Russian Circles’ eighth full-length studio album, Gnosis, is officially out via Sargent House. It’s a record that was very much shaped by the COVID-19 shutdown, the band forced to embrace new approaches to songwriting with the prospect of touring put on hold. The result finds them leaning into their heavier tendencies while still maintaining the wide sonic landscape the instrumental three-piece is known for.
Guitarist and founding member Mike Sullivan answered some questions for us regarding the record’s sound, the writing process, recording in two different locations and touring with some of heavy rock’s biggest names.
The first thing that pops out about Gnosis is the heaviness. Was there a conscious effort to lean that way?
It’s something we’ve always been kind of moving towards—heavier music. When we play live, we definitely gravitate towards playing heavier material just because that seems to translate more, and it’s more fun, and it just feels like a better performance that way. So sometimes when writing, it’s good to just be like, well, let’s just lean into this a little bit because that seems to be more beneficial for everybody.
With the pandemic, we were all isolated, so we were all in our own worlds. We could listen to whatever the heck we want, which will effect writing, obviously. I, for one, was listening to a lot of metal, which is not rare for me, but more than usual—just kind of like a psychopath listening to the same records on repeat, just studying the songs and literally learning the songs by these bands that I love. And I think via osmosis that just oozed out after just fully committing to certain bands for months on end.
What were those bands?
There weren’t even too many, but Pantera and At The Gates—steady diet of both of those. For whatever reason, those are two of my favorites, and during the pandemic , it was like, don’t need to worry about new music or anything, these guys are there for you. Bolt Thrower is one that always has a sense of thematic hooks. The guitar playing is incredibly catchy to me beyond just the abrasive nature of the genre. It pushes things into more melodic material, which is hard to do right because sometimes that can be really cheesy. I think that’s something I look for in death metal, but it’s a fine line between melody that’s helpful and melody that’s a disservice to the song.
Does the faster nature of those bands play a role in some of the faster material on Gnosis?
It did. For example, the song, “Conduit,” that is a great example of a pandemic song because we just canceled a tour; we were home; we’re going nowhere, and it’s like, “OK, we can write at least.” So I downloaded a drum program, and it was pretty much a sample of this death metal drum beat. I was like, “Well, I gotta start somewhere,” so I just downloaded that sample and copied it and edited it to be a song structure of sorts, and then just kept playing riffs to that in lieu of a traditional writing method. It ended up being super fruitful—just doing that exercise for fun yielded riff after riff. So “Conduit” came from all those riffs that were written in more or less a day or two.
It was like, oh, so playing to a drum program like this is super helpful and productive, so that opened a whole new world of me just writing to various different grooves and different types of drum patterns just to serve as a platform to get the riffs somewhere. Then I passed them off to (drummer) Dave (Turncrantz) and he just makes them a million times cooler and more unique and singular. But it was just a way for me to kind of get in the game and start throwing ink on the canvas, so to speak.
How much did the pandemic change your approach to writing as a band?
It completely flipped it. Before, it had been similar for the past six records or so. We’d amass a ton of riffs—I would just stockpile as many riffs that might work for a song of ours, no matter how heavy, how weird, tuning, all that. It didn’t matter. Something that might work in some capacity would just be kept in this archive of potential material. Then Dave and I would get together and sift through those. We’d know which ones worked together, and sometimes there’d be an A part and a B part, so some were kind of strung together, but more often than not, it’d just be a lot of ideas, and we’d just see how they all played together, see if they’re all compatible.
Whereas this time around, it was constructing songs start to finish, trusting your instinct and just stitching it together as each piece was written to be in between the two parts before and after it. Not just, here’s a riff, here’s another idea, we can just change this time signature and tuning to make this cram in there, which is effective sometimes, but this was written very differently—carefully crafted for each song, not just overall riffs to float towards the whole record.
Did it open you up to new ideas or concepts that you hadn’t experimented with before?
Yes, the nature of writing so detached from your bandmates and from the live environment and practice space, you’re also in a world of, “Will we tour again? I’m sure we will, but right now your goal is to just write music and be creative.” So some of the songs, you’re not worrying about performing live, or you’re just trying things out.
Like, “I’m going to try writing parts that might work for (bassist) Brian (Cook’s) baritone parts, and what if there’s no bass here; what if there’s more baritone parts than bass on the album; what if we write more harmonies together?” Some of this stuff was experimentation for what we’re going to do for this record and for the future and just for fun. Like, “Have we tried going down this avenue? Well, let’s try our version of that.”
It’s not wild experimentation, but it’s still pushing the limitations of what instruments we have and just playing with what’s available to us. That worked in some, and in some it didn’t. The song “Vlastmil” was supposed to be two harmonized guitars the entire time and at the last minute, once we all got together in the same room, we’re like, “This isn’t working; we need proper low end from a bass guitar—a rumbly, low-end bass, not from a Moog, from an organic instrument.”
Those were last minute calls while we assembled before recording because things were more effective than others in writing in our own worlds. But it was cool; we could help write for each other. When you’re writing a song start to finish, you’re really taking on a lot of the decision-making, so when you pass it onto your bandmates a lot of the thinking’s already been done for you. Anyway, it was a super lucrative and productive means of writing, and I think we’re ready to keep messing with it and experiment more.
Was it easier to take on writing a record without having to deal with other things like tour prep?
Yeah, I much prefer this. I mean, I’m not going to ask for another pandemic and another year and half off, but the only thing I needed to do was worry about writing. That was my whole goal; I had a structured ritual every day, and a big part of it was writing. You need to have something to do in a crazy time like that, and in general. It’s not that different from my normal life, sad to say, but you have to be putting mountains behind you; you have to be working. Having no interruptions is so nice because you don’t have to strip apart your pedal board or fly across the country to meet up to do this and that, and dismantle your home studio, and change total mindsets of live and tour mode versus the studio mindset.
Having that uninterrupted writing was very, very, very beneficial. I’ve never had that swath of time to just go every day and keep working, no tours for year after year, so it wasn’t a problem, it was cool. What an amazing opportunity, and that made the record such a stronger record just having that huge amount of time uninterrupted.
At this point for Russian Circles, approaching 20 years, is there a more deliberate nature to writing a song that maintains a core sound?
Yeah, and sometimes riffs that are submitted go through the filter of our bandmates, and with their suggestions make it even more us-sounding. What if we made it slower or faster, or what if we took it and put it in this time signature, and sometimes those calls are a comfort zone for all of us, or our natural gut feeling has a sound to it—what colors you like and what sounds you like to hear; it’s all just our preference. So we’re applying that to each record. We’re aware certain songs will work for the band, and sometimes we realize something is a bit of a stretch, but it’s very important to do the stretches.
Whenever I think it’s a crazy idea, it’s met with not being that far out at all. It can be met with enthusiasm or not, but it’s never as crazy as I think it is, so it’s encouraging to go further out. As much as you think you’re not being yourself, you still very much are, so it’s important to be aware of that. We’re not reinventing the wheel by any means on this record; it’s us doing what we do. It’s a refinement, I feel like. I feel like we’ve been doing drafts of this record for a while and finally, it feels like we got it.
When you approach a record, is there a concept as far as an overall tone or feel?
Not really. I’ve spoken with Brian in the past about this. For Blood Year, he mentioned he had more of a minimalist approach. I didn’t really; I didn’t know we were doing that. So sometimes it’s more of a personal approach, and it can be a reaction to a recent recording. Each record is a reaction to the record prior to it, and that can be for personal experience too. Like, if I wasn’t adventurous enough with my tone, or I was too adventurous, or there’s something I needed to dial in more or be more casual about. So all that is part of the equation, but we’ve never intentionally said, “We should do this. We need to move in this direction.” Even being heavy, that wasn’t a part of the conversation; it was just assumed. Let’s make it fucking heavy; let’s always be heavy.
It makes me so fucking angry that I write major-key love songs. That drives me crazy. Songs like “Bloom,” it’s like, “What the fuck?” I think it should be heard; I think it’s a good song, but it’s like, where did that come from? That’s not what I want to be writing, but it’s something that’s there that you’re not going to push back against. If it were up to me, it’d be all brutal, ugly music, but that’s just not how it works, and as much as I want to sit down and write that kind of song every afternoon, it’s not going to be good.
We’ll write all kinds of music, and the cream rises to the top. Of all the different types of genres and approaches to songs, we’ll try everything, and whichever sounds the best, no matter what version of that, whether it be folk or doom or faster, the best version is going to win, and it doesn’t matter about the genre. But it ends up being the heavier that we like more often than not.
This record was recorded in two parts. Can you tell me about the process of that?
It was mainly just because of the nature of the sound of both studios. Electrical Audio in Chicago has amazing, organic live sound, and there’s something about the way you can capture drums in the studio with all the gear, and the room sound in general, and it’s kind of home base for us.
So it makes sense for us; let’s capture that sound there. We got some bass done there too. The only reason we didn’t do guitar there too is because we did the rest of the album at God City in Salem, which is Kurt Ballou’s studio. The benefit of that is, he has a huge collection of great guitar gear and pedals and amps. That is so useful on the records.
This is our third record that we’ve done guitars at God City, and so much of it just experimenting with the nuance of tone part-to-part, song-to-song. No song has the exact same guitar tone; it’s always stripped down to nothing before each song.
We keep the same amps, same mics, same cabinets and all that, but the pedals are dismantled just to give each song a little bit of a new, unique feeling. Again, like writing, you have a style that you sound like, same for tone. You have a certain color, certain tones that you want to hear. So when you reassemble the pedals you’re going to use, it’s going to still sound like you because it’s going through your preferences and filters.
That studio has so many bells and whistles and cool options and resources that it just really makes it a stronger record based on gear. Is it better sonically speaking? That’s a tough argument to make, but it’s really cool just to have Kurt in his own spot, too, where he knows how to manipulate all his gears. I actually really enjoy doing it that way.
Does Kurt play any role in the development of the music?
We already have the demos signed off and arranged, and we use those for references, so far as we know how things should sound, so there’s no weird parts. There are occasions—like there’s one part on this record—it was great, it was early morning at Electrical; we were tracking drums still, but I was just there messing around with a riff. I had a placeholder for it, but I knew I could make it better and I asked, “There’s this riff here; let’s fuck with it. Can you help me with this; what are your thoughts on this?” He helped me with this riff, and at the end, it was a much cooler, interesting riff. Not more complicated by any means, just a hookier, better version of itself.
I don’t typically trust random people for riff advice, but with Kurt it was super helpful to do that. There’s tiny little things where he’ll make suggestions as far as the turnaround of a part, like the end of a phrase or how to transition the tiny little things that end up being cool little events that we wouldn’t have injected elsewhere. He does have his little fingerprints on there, and that’s a nice addition.
Does that idea of every song having a different feel and tone become a challenge to translate into a live environment?
We try not to paint ourselves into a corner when we’re writing as far as, “Let’s add another line here,” or, “I’ll do this crazy narrative guitar solo that’s non-repeating on top of this.” That’s so tempting. I want to add so much to our songs, but when it comes to playing it live, it’s going to sound like crap. The crowd would be like, “The meat and potatoes are gone,” or, “Where’s the hook; where’s the top layer?”
So we do have to be mindful of how this will translate from the studio to a live environment. We’re a three-piece band ultimately, and there’s times where you can’t just add parts even if we want to. Sometimes we do—This part’s not strong enough; it needs extra elements on top, and extra texture to help support the melody. But we’re aware. We don’t fuck with backing tracks, obviously.
So it is a shame, because there are times where we talk about doing an EP where the only concept that’s different than other records is that we’re not concerned about playing it live. Not that there would be over-production, but so much of what we do, as far as with a loop sequence happening, things need to be written more mechanical if not as organic of a song because you’re tethered to this repeating clock of a loop which is not growing and not changing; it’s staying exactly the same. There are limitations as far as just being a three-piece rock band. It’s tempting to do more, for sure.
Speaking of live, you guys were on a tour with System of a Down and Korn not long ago. What was it like touring in the world of arenas as opposed to more independent venues?
It was shocking, to be honest, more than I expected. Like, “Where the fuck are we; what world is this?” Exactly like you mentioned, different worlds. One is a DIY world that we grew up in, and they may have, too. But entering that first show, we knew it as, “The Vegas Golden Knights play here.” It’s a hockey arena, I know this from sports, and we’re here loading in our gear, and we’re in a box truck, and there’s 20 buses here. It just felt so inadequate, like, are we prepared for this? So it was trip. It was during COVID, so everything was very isolated and very cold. So it wasn’t like, “Hey, welcome to the tour; this is a blast.”
We did two tours; the first one was wrapped up early because of a positive COVID test from one of the guys from System, but the second tour, there was a different tour manager, and that dude made it so hospitable and welcoming for us. We had proper sound checks, and that changed everything.
The first tour was rough because it was logistical. For being that high-profile—as much as we were surprised by stepping into arena shows, we were taken aback by how off-the-rails it is as far as production. We realized it just happened to be the tour manager’s fault. The next tour we did had super long sound checks, enough for what we needed, and the performances were better; the shows were better; everyone in the bands were more laid-back.
I think the best part of those shows, selfishly for me, was sound checking on a PA that big and just doing ignorant chugs that are vibrating the stadium. It was a cool opportunity; we would have been fools to not jump at that.
How was the reaction? It’s probably not an audience that is listening to much instrumental music.
We had such a brief set. We played three songs, 20 minutes. We were in and out. I think at that point, they’re ready to see some music. We’re not a total curveball, but it’s like, “Why don’t you clowns have a vocalist? You’re not a band.” It’s like a rock band playing without a snare drum; it’s a missing component; it’s not an option.
We’re so used to that instrumental world of different genres and bands that I forget that we’re different. To me, we’re not different—Every band should be different. It shouldn’t be that you’re instrumental; that shouldn’t make you different, but that was a reminder. Even Jonathan Davis was on stage like, “These guys don’t even have a fucking vocalist.” I forget that that’s a novelty to some people, not in a good or bad way. I’m sure it was to me at some point, but I’m just so used to it.
The reception was positive. We didn’t deserve a good reception the first few shows, to be honest, but people were still kind enough to throw some applause our way. But the crowds were very kind and cool and that was zero issue, thankfully.
What does the title Gnosis represent?
It something that I’m not fully going to throw out there, but the whole gist of it was coming from this special knowledge that’s been misinterpreted over time and extracted in the wrong manner. You’ve boiled this down and gotten the wrong thing from this; you’ve taken this and run the wrong way. And that can be faith, that can be religion, but it’s like “Man, you have made a mess of this,” whereas it’s something more beautiful, and it boils down to human nature more so than anything organized.
Long story short, it’s meant to be left open, but it does come from something, but it’s not anything that’s out there for total disclosure. It’s meant for everybody to have their own take on it—which is a total cop-out.
What comes next for Russian Circles now that this record is finally out?
It feels good to finally have it out because it was recorded so long ago. When we handed in the record, we realized—with the vinyl delays, you had to request X amount of records to be released on X date, and we requested a single LP, and when we turned in the record, we had enough material for two LPs, not even realizing that we had written that much, or that it was that much over the requirement for just a single LP.
So we are sitting on a number of songs that were meant to be on the record. It’s funny; it could be a totally different record if we were to swap out some of the songs. So there is talk of doing an additional EP tethered to—kind of a companion piece to Gnosis. But I think we’ll touch up some of the songs and maybe include another one or two, and there’s some other ideas.
We don’t want to make another full-on release, like, “This is where we’re going; this is the direction,” because that’s not the case at all. We’re just thinking about being careful of how to display the music. I think ultimately that will see the light of day hopefully in the next year or so. This isn’t locked in stone, but hopefully that EP will come out soon.
Photo courtesy of Simon Kallas
