The Second Coming Was a Moonrise: How an Acid Trip Defined Hammock’s New Album

“Truth be told, there are three things that were big for me in my youth: music, religion, and drugs,” Marc Byrd says as soon as the conversation turns to Hammock’s new album. Alongside Andrew Thompson, Byrd has spent more than two decades building Hammock into something far larger than a typical Nashville band, earning a reputation for the cinematic, immersive beauty that defines their sound.

But on their new album, The Second Coming Was a Moonrise, Hammock turn inward more directly than ever before. Shaped by Byrd’s experiences with religious fundamentalism, small-town isolation, psychedelia, and the uneasy line between perception and reality, the record feels deeply personal. Byrd describes religion as a filter on how he saw the world, drugs as something that could bend reality toward euphoria or dread, and the album itself as a way of confronting the gap between appearance and truth.

In this interview, Byrd discusses the album’s wider context, including the band’s recent collaboration with Wayne Coyne and Steven Drozd of The Flaming Lips, the challenge of staying creatively active over two decades, and the unresolved directions Hammock still want to explore.

I think we’re just a soundtrack for people to listen to while living their lives.

Your new album, The Second Coming Was A Moonrise, seems to delve into some very personal, formative memories—specifically your experience with religious fundamentalism as a youth. How did that help shape the overall sound and emotional landscape of this record?

My upbringing has always played a major part in shaping our music. Truth be told, there are three things that were big for me in my youth: music, religion, and drugs. All three of those had an influence on how I saw the world and experienced reality. Seeing the world while listening to music made things seem more enchanted and/or haunted, happy and/or sad. I loved that sensation of seeing the world with music in my eyes. Religion influenced how I interpreted the world—like a filter over a photo or the object label used to describe what you’re seeing in a painting. And drugs? Of course, drugs altered my perception. A false sense of joy or euphoria, an artificial paradise where things aren’t as bad as they seem… or, on the other extreme, a sense of impending doom and isolation.

With all three working at once, it's easy to see how my relationship with reality was problematic. A good example is how the name for the title track came about. One night I was with a friend standing on a gazebo overlooking a pond. We were both on LSD. Behind the hills in the distance, a light kept getting brighter and growing… the whole sky was filling up with this light. My friend asked if this was the second coming of Jesus. We both began to freak out, and the next thing I know, my friend is on his knees in a panic and began praying out loud: “Oh God, forgive me! Oh Jesus, no! I’m so sorry.” Then, a sliver of light began to rise from behind the hills. But instead of a horse-riding Jesus galloping through the sky… much to our relief, the sliver turned out to only be a full moon. It’s my belief that without the influence of our upbringing, neither one of us would have assumed the moonrise was the second coming of Christ. The recurring theme on this album (if there is one) is the difference between appearance and reality, the actual or the imagined, fact and falsehood. Seems like so much of the time we don’t see things or others the way they are; we see them the way we are, or at least the way we were conditioned to see.

Beyond that foundation, what other themes are you exploring on this album?

Pretty much the same themes running through all of our albums: the juxtapositions we all experience in our day-to-day. I think we’re just a soundtrack for people to listen to while living their lives.

There’s a strong sense of reflection and reckoning throughout the record. Did revisiting those early experiences feel more like closure, confrontation, or something else entirely?

Our music has always had a sense of reflection and reckoning, but maybe not such a prolonged focus on small-town isolation and deconstructing from the conditioning imposed upon us from our upbringing… even more specifically, how the use of chemicals can seem to help at first, but ultimately hurt in the end. Between this album and our next one, I’m hoping to make some steps forward in completely letting the past go.

The album features Wayne Coyne and Steven Drozd from The Flaming Lips on “Chemicals Make You Small.” Given the recent history surrounding the Flaming Lips, how did that collaboration come about and does it feel significant to have captured what might be one of their last moments on a track together?

The collab happened because we noticed that Wayne was liking some of our posts and had asked us about a video we made. I think he also may have invited us to an art show in Oklahoma? Anyway, we had a song left over from the Love in the Void sessions and it just so happens that the bridge section had this 70s-type psychedelia feel. We thought the Lips' approach to vocal harmonies would be an amazing addition. So, we asked our manager to reach out, and that got me connected with Wayne. Originally, it was supposed to only be the bridge section, but then Steven got involved and they ended up singing the whole song along with us… as well as making an arrangement change and playing some keys and string pads. Whether this is one of their last moments on a track together or not… the whole thing feels significant to us. We’re very grateful for the work they did. We wish them both nothing but love and goodness.

Your music often feels deeply immersive and almost cinematic. When listeners enter this album, what do you want them to feel—or perhaps imagine?

As I said in our press release, so much is missed and ignored due to the tunnel vision created by politics, social media, algorithms, silos of misinformation, and perpetual distraction. I guess we’re hoping this album can sound like sitting on the roof of a car, when being young was serious and one night was like the end of the world. Maybe this album could be a soundtrack for watching a moonrise… that’s a miracle in itself.

You’ve been very politically outspoken online. How much is the current political climate shaping your thoughts while making music?

It goes back to how we see and hear reality. When everything is seen through a particular political or ideological worldview, then how much are we actually living in reality? I was raised in Christian nationalism. I wore red, white, and blue as part of a uniform every day, and I wore a tie with an American flag and a bald eagle every Wednesday. When I see how much cognitive dissonance and intellectual gymnastics it takes to maintain that worldview—coupled with a total lack of understanding of what art is and the role it plays in society, along with the denial of facts in history and science—it’s no surprise to me that people can believe the war in Iran will speed up the coming of the end of the world, or that Trump is an instrument of God to bring about a theocracy rooted in Old Testament law, with a theonomy built upon trickle-down economics, where women are subservient and the separation of classes and races is how society is meant to function in order for Christians to have dominion over every sphere of influence within society.

I’m living proof that people believing in things that aren’t true has real-life consequences. There’s nothing more delusional or more powerful than someone who believes with certainty that God is on their side. How many times do we miss what’s there or what’s being said by someone because we assume or believe something else is happening or being said?

Hammock has remained remarkably prolific for over two decades. How do you maintain this creative velocity without hitting burnout, and what keeps the "Hammock engine" running at such high speed without sacrificing the emotional depth you're known for?

Lots and lots of work and editing, and letting go of songs we were sure were going to make it onto an album. Our archive of music is insane. It’s much, much too much. We also genuinely respect each other and allow each other space. We also allow the music to live in a space and time and see if it continues to have a lasting impact before we release it. We still just want to make music that, if we heard it playing somewhere, we would want to ask who is playing. I also go on a silent retreat once a year and try to cultivate a healthy inner life.

Looking back over twenty years of collaboration, is there a "Hammock" record that feels the most drastically different from what you thought this project would be when you started in 2003?

I think Mysterium would be the one, or Oblivion Hymns. I say Mysterium simply because we were working on a more electronic record, and then my nephew, Clark, died and I couldn’t continue in that creative space. I needed to grieve through the music. In 2004, I never would have imagined the loss of Clark in 2016. So, I guess Mysterium is an album I wish we never needed to make.

Are there any newer bands or artists who’ve genuinely surprised you lately—not just impressed you, but made you think, “I didn’t see that coming”?

I know they’re not brand new, but I think Wednesday is amazing. The way they mix the country element with the 90s grunge/indie aesthetic is wonderful.

Who are you actually listening to right now?

I love the new one by The Twilight Sad. I find myself listening to a lot of Fontaines D.C. I’m in awe of a jazz trio called Melt Trio, particularly their album, Stroy. I’m also revisiting the entire Pop Ambient series put out by Kompakt.

After everything you’ve explored so far, what still feels unresolved creatively for Hammock?

Something more earthy… something like Spirit of Eden by Talk Talk. Setting up with other players in an isolated setting, with real earthy instruments made of good wood, and then just improv… leave enough time for everyone to get out of their heads and into a real flow, and then go back and edit the special moments.

Where do you feel the project could go next?

Maybe some live shows, and definitely to El Dorado, Arkansas. (Yes, that’s meant to be cryptic.)