House Rules News

Between 1989 and 1992, Sea Horses released three albums that percolated through England’s DIY underground before fading into the pre-Web ether. For a small community of listeners, however, their ornate gothic romance endured as an unusual sensibility within the broader post-punk coalition.

Hailing from towns on the outskirts of Manchester—Congleton, Scholar Green, and Macclesfield—Sea Horses forged a distinctively Northern English sound. Their dark, dreamy folk carried affinities with other groups of the time, but songwriter Richard Veal’s idyllic medievalism also took unlikely influence from madrigals and liturgical music. The exalted soprano of Clare Williams and twin sisters Jo and Liz Bromley reinforces this devotional quality, hanging in nave-like ambience (the band played several shows in local churches).

For this reason, and for the subtle psychedelia of their longer-than-average compositions, critics aligned Sea Horses with England’s New Age contingent—an association that the band could not quite understand. But Sea Horses did share certain predilections with their Aquarian counterparts. The band’s pastoralism carried pagan overtones, with songs like chapters in a Saxon epic, or odes to copses, moors, and headlands.

Sea Horses: 1989–1992 collects recordings from across the band’s output, which includes two short-run albums on Mandala Recordings—Listen (1991) and Dream into Being (1992)—and a little-known self-released cassette, The Shining Net (1991), which, until now, was only known among friends and family.

A collection of obscure and unheard metaphysical sounds, 1980-1992

Lost Coast: Some Visionary Music from California assembles little unknown sounds from California’s metaphysical underground. Each recording is stylistically different—dream pop, guitar soli, fourth world, avant-electronic—but they are held together by a regional ethos of the “visionary.” This is music that envisions, seeing through the mind’s eye and conjuring new worlds.

Some people say that California is where “the nuts stop rolling”—where those too eccentric to fit in elsewhere ended up. What was meant pejoratively is easily reclaimed as a celebration of the free-thinking and the freely-freaking. Until the turn of the millennium, all manner of seekers rolled westward until they hit the pacific. Stationed along this edge, music was a way to roll still further: to imagine territories unencountered and wavelengths as yet unheard.

Lost Coast is a commemoration of the people who made these journeys and a resurrection of recordings they made little effort to broadcast. While some of the tracks were originally released on cassettes with modest distribution, others were only shared among friends or never shared at all. Assembled from the personal collection of House Rules operator Zully Adler, these recordings were all found on cassettes in flea markets, barn sales, rural thrift stores, and even stranger places—outside a gem and mineral shop, for example, and on the ranch of a retired mescalin dealer.

Nonetheless, these recordings are eminently listenable. California is a place where the strange and the pleasurable are frequent bedfellows.