Dead Meadow | Interview | New Album, ‘Voyager To Voyager’
Since the late 90s, Dead Meadow are bridging the gap between lush psychedelia and heavy rock, complemented by countless guitar improvisations and lo-fi undertones.
Dead Meadow’s tenth studio album, ‘Voyager to Voyager’ (slated for release March 28th 2025 via Heavy Psych Sounds) marks a defining moment in their 26‐year journey. Crafted amid the sorrow of bassist Steve Kille’s passing from cancer in early 2024, the record is not a tribute but a celebration of the legacy of their dear friend. Recorded over three sessions at Ultrasound Studios in downtown LA, the album is all about the live energy that has always set the band apart—being a live band first, then a studio one. Drummer Mark Laughlin unleashes some of his most inspired work, while Jason Simon’s meticulous mixing in his own studio ensures an expansive, layered sound. Delving into themes of space, isolation, and human connection, their track ‘The Space Between’ offers a metaphor for the strains in relationships, and the title track conjures images of Voyager spacecraft, symbolizing a journey across time and distance. ‘The Unhounded Now’ is a dystopian escape from modern life. This record is both an end and a beginning, but mostly a heartfelt voyage that continues to resonate, truly unforgettable. Though the album wasn’t specifically designed as a tribute, Kille’s presence is deeply felt throughout. His bass lines, which helped shape the band’s distinctive sound, are integral to the album’s success.
“For Dead Meadow, after a take or two through a song, a certain sense of spontaneity or excitement starts to diminish”
In the charged atmosphere of Ultrasound Studios, what lit that spark for you to capture your sound with just the first or second take?
Jason Simon: For Dead Meadow, after a take or two through a song, a certain sense of spontaneity or excitement starts to diminish—at least, it sounds that way to our ears. It’s impossible not to be somewhat consciously trying to recreate some element or moment we liked in an earlier take, whereas, in those earlier takes, we were just playing. I find it becomes increasingly difficult to be fully present when a song is attempted over and over. It’s better that we simply move to another song or stop and return fresh the next day.
I’m guessing this isn’t something you did before when working on studio albums?
No, this is something we’ve always strived for. We did not always accomplish it, especially if time was an issue, but in general, we usually opt for a recording situation where time is not an issue. We’ve also been playing together for so long that we are all very comfortable with what we do on our instruments, how that will sound, and how we play together. There’s no reason to play a song over and over when you know the first take captured what you had envisioned.
Do you feel there’s really a divide between the live sound of your band and your studio albums? Did you want to capture more of that live feel?
I don’t think of there being a divide between live songs and the studio versions, other than the fact that some studio versions have added guitar parts or added instrumentation to get the feeling and mood of the song across. Live, I’m striving to get that same feeling or mood across, but I have only one guitar to work with, so there are invariably differences.
I tend to think of songs as existing outside whatever record they are found on. The record is more of a snapshot of how that song was played and sung at that point in time. Songs slowly change every time we play them. It’s often a surprise when I hear how the so-called “original” version of a song on record sounds after years of not hearing that record.
I always record guitars live, thinking that the live guitar will be kept as the primary guitar throughout the song. I never intentionally record a “scratch guitar.” Of course, over the years, I’ve ended up scrapping a live guitar or two, but that is never the initial intention—more of a decision driven out of necessity at times. On this record, I would do all the guitar leads live with the band, and when we had decided on a take to keep, and before the guitar sound changed in any way, I would often lay down an alternate solo to see if I could top what was there already.
I feel the joy and fun of music is playing with other people and creating something vaster than the sum of its parts. The more of that magic that can be captured on record, the better. Also, I’m lazy, and it’s far less work and less time-consuming than attempting to create that magic piece by piece.
How did the ever-present creative force of Steve Kille, even as his health faded, infuse each session with urgency and a kind of sacred reckoning that only true artists can feel?
Steve would often joke that after all these years, we had probably eaten more meals together than he had with his own parents. I feel I knew him so well, at least creatively, that even though there were songs that reached their final form after he passed, I still felt his input—or what I felt it would have been—at so many points.
Steve and I often pushed and pulled aspects of the music in opposite directions, but even in disagreement, I always valued his opinion greatly. I almost knew what he would say on certain questions or choices made with a mix. I tried to take that into account the best I could. I wanted as much of Steve’s presence on the final mixes as possible.
How does ‘Voyager to Voyager’ stack up against your previous albums? What elements make this record stand apart as its own unique voyage?
Only time will tell how it stacks up against previous records. Even then, it’s probably not for me to decide that. I can say I am proud of and happy with the end results.
The element that makes this record stand far apart from any other Dead Meadow record is, of course, Steve’s illness and his passing. Finishing it as Steve became sicker and sicker, it did become imbued with such a heavy sense of finality. I feel Steve was aware earlier than he let on that this would most likely be the last Dead Meadow record as such. He had said somewhat cryptic things to various friends to that effect.
I’m so glad to have this record to share, though—another record made with Steve Kille’s unique bass playing and presence. It still feels so crazy to me that we naturally finished right at the point where Steve began to be too sick to play. It just feels so strange still. Fuck… this is a tough interview to do.
When you record, how do you distill that visceral, in-the-moment live energy into something that still burns on vinyl, as if you’re trapping a live wire in each note?
I feel if you’re fully playing and present in the moment, then that feeling comes across to the listener—at least, to the listener with the ears to hear it. It’s a sort of alchemy, almost—to take an inanimate slab of vinyl and somehow press real emotion and feeling into it in a way that can be retrieved and shared at a later point.
It also helped that drummer Mark Laughlin killed it on this record as far as I’m concerned. It’s some of my favorite drumming he’s done. That goes a long way in imbuing “that visceral, in-the-moment live energy” into each song.
What were the trials of mixing at Studio 606? Did the legendary gear spark new magic or challenge you in unexpected ways? Why was it crucial to reclaim that true Dead Meadow mojo in your own space afterward?
606 is a great studio. The staff was incredibly welcoming, and that Sound City Neve has magic in it. There’s a great live room there too. There’s always a learning curve with any new room, though, and it took some time to get adjusted to. I learned much of what I know about recording and mixing from Steve. Steve had booked the time there two months earlier, and unfortunately, in that time, his health had greatly deteriorated. He was present for all the mixing there but could not be as active in it as we had hoped.
We did four twelve-hour days, but for the first three, I was still finishing the last song or two at my studio at night. I barely slept. That, coupled with the weight of knowing how bad Steve was feeling at the time and wishing that there was something that could be done to help, left me utterly exhausted. I was a complete wreck by the end of the week.
I really did not want to have to remix any of the album, but after putting it away for a couple of weeks to hear it with fresh ears, I felt it wasn’t quite how it should sound. It was so much work mixing this record twice, but I think the end result justified all the effort. It’s a lesson that we’ve learned many times over the years—that it is almost always better to work in a familiar environment without time constraints. I do think, in booking 606, Steve hoped to get all the mixing done in a short, concentrated time and before starting chemo. I did too, but I absolutely wanted the songs to get as close to what we envisioned as possible.
With the looming shadow of Steve’s illness over the final tracking sessions, how did that heart-wrenching pressure shape the creative decisions that now pulse through every track on the album?
No, I don’t think what was going on with Steve shaped the record musically, really. I’d like to think that, for the most part, this is the record that we wanted to make, and it would not be vastly different if Steve was still with us. It’s not a tribute record made for Steve or anything like that. It is the record that all of us, including Steve, wanted to make, and sadly, unjustly even, it happens to be the last one that we will have.
The gatefold of this record is certainly a tribute. I don’t think Steve would like that much focus being on him, but too bad. It feels right and necessary.
How does that profound sense of loss seep into the album’s lyrics and musical narratives, and what do you think it reveals about our shared human journey in the face of mortality?
I can’t say the same thing about the lyrics that I just said about the music. Mark and I could clearly see Steve was sick long before he could admit it to us or himself. I didn’t consciously push the lyrics in that direction, but I don’t often push the lyrics consciously in any direction. What comes in, comes… and obviously, the sense of passing time, mortality, and loss were certainly feelings that were weighing heavily at the time. Those feelings certainly influenced the lyrics in both direct and indirect ways.
I often don’t know what a song is about until I start writing it. Even then, sometimes I don’t know exactly what the song is about. It’s not something that can be reduced and paraphrased in a sentence or two. I also find that stating what a song is about is almost always a great disservice to the song and the listener, even when the song is clearly about something in particular. I often think less of a song after hearing what it was “about” when I had envisioned a more grand topic.
Tracks like ‘The Space Between’ seem to beckon listeners on a journey beyond the tangible. What personal thoughts are you inviting us to embark upon when we press play?
“Beyond the Tangible” is the journey we’ve been beckoning for since the first song on the first record.
While ‘Voyager to Voyager’ isn’t solely a tribute, how do Steve’s final bass lines serve as a bridge between memory and legacy, whispering his presence into every groove?
Obviously—and often unfortunately—there seems to be more attention drawn to deserving artists when they are no longer with us. I know there are a lot of fans of Steve’s playing already, but he is such a subtle musician that I feel he hasn’t necessarily been as recognized as he should have been. He is an incredible and unique player. I don’t know anyone that plays cooler, more original melodic bass lines than Steve. ‘Beyond the Fields We Know’ from the first record still has the coolest bass lines I’ve ever heard. In my mind, Steve is by far the best bass player in this whole “modern psych” scene, or whatever it is called these days. I would love to see him more recognized as such. There should be a signature Steve Kille Rickenbacker as well as a custom Orange bass rig if you ask me.
Could you dive into the specifics of the gear and pedals you’ve been wielding?
When recording with the band, I use my Orange AD140 and my vintage Fender Deluxe.
I love small amps for recording, as they usually sound huge turned up to 10. I have a small modded (for added brightness) Silvertone 1484 amp that I use a lot, often with a ’60s Fender reverb tank.
My “clean” sound is usually quite dirty from the start, but for added dirt, I use a Turbo Rat—a bit less distortion but more gain than a regular Rat. I also use a Greer “Ghetto Stomp” pedal, but my favorites these days are made by a friend, Eirik Schmertmann. I’m not a fuzz connoisseur and couldn’t tell you the differences in Tone Bender eras, but I do know that after trying 12 or 13 he made, I went with what was a Zonk Machine clone with elements of a Tone Bender 1.5, I think… I’m also digging a Superfuzz pedal he just made.
Dunlop Rotovibe, Geoffrey Teese wahs (RMC 10, RMC 40), Mythos “Oracle” analog delay, EP-4 Echoplex (I sub a Belle Epoch Deluxe by Catalinbread for touring).
Still rocking the ’92 wood-colored Tele Plus—33 years with that guitar at this point. Though I must admit, I just got a ’77 Les Paul Special, and I’m liking that a lot right now.
“Steve was an artist before a musician”
Steve’s influence extended to the band’s visual aesthetic. How do you see the relationship between visual art and sound shaping the identity of ‘Voyager to Voyager’?
Steve was an artist before a musician. His artistic ideas and style really became the band’s aesthetic. I really loved the way Steve’s artistic vision for the band had no trace of a dark, heavy metal-type vibe. I feel like it was another element that separated us from bands of that kind and part of the reason no one even knew what genre of rock to place us in for many years. I love the handmade, craft-like feel of so much of what he did. His attention to detail was also incredible.
For the last two album covers he created—’Warble Womb’ and ‘The Nothing They Need’—he actually built three-dimensional dioramas for each, which he then had photographed in order to instill a subtle 3D effect.
The ‘Voyager to Voyager’ cover was difficult to do. This was probably the hardest part, as no aspect of the cover was thought about while Steve was still with us. Most of the past covers were ideas that we came up with together, but actually creating them was almost entirely Steve. I knew there was no way to emulate his style, and I did not want to try, yet I wanted this record to feel like a proper Dead Meadow record. Hopefully, it feels right. I ended up using a photo I had taken in the High Sierras and then using the exact Dead Meadow logo—color and all—that Steve created for the first record. I felt there was something fitting in that, as it tied the last record back to the very first self-titled one.
To what extent did improvisation during the recording sessions guide the formation of the album’s atmosphere?
No more than usual. Guitar solos and leads are never fully worked out but remain open with hopes for a bit of inspiration to enter. There’ll be a lick or two set as jumping-off points or a general idea of how it needs to move, but never more than that.
Looking ahead, what’s on the horizon for Dead Meadow or for you personally?
That is still to be determined. For quite a while after Steve’s passing, I was unsure whether I should continue on as Dead Meadow. I don’t want to do anything that could lessen the creative achievements and body of work that has been created. I couldn’t tell if it felt right or wrong to continue—I still can’t.
I do know that I’m not OK if I’m not playing music and writing songs, and Dead Meadow allows me to continue to do that. I am going to give it a go and see how it all feels.
Would you be willing to take a trip down memory lane and share how you first met Steve? How would you describe those early days—the records, fanzines, and gear that lit your creative fire; the shows you saw together; and the moments that forged a friendship that has lasted through all these years?
That’s a whole interview in itself. We can do that one down the line if you like?
I will say briefly that Steve and I met while I was still in high school. We both hail from the DC suburbs and had bands in the DC punk tradition. Steve’s Virginia-based band, Mafiamatic, called up our Maryland-based band, The Red Out, for a show at a small art space in quite a bad neighborhood (at the time) downtown.
When those bands ended, I think we both recognized in the other that here was someone serious about trying to create something worthwhile and meaningful and who would do what it takes to make that happen. Some years down the line, after various bands, we met Mark Laughlin and formed Dead Meadow.
Finally, as you launch this sonic missive into the vast expanse of the cosmos, what do you hope your listeners carry with them from Voyager to Voyager?
A sense of wonder. More particularly, the infinite joy and wonder of human creativity—and that it’s not just the final product that is important, but all that went into the journey of reaching that point.
That is the reason anything created by AI means absolutely nothing to me. When I see the finished work of any artist, musician, or writer, it’s not only what is set right before me, but the feeling of all that went into the work of reaching that endpoint.
Klemen Breznikar
Headline photo: Aaron Giesel
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