The Pale Horses

“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.” -William Gibson

Coming together in the late winter months of 2006, The Pale Horses began crafting songs on borrowed equipment. From within the bowels of a rehearsal studio in Toronto’s west end, droning, sludgy, bottom-heavy guitars; repetitive, looping drums and juggler-popping vocals collectively began to tell the story. Three pieces. Fitting.

And these are the pictures they fortuitously paint: burned toast; smudged fingerprints on a clear windowpane; dust balls in the corner of your bedroom; salt stains; the scuffed rubber of a new pair of shoes; ingrown hairs; a vulture hovering over a ravine; your girlfriend’s birthmark; nickels and dimes; crowded rooms; the vine and the dead.