Verdin Brothers – Andrew, Mark, and Peter Verdin – are a trio variously based in Minnesota and Newfoundland and Labrador, who have been making music together forever and recording since 2023 (which some of this album harks back to). Their sound explores old music styles, using blues, Creole, bluegrass and drone to stitch together something all their own, with a healthy dollop of the weird, inspired by their interest in the dark world of the occult. For last year’s Endless Night on the River Dirge, the brothers gave us misty ghosts of old bottleneck blues, Eastern styles and field recordings, a collage they expanded on with The Crooked Serpent.
I love the underlying sense of strangeness that haunts this album. In the notes, a separate recording called The Great Work, which the trio made alongside this set, is mentioned as something of a companion to the main album, a manipulated piece fed through a tape machine and entwined with this music, giving each song something like an alter ego or accompanying spirit. It’s an unusual technique, but one that elevates the sound into something different and brings plenty of ambiguity and mystery to the listening.
You can hear it on The Trepanned Head, a guitar-fronted piece in the American Primitive style, with sturdily thumbed bass strings and a steady rhythm. Behind it all are little whispers and swirls of looped sound, audible when the music is quiet. It’s very clever and really taps into the darker side of this trio’s output.
The acoustic instrumental influence returns on songs like Equinox, which uses neatly picked acoustic guitar, hammered dulcimer, and double bass alongside an eerie, high drone in the background. The guitar playing shows hints of artists like Jack Rose, with the drone and guitar combination reminiscent of songs like the incredible Yaman Blues from Opium Musick. Pete’s double bass notes add weight to a deliberately paced number, and the dulcimer brings a real sparkle to the sound.
More maximalist in style are songs like the traditional Lark in the Morning, or Where the Sun Goes to Bed (Skeleton Song). The former begins the album with odd tangles of field recordings, before the lark is heard over guitar and a sweet hammered dulcimer part. After a minute or so, the sound bursts into life, with crackling drums and a harmonium-like sound bringing a robust chordal arrangement. It’s a big, euphoric sound that neatly slips into DuBois’ Folly, a cool miniature Irish jig played on banjo, after five minutes.
Situated more on the darkening streets of New Orleans is Where the Sun Goes to Bed, a nifty piece with sharply picked guitar and banjo, plus jaunty percussion and bass to start the party, before a bombastic brass section kicks in after a couple of minutes. The bass playing is a delight here, creeping around the brass section with bendy notes, before locking back into the rhythm. It’s a lot of fun and would fit nicely into a Tim Burton jazz animation.
A lot is going on in the world of The Crooked Serpent; it’s an album clearly worked on over time, full of experimental artistic decisions, and one that explores the sides of music and sound that fascinate this creative trio of brothers. Moments of quietude blend with big sound drops, while the spectre of The Great Work hides in the background. A singular work of high art and painstaking detail, The Crooked Serpent is a significant release from an exciting, adventurous band.
The Crooked Serpent (October 16th, 2026) Debacle Records