Gryphon Rue’s new LP creaks and grumbles and hums with subterranean and oceanic immensity, singing in voices both animal and botanical, says Bernie Brooks

Last week, the daffodils bloomed. The grape hyacinths and crocuses, too. We didn’t plant the daffodils. They weren’t here when we bought the place, either. But there they are, in our border like we planned it that way. The flowers worked it out on their own. Lately, as I’ve lost more and more faith in people (a total bummer), I’ve found myself wanting more and more to nurture non-human things. To create for them, in the green space allotted to my partner and I (and in keeping with rather arbitrary civic codes), an accommodating, simpatico garden environment, one that seems apart from the extractive, imposing mode of existence we humans have landed upon, so wildly out of sync with the needs of the un-human.