Speck Mountain is where liquid organ drones and sacramental guitar lines shimmer in a psychedelically corrupt gospel haze behind Marie-Claire Balabanian's Stevie Nicks-on-downers/Hope Sandoval-on-uppers vox. Filled in with slow-motion funk bass-lines, electric piano, blanched-out sax, one lonely melodica, and enough tape delay to stretch from Pacific sea caves all the way to the Northern Lights everything here echoes, everything glows.
