6th March 2026
Christopher Nosnibor
My first encounter with The Sunken Land was at the York EMOM (that’s Electronic Music Open Mic) at the start of the month. There were looks and mumblings of surprise, confusion, and even consternation within my vicinity. These events attract makers of a broad spectrum of music, from those who dabble to the obsessives, from laptops to modular setups to self-made kit, and from pop to ambience to far more experimental stuff. Often, there’s much interest and conversation in the gear being used, particularly as a fair bit of the kit is rather novel. ‘What is that?’ began to be asked around as The Sunken Land’s set started. There was incredulity, amazement at the instrument being wielded on stage, something alien to these night. It was a guitar.
The man playing, it, one David Martin, was conjuring layered soundscapes, pleasant to the ear, but underpinned with a physical density. It was well executed, and powerful, and distinct.
worm moon sessions, released the following day, captures the sound of that live performance well.
While there’s apparently no scientific evidence, there is plenty of anecdotal indication that people feel different on and around full moon. Werewolf mythology is but one example of the way the power of the moon seems to affect us, and since this satellite planet drives the Earth’s tides, it’s hardly surprising we also feel that we sense its force. There’s also something compelling, mesmerising, hypnotic, about a large, bright moon, or a moon with an aura, or displaying an unusual hue. This year’s worm moon, on 3rd March, was particularly unusual, emerging a fiery red from a total lunar eclipse, and perhaps some of this rare power filtered into The Sunken Land’s recordings here. While worm moon sessions may not represent an immense leap from demos 2026, released in February, there’s most definitely evidence of a gradual honing of the ‘bedsit doomgaze’ form here.
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‘worm moon’ brings the heavy drone of Sunn O))) but with elements of melody rising out of the dense sonic swamp. These melodic details, in context, evoke the form of later Earth. It’s the kind of slow, deliberate guitar work that compels the listener to really hone in on the textures and tonality, the way the notes of a struck chord – thick with distortion and expanded with reverb – interact with one another.
The shorter ‘almost true’ is altogether lighter, more graceful, emphasising the ‘gaze’ aspect of the self-made genre tag. It’s still dense and underpinned with slow, droning distortion, but there’s a soft, almost ethereal hue around it, and the experience is ultimately uplifting, like the first signs of spring.
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Aural Aggravation 