible and attend Bible school. I ended Sorceress, which was already somewhat deteriorating. You already know bits and pieces of this story. As I began to lose my faith, I started Mizmor, my solo project that could tackle the heavy themes I wanted to explore, focusing on fundamental topics like loss and depression. You know, all that kind of stuff. So, while M.S.W. and I were both pursuing our solo projects, we would still collaborate. I provided vocals for Hell, and later, I became the live drummer for Hell, performing the session vocal songs while playing the drums.
The first incarnation of Mizmor's live performances featured M.S.W. on drums. After a few years, he moved to Austin to attend audio engineering school. Nate Myers then took over as the drummer. When M.S.W. returned, he expressed a desire to make music again. One of Mizmor's other live members could no longer remain in the band, so M.S.W. rejoined as the guitarist. At Northwest Terror Fest, he performed on guitar. Over the past year or so, he concluded that touring no longer brought him joy, so he is no longer involved in Mizmor's live shows.
I share all this backstory to mention that, throughout this time, we never actually sat down and wrote music together. In Sorceress, I would bring songs and riffs to the band, and everyone would contribute, transforming them into better songs. Back in Sun Marine, M.S.W. would present a song to the band, and I would do the same. We would collaborate and refine them into complete songs. But throughout all this time, neither of us ever sat down with guitars and said, "Let’s write music." So, this is the first time we've done that after about 20 years of it. Um, it feels special.
F.M.P.: Was there a need to feel each other out, or since you had that relationship for over 20 years, was it very natural to start co-creating material together?
A.L.N.: It felt natural. I don't believe we needed to feel each other out because we know each other so well. That's helpful since we understand things about one another. For instance, I know M.S.W. is really spontaneous, doesn't like to plan, and can be hard to pin down. And M.S.W. knows I'm very focused and can be controlling. We both approached it knowing we needed to accommodate each other's personality quirks, and there really weren't any surprises there.
F.M.P.: Can you share any upcoming touring plans with the new material or details about live performances?
A.L.N.: Yes and no. As for the collaboration material, there are currently no plans to perform it live. M.S.W. really isn't fond of touring. I've raised the topic a few times, asking if he would like to play it live. While M.S.W. is interested in performing it, when it shifts from just loosely imagining it to actually attempting to plan it, commitment becomes difficult. He simply doesn’t want to pursue a tour right now.
We're exploring any exciting festival invites that might encourage him to participate. However, at this point, there are no plans for the collaboration to be performed live. However, Mizmor is going on a support tour for a UK band called Dragged Into Sunlight in the States during May and June. So, at least I’ll have that record available.
I'll be able to play some Mizmor shows and have copies of the record to promote it loosely. However, regarding the actual material being performed live with M.S.W. and me, I haven’t had any luck getting him interested in that so far.
F.M.P.: Switching subjects here, I understand Prosaic was different for you, seeming intentionally non-conceptual and less thematic compared to your earlier, highly conceptual, personal releases based on significant life experiences. Now that you've reflected on Prosaic after writing and performing it, did you enjoy its non-conceptual approach? With your experiences, could you discuss your thoughts on creating Prosaic? Will you pursue this direction or lean back to more conceptual material?
A.L.N.: Good question. I felt an immense sense of freedom in making Prosaic. Part of the reason I did this is that, instead of having a specific concept for the record, it's funny how the whole anti-concept of the record became the concept strangely. Instead of writing about a particular experience, the concept was more about an approach.
My curiosity drove the approach because making records can be really taxing and daunting for me, especially when they are deeply conceptual. There might be some research involved, like reading books and finding the correct language for what I'm trying to express. But when I made Prosaic, I felt a strong urge to share and create music. But if it was going to involve my struggles with OCD, anxiety, and depression, you know, all that kind of stuff. When I make a record, whatever neural pathways are connected to my obsession get lit up. And I was like, man, I really want to make a record.
But if making a record means going down into this pit for three months, I don't want to do that. I truly hope that isn't the only way to make a record because that doesn't sound appealing to me right now. You know, it's cathartic, yes. But if I really don't want to, it's just going to be suffering. So I developed an approach that encompassed the whole record, serving as a loose rule set. It’s like, you don't get stuck when you make this record. When you're tracking, you do a couple of takes to warm up, and then on the third, fourth, or fifth take, that's where the best performance is. By the seventh, eighth, or ninth take, you’ve moved past the sweet spot.
The concept behind the record was to avoid getting stuck and to evaluate whether it's good enough. Nothing is perfect, and it’s also important not to rely solely on the first take. There’s definitely value in running it a few times to ensure you've captured the best version possible.
But once you've got that, stop. Or do a couple and say, "Hey, I think I'm losing perspective." Okay, now we go back to the one you could find before you started losing perspective. It was about creating something good enough, about trying to enjoy myself and have fun. It was about making something genuine and a little less fussed over. It was an experiment to see if I could make a record this way and then, at the end, be like, yeah, that's a good record.
I like that record. Or if it’s like, no, I need to obsess over things to make a good record. So, I guess to answer your question, I think Prosaic was successful for me in that it was enjoyable. It was a bit easier, and I do think it’s a good record. It felt almost like I was rebelling against myself in some ways. Sometimes, artistry, especially conceptual artistry, can be really self-indulgent. Like, oh, I created this epic masterpiece record? Forget that.
It's all fucking masturbation at that point.
I want it to feel more punk, in the sense that it's raw. I felt this thing, wrote a song about it, and recorded it. Now it’s done. That’s a satisfying way to make a record. I will say that I think that Prosaic is misunderstood, or I guess, I guess just bluntly, I don't think that people like it as much as my other records that are more conceptual. And that's okay. But you must be missing the fact that it is actually profound to make a record that isn't so precious.
Maybe people will appreciate that record more in the coming years. I wish it had made more of an impact on my fans as Cairn and Yodh did, but at the end of the day, you have to do what's right for you. The other part of your question is about moving forward: What kind of records will I create? Each record is unique in its own way. I'm hoping to write a new record soon, but I'm feeling uninspired at the moment. It all depends on what inspires me. Something motivated me to create Prosaic, leading me to wonder, after all the epic artistry is complete and the hype has faded, what's left?
A person is living their daily life, filled with routine. Every day, you have to get up, put your feet on the ground, and get things done. All those mundane activities, habits, routines, chores, just damn life. And that's what Prosaic was supposed to be about.
So what's next? I really don't know. I could see myself making another concept record. I could also see myself creating another down-to-earth, straight-from-the-heart record. At this point, anything could happen, which is exciting. I just wait for the muse to strike, you know? But yeah, I appreciate what Prosaic did for me emotionally to free myself from the corner I painted myself into, like creating epic masterpieces or whatever. That just started to feel gross and dumb and played out to me at some point.
F.M.P.: It would involve a lot of pressure in some ways. You build up this identity, or this perceived identity, and then there’s pressure to conform to it, even though it doesn’t truly represent you. I think that could be frustrating to a certain extent.
A.L.N.: Absolutely. It wasn't scratching my itch not to get irreverent now and then. Consider the Mizmor record, which is the anti-Mizmor record in a lot of ways. To casual fans, it probably sounds no different from anything else I've done, which is totally cool. But for me, it was all about taking a different approach and just seeing what happened.
F.M.P.: I've always admired your willingness to engage with the absurdity of human existence and the pain at its core. I'm curious, though—after confronting this absurdity, where do you find hope? Many who stare into that abyss sink to low places. This brings us back to suffering and art. So, where do you find hope? What keeps you going?
A.L.N.: Absolutely, absolutely. Hope is a fascinating concept. Here's how I'll respond to that. I discovered absurdism when I was, in many ways, on the brink of that abyss and being tempted to plunge into total nihilism. Then I came across a book titled The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus, which is what the Cairn tecord is based on. It’s just a slightly different take on existential nihilism. While reading that book, I had this experience where I felt truly understood, as if it were voicing my thoughts. It's a brief read, by the way.
So, for someone like me, it outlines that if you're honest with yourself about the nature of the universe, you face this conundrum of humanity searching for meaning in an inherently meaningless universe. So there are three things you can do. You can, you know, jump the shark and decide that there is inherent meaning and believe in God. You can kill yourself because there's nothing to live for.
You can also reject and rebel against those ideas because believing in God is essentially philosophical suicide. You could choose to embrace the absurd conundrum instead, which often involves creating your meaning and purpose. For me, it’s about swapping hope for purpose and the meaning of why I'm alive and why I continue to live.
I realized that I needed to identify some important things for myself every time I faced the abyss. I often find myself questioning why I'm alive. I observed that my relationships with my loved ones and pets—long-term, loving connections—give my life a great deal of meaning, both in terms of giving and receiving. Realizing that my music and art positively impacted other people's lives gave my life more meaning. I started Mizmor as a way to find my catharsis, therapy, and outlet. However, over the years, especially when I began playing live, many people have told me that my music has touched them and helped them. That had a profound effect on me. I don't know – I think my artistry has its direction now. I still create for myself, but I also make it for others.
F.M.P.: When did you become aware of that? At what point in your journey did you start to recognize its impact? If you had to pinpoint when you began to feel self-conscious about it, when would that be?
A.L.N.: Probably shortly after we performed live for the first time, which was when Yodh came out. So that was around 2016. You know, when we go on tour, we typically travel with just the four of us. We sell our merch, and I often find myself at the merch table because one of the most essential parts of what I do is having those conversations with people. They get to tell you how special you are to them, and you share this reciprocal moment of reinforcing purpose to one another and experiencing catharsis together.
Even though it's getting harder for me to do because I lose my voice on tour and can't talk, I still go out to the merch table every night. Even if I can only bow and not speak, it makes people's day. That's actually a big part of why I'm doing what I do. If I were only making music for myself, that would become too self-aggrandizing to be my reason for existence. Therefore, I continue doing what I'm doing, and I do it so publicly because of other people and how it helps them. At least, that's how I have to view my work; otherwise, I don't have any purpose in this world, and what I do doesn't matter.
To bring it back to the word "hope," I think about therapy, mindfulness, and artistic outlets—these things that help me improve so I can be better for others, enabling them to receive help as well. And, you know, especially in the metal world, where we're screaming and creating all these negative, harsh sounds.
I really want that to have a reason and not just be like, oh yeah, this is the soundtrack to me killing myself later tonight. I want it to have some redemptive quality. Because even though the universe is one of those things where, if you zoom out completely and just look at the universe, the solar system, and planets floating in space, it's hard to assert that anything has meaning. But when you zoom in on subjective personal experience and consciousness, as well as the fact that conscious beings can suffer or experience well-being along this spectrum, things seem to have meaning. Both perspectives are valid, similar to quantum mechanics and general relativity. They are both true.
We don't really know how to reconcile them yet. So, I focus on how I can decrease my own suffering and the suffering of those around me or increase the well-being of myself and those around me. Because that's all you can really do, and that's all that truly matters. I combat nihilism and absurdity through close relationships with people I love and by sharing my music with the world.
F.M.P.: Honestly, I think that’s probably an excellent way to end the conversation. Thanks so much for taking the time to talk.
A.L.N.: You’re welcome. It was my pleasure. Thank you for your interest in the new album.
