“One of the best bands to come out of NYC since who gives a shit.” -CVLT Nation
When you enter White Hills’ lair in Brooklyn, the duo’s insatiable desire for music and art is immediately palpable. Crates of vinyl from floor to ceiling line the long hallway. Guitars appear at every angle, one lying across a sofa in obvious mid-play with others in cases tucked beside amplifiers into every conceivable corner. Synthesizers and cables cover the purple satin bed while gouache paintings in various stages of progress strewn the floor. Album covers, movie posters, books, paintings, prints and souvenirs of subversive culture occupy the remaining wall space. A sanctuary of adoration, creation and imagination, it’s also the nerve center of their record label Heads on Fire Industries and the site where the final mixes of their latest album Beyond This Fiction took shape.
“Music creates a bliss beyond sex and drugs,” professes one-woman rhythm section Ego Sensation. “We’ll never stop making music. It’s the highest high to be had in life.” Founding member Dave W, whose signature other-worldly guitar sorcery defines the White Hills sound, grabs his Les Paul to record a melody lingering in his head from last night’s dream before it escapes.
Outside, the sound of passing sirens, honking horns and bits of conversation remind you that you’re in the middle of New York, a city so flush with rock legacy and artistic innovation it would take lifetimes to drink it all in. A voice from outside shouts, “This shit is going for 3! These people got to be out of their fucking minds!” Dave shakes his head and laughs, “There’s no place I’d rather be.”