The Arkham Tapes

Ten of Lovecraft's shorter tales, cut as Delta blues. Bottleneck guitar, a small room, a single voice. The horror is carried the way the old blues always carried trouble, plainly and in the first person, by someone who has already seen how it ends and is telling you anyway. A colour that falls from the sky and drains a farm. A tune played at a high window to hold something back. A thing in the walls, heard long before it is ever seen. These are not songs about the stories. They are the stories, sung by the people they happened to. Thirty-five minutes of it, and not one of them a tourist.