Blackalachia is a beautiful performance film directed and primarily performed by Moses Sumney and produced by Tuntum Records. Sumney’s first directorial venture, this film can be read as a narrativised, filmised iteration of the life Sumney was living at the time—in the comfortable solitude of Asheville, North Carolina—where the forest, the mountain, and its isolation become the basis for a long contemplation on the temptations, curses, and joys of a solitary, unaccompanied life.
Although these are ideas he has explored before, Blackalachia is – except for one original track – the amalgamation of a selection of tracks from Aromanticism (2017) and Grae (2020). Still, Blackalachia tells a whole new story where, for the first time, we can see the forest’s impact on his life and thoughts. Let’s get into this in terms of both the sequence of tracks and the performance itself.
As the prelude to “Insula” plays, we see Moses Sumney run through a forest with the Blue Ridge Mountains in the backdrop. He arrives at a clearing, where a mock forest has been set up for the outfit (Mike Haldeman, Darian Thomas, Aaron Liao, Ben Sloan) to perform. This is a long, effortsome process that sees our performer introduce himself to a space that is so far alien, the drawing out of which establishes the subjectivity of the forest as an influence and an agent. There is no doubt in the viewer’s mind now that the forest is no incidental participant in this performance. This is made more evident as Insula is performed (or uttered):
“Isolation comes from ‘insula’, which means island.”
For this performance, this stage, and, therefore, by natural extension, the forest itself, is the island that blankets, elevates, and isolates. It provides the framework for Moses Sumney to recognise that he isn’t the ideal hyper-masculine consumer his society expects him to be as he is in “Virile”. The forest, with its abundance and promise of free play, is the antithesis of the production-chain world he laments in “Conveyor/Boxes”. A sense of self, thus, is established right at the outset in these three tracks, in the active presence of the forest.
However, once the question of power dynamics is raised, the receiver’s perception of the forest begins to change. “Quarrel” is a rally against a dominating Other, and this performance, at about eight minutes, is the longest and most complex so far. It sees the narrator at a power disadvantage, looking upwards, and immediately, the forest becomes an object of awe and reverence to the receiver—to either plead with or rally forcefully against.
Now, because Blackalachia is a film, a narratorial agent that Moses Sumney gets to play with is the camera. So, a large influence on the receiver’s notion of the forest is the camera, which, nearly throughout this track, looms over Moses and the ensemble—he is minuscule compared to the massive forest he has situated himself inside.
This changes again, first in “In Bloom” and then, notably, in “Space, Nation, Race, Place”, when Moses Sumney makes explicit the intent behind his choice of the forest as his performance locale-
“I’ve needed a space to articulate my own loneliness
Not at the level of state, or nation, or race, or, or place.”
We see Moses Sumney as such, one with the forest, at peace to such an extent that the forest that was once looming over him seems to have become a manifestation of his very person. The location changes for the first time since his introduction to the forested stage, and within the space of two songs, we see two important settings.
First, he is alone in a tub amidst flowers and overgrowth on the forest floor. Second, the entire ensemble is translocated to a dense, small opening— a meditative space, which begot profession and announcement. In conjunction, they bring about the essence of “Space, Nation, Race, Place”—alone-ness articulated at an entirely individual, almost introspective level, manifested in the closeness and intensity of the spaces chosen for performance.
This brings about dusk in Blackalachia, and in the next few songs, beginning with “Colouor” and “Plastic” (in its own right a masterpiece of a performance that deserves to have pages and pages written about it), we see the forest as an extension of the darkness of Moses’ Sumney’s contemplation. “Colouor” and “Plastic” are both negotiations of the self regarding how one is and how one would like to be perceived by another, whether parallel or dominating.
These tracks are performed in the original clearing (“Colouor” on the stage and “Plastic” in a suspension frame), which is decidedly less intimate than the previous setting. Thereafter, “Cut Me” and “Bless Me”, antitheses to each other, are also warring inward-looking instincts—while the first is a masochistic anthem, the other is a plea for indulgence.
In all four songs, the notion of the other is a pliant participant who can be bent to the narrator’s will. In keeping, the forest nearly disappears. The viewer remains aware, having been set up as they are, and with the constant reminders of chirping crickets, the forest still surrounds and watches the ensemble. Yet, in the dark, it stops participating and looming as it did initially. Its only existence is on the stage, in the setup that the narrator created.
The final quartet, best discussed as a unit, is perhaps the most complex in terms of narrative and, therefore, the participation of the forest. “Bystanders” is once again a rally against perception and judgement by the neutrally participative yet heavy big Other. In keeping, the camera satellites Moses Sumney’s singing person, pointed upwards, so the sense of being perceived is acute—amplified further by the presence of the stars that blink and watch him. There is no forest at all in this video.
Thereafter, in “Me in 20 Years” and “Doomed”, as he rethinks the role of community in this journey of solitude, the forest reappears—first as ferns in the stage lights and then as a whole at the end of “Doomed”, when he lies down and writhes on the forest floor. This time, there is no barrier between his body and the forest floor as the bathtub provided in “In Bloom” and “Space, Nation”.
“Polly” sees the conclusion of this narrative, where, having gone through this long negotiation between isolation and community, Moses Sumney finally decides that nothing good can come from the company of Others. Perhaps the only community he would actively choose is his own, and the space in the forest he chooses reflects the same. He has his back against a wooden wall and is surrounded by growth that looks, at least to some extent, artificially arranged. It is a forced isolation driven by a nearly desperate rejection of community—the tightest of spaces so far, such that it can hardly be called an opening at all.
In phases, then, the forest becomes everything that the narrator wants it to become. A friend, a threat, a looming watcher, an extension of the narrator’s person, and, on the whole, and most importantly, a platform for Moses Sumney to articulate his exploration.
The forest does not, however, get absorbed into the performance. It remains extraneous. Its sounds appear time and again in the performance as leaves rustling, crickets chirping, and, on one occasion, birdcall. In this externity, it retains its agency and remains a domain for him to constantly negotiate as he tells his story.