Manifesting feels pointless right now. Wishing our way collectively towards a more peaceful and just world, or even individually towards security for one’s family, feels more than ever like an exercise in futility. This feeling depends, of course, on the notion that real “manifesting” is essentially just magical wishing (ala The Secret), as opposed to something more directed, deliberate, and cosmic.

In some animistic religions, the spirits that inhabit otherwise inanimate structures are volitional agents, with the same sort of weakness and strength of will as those of us who move through the physical world. They can be vindictive or generous. Under that paradigm, the expectation is that we are collectively responsible for fostering symbiosis with these spirits–through gratitude, respect, and ritual. Manifestation understood in this context would not be a passive process; it would be in demonstrations of respect to the natural elements those forces inhabit. Because the spirits are themselves flawed, nurturing a reciprocal relationship with them doesn’t ensure our needs will be met. But ignoring it all but guarantees their vengeance.

So what optimism can we find in a world where we can be sure the spirits are furious? What expectation can we have that they will look kindly upon us? Most days, it’s tough to imagine. But occasionally, reminders present themselves–sometimes from the least expected events. The benefit of a view of the world that presumes entropy and chaos, even among animated forces upon which we may depend for benevolence, is that our salvation may be realized from the angry spirit, not only the generous one. Or put another way: these spirits are as multidimensional as the rest of us, none composed of pure good or evil.

I’ve covered Detroit-based artist Alexander Brown’s Aleph Om project before. Brown’s work often revolves around notions of impermanence. In my review of his last full-length, 2024’s Planes of Broken Mirrors, I described how Brown seemed to be exploring the ways in which enduring memory is imprisoning–as an exercise in subverting the ubiquitous notion of nostalgia as bittersweet comfort. In his latest release, the three-volume Venerable Extremities, Brown is freeing himself from the weight of some of those memories. Volumes I and II are collections of earlier works; most are highly restrained exercises in manipulating degraded tape loops, drifting between prolonged drone that’s resonant enough to evoke om itself, and mangled acoustic repetitions. These two volumes reflect the urges of someone hellbent on perfectly precise scrawling. It’s as if Brown were decidedly ridding himself of his demons through meditative labor, bending himself over backwards to invent a heretofore hidden system to transcribe the weight of his conscious experience. I relate to this. Anyone practicing a craft for years feels at times like they’re in search of an elusive key that will allow them the flow necessary to channel directly to a medium, navigating tortuous ritualistic paths in an effort to demonstrate a willingness to coexist with and forgive those flawed spirits. And in search of that key, many waver between systematization and purge–until they (maybe) achieve a comfortable equilibrium. But for many artists, the process and practice create their own baggage. In collating and releasing Volumes I and II, Brown is setting down those bags, surrendering to the reality of having lived through the work.

In Volume III, Brown achieves the equilibrium. Instead of calculation and careful design, he allows himself the liberty of improvisation, embracing himself as capable of sincere reverence through ritual without the guardrails. All recorded live, Volume III is not purge, but rather confident manifestation–in the true sense. It’s Brown accepting that things happen when they happen; granting himself permission to be a product of his experiences, not just a vessel for them. On the opener “Hours on the Walls,” Brown is moon-faced, radiating, self-accepting. On “Laughternoon,” I’m positive Brown is subconsciously referencing one of my favorite songs, the 1995 Skee-Lo hit “I Wish”–but repainting the Los Angeles sunshine through luminiferous aether and replacing the Crenshaw hero’s self-deprecating insecurity with a trust in karmic providence. Album closers “Rainy” and “Apis’ Rejected Thirst” both achieve the meditative peacefulness of the earlier volumes’ drone, but not with restraint, instead they get there via a meandering path of late afternoon puddle jumping and tired evening legs up the driveway.

We get where we’re going through our labor, and by accepting the help of the spirits delivered to us–not the ones we choose. In speaking with him over the course of preparing this review, I’ve come to think Brown is just primed to experience the world this way. A few weeks ago, on his birthday, he and his wife and three kids were in a major car accident on their way home from a Bavarian pioneering town a few hours north of Detroit. Thankfully no one was seriously injured, but his wife needed x-rays on her knee; in receiving them, the doctors discovered she is pregnant. I’m not sure I could invent a better encapsulation of the premise that the messengers of our rescue are not usually the ones to whom we call out, but rather the ones who are called for.

Venerable Extremities: Vol. I-III is out now for streaming or on bandcamp.

Aleph Om – “Hours on the Walls” from Vol. III

Aleph Om – “Laughternoon” from Vol. III

Aleph Om – “Swelter, Toil” from Vol. I

Aleph Om – “Indescribable Precipice” from Vol. II