Haunted Castle Music

The story behind the castle walls of Kramies adventure-inspired EP.

On Nov. 17 2004, I started my life over. The day prior I had taken my addiction to lowest point that one could go. So starting the following day, I told myself that I would do whatever made sense to me and had a positive influence in my life. 

I realized that I needed to veer off my path, to create a new one. A better one. One where I am expanding, evolving, and traveling.

Fast forward to 2017/18, and after years of writing and releasing music, I found myself wandering the landscapes of Ireland, surrounded by the beautiful walls of Shankill Castle.

All my past EPs have been stories that I would process and think out entirely, start to end, but this time the story came to me in a moment. 

My new story started when I set out to find a new sound that would be inspired by living in the castle and landscapes. I was looking for something that would transport me into a different time. Every morning, early at dusk, I would walk the grounds alongside the hundreds of crows - that would fill the early morning with a haunting sounds. I would sit in an old farmhouse within the castle walls during the day, and write. Then at night I would walk again, gathering wood for the stove. I would sit there and watch the outside world be still.  I would try to lose myself in this environment. I felt comfort, scared, happy, loved, and I felt relieved to be in such a place. I felt one with everything that was naturally happening. From the cool Irish breeze to the eerie dust and through the silence of giant trees I found a oneness, an important purpose of belonging. 

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The story for the EP I found is of an elderly man who lived in an old European town and in his early age lost someone he truly loved. Instead of moving on, everyday for the rest of his life, the old man kept a routine and walked the cobblestone streets to town, gather his food, and walk back to his cottage. Along that path he would pass a beautiful rolled forest and bits of the sea. Until one day, after waiting years for that someone to return, he saw a light coming from the forest. For that split second, he decided to veer off the path, off his routine, and head into the woods. He walked and followed that light for days. Finally he came upon a fairytale of distractions that made him feel very alive again. While tucked in these woods, he tried to remember that person’s face. His mind was forgetting the person he loved. He was overwhelmed with guilt because he wasn’t waiting anymore. Yet, he never returned back. Finding himself happily distracted by what he came across, he let go of his longing and of his past story. 

Out of this entire experience and story, “Of All The Place Been & Everything the End”, has become my personal diary of letting go of my previous story.  I’ve always had a love affair with Ireland and this experience is what life is about. Between travel and being able to do what I love, I have found myself in places that I never thought possible. Writing this EP in the castle seems to have brought it all together into a personal ending and onto a new story. 

Hear more by Kramies // kramies.com

Portland Exploration Society

CREATIVE EXPLORERS

Story by
Cheeraz Gorman // @aturah

Photos by
Evan Schell // @theslipperysaltwaterchronicals
Adam Vicarel // @adamvicarel
Brooke Weeber // @brooke_weeber

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An invitation to return, 

to experience something different.

I flew into Portland, Oregon on a night where the full moon was in Scorpio. As I was out walking, stalking the sky to get a glimpse of the moon, following meeting my fellow explorers for dinner, I felt like a person who had no history here. This feeling came over me when my flight landed. But to be on a street I’d taken on my way home many an evening and to feel my eyes new and the lack of memory-strapped weight failing to resonate in my body, what I was feeling was now not only true for me — it was real. There was no pull to visit spaces that once held great meaning to me. As I walked a couple blocks down SW Stark Street toward 13th, not one ounce of nostalgia washed over me. While I was not attempting to conjure the feeling, I did find it surprising, like in a, “Wow … I am healed,” kind of way. Many moons ago, I use to call this city home. It all feels like another lifetime ago. And, in truth, it is. Now, it’s time for new adventures. A fast-forward to create new memories and to feel what new Earth will be underneath my feet as an explorer.

Remembering Light

It turns waterfalls and rushing creeks into a scene of cascading diamonds. It gently overcomes shadows, then welcomes them back when it has served its purpose, or when clouds shift. It reveals the spectrum of color waiting to be unveiled in the darkest of green things. It invites finger to rub against moss and tree bark to explore their textures. The imagination dances when we see it cut through mist: What’s being beamed down or taken up, or is there somewhere in between, dancing — putting a spell on us? 

There’s a certain magic the light of the sun turns on. Forest, already full of wonder in its own right, becomes even more alive.  

For the most part, the day was the kind of typical Portland day I’d remembered. Rainy. The sky — a fitted sheet of gray, not so securely tucked, so occasionally the sun would slip through the clouds. Its warmth landing on my face just long enough for me to think, “You will leave and return like all faithful lovers do when they know they are needed, wanted, and desired.”   

Atop Beacon Rock, a squirrel that seemed to know its way around humans met me. Raised up on its hind legs and motioned as if it were fresh out of some well-crafted children’s cartoon, one with a moral or parable to keep in the subconscious. I thought I was ready, but every bit of the city dweller in me jolted my body off the rock I popped a squat on. I laughed loudly and shook my head at the fact that I let something so small shake me. I turned my head to see the sun in the distance, turning the horizon line of the sky into various shades of rainbow sherbet. I inhaled deeply, laughed once more, and nodded my head in silent reverence for what illumination can do for the spirit.

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Remembrances — and, 

is this the point

The air is different here than where I’m from

So, I’m taking as many deep breaths

For my lungs to remember

That concert is not a living thing

That mountain fresh

Is indeed that and not simply 

A manufactured fragrance for dryer sheets

My eyes drinking in the scene

Because wonder is being returned back to me tenfold

And, is this the point:

To reconnect

To feel mouth-gaped open

As feet step in an improvisational rhythm

With the terrain

And deep breaths are taken

To remind us that we are living things

And that there’s something clearly unnatural

About our automated lives and its many technologies

Distracting us from the beauty found in

Simply being with what is

In all its grandeur 

Lettering by Adam Vicarel // @adamvicarel

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THIS ADVENTURE WAS MADE WITH HELP FROM OUR FRIENDS AT NAU CLOTHING AND ACE HOTEL

NAU.COM // ACEHOTEL.COM

SISSTR

A Revolution for Women’s Surf Goods

Story by Lola Rae

While recently thumbing through the debut line of SISSTREVOLUTION, a new surf-centric apparel and accessories line for active young women, I was transported – not to a geographic place, but to a different time altogether: to my younger self. This new range – which is the literal ‘sister’ brand to its well-established core surf brethren, Vissla – with its dreamy, muted colors, soft, natural fabrics and easygoing vibe, is the line that I wish had existed when I was a teen or twenty-something surf gromette. 

This blossoming brand was brought to fruition to fill a lull in the market, offering softgoods and gear for the “12-25 year-old girl who is active in or around the water and is either a surfer or will be the next time she is at the beach”, to quote a brand spokesperson. This includes surf trip essentials like 70’s-inspired  snap-closure corduroy short shorts, boxy cropped tees and super soft hoodies. Ease of structure, playful prints and ultimate packability are evident design choices throughout the range, with each style representing a modern throwback. 

Not only has Sisstr come into her own with a youthful, timeless line of packable, travel-able, throw-on-after-a-surf-or-before-a-flight everything, it has done so with an air of eco-consciousness. Sustainable materials including organic cottons and hemp blends share a common thread through many styles, including the entire boardshort line which – like Vissla’s well-known Coconut Stretch boardies – is entirely comprised of upcycled coconut fiber fabric. 

Add to that a complete range of performance pieces and fully shreddable (read: top-of-the-line) wetsuits and surfwear, and Sisstrevolution could very well be just that for young women’s surf apparel - a revolution. If only we’d had this kind of thing when I was a youngin’!

Learn More // sisstrevolution.com

Unimoto

One Spiked Tire and Russian Imagination

Photos and story by Alessandro D’Angelo // alessandrodangelo.it

Unimotorcycle is the unholy combination of a motorcycle and a sled. It has one wheel, a few runners, and an absurdly powerful engine that propels the entire contraption across a frozen lake at breakneck speeds. Brakes? Pfft. They’re an afterthought at best. All of which is to say, you have to be crazy to ride one.

Unimotorcyle racing started in the 1980s in Florida, a fact few will find surprising. The “sport” quickly spread to Europe and beyond. A Russian unimotocyclist named Dmitry Gorbunov attended the Elefantentreffen biker rally in Germany in 2002, and thought it wasn’t nutty enough. So two years later, he decided to go racing on ice.

Location: the snow-blanketed town of Togliatti, Russia, where the temperature never climbed above -10 degrees Fahrenheit. The event drew about 1,000 spectators and 35 unimoto riders, many of whom came from hundreds of miles away. 

Races began each day around 11AM and continued through the afternoon. Riders astride homemade machines seemingly inspired by Mad Max vied to post the fastest times. Many of them rode contraptions adapted from Honda and Yamaha motorcycles, with runners crafted from shovels and other stuff you’d find in the garage. The more eclectic machines ran on electricity and even steam, while at least one featured four propellers. One guy even cobbled together something that looked a lot like a pulse jet.

No matter what made them go, it was loud. “Like a lion that roars when you cut its balls.” A few unimotos scuttle out of control across the ice or catch fire after their motors overheated, but no one seemed too bothered. The fastest racer got a trophy and an enormous hunting knife, the words “Snow Dogs” engraved into a handle shaped like a dog’s head.

When the day’s racing was done, the real party began. People ate, drank, and sang karaoke until the wee hours.