Sure, we’ve all zipped by a busted 7-Eleven or a moldering chain restaurant before it becomes dust in the wind. To you, it’s an eyesore. For Austin Tackett, it’s an album cover.
When the bassist isn’t touring with his noise-rock band Chat Pile, he’s roaming Oklahoma City in search of his next disasterpiece: a jarring photograph to stamp with the band’s wicked logo, itself resembling a cracked leather sofa that’s seen far too many asses.
You don’t need to be a fan of sludge metal to appreciate Chat Pile’s visual aesthetic. I’d describe it as Okie Kubrick: an image of blight unique to our state that’s composed with pitch-black humor in mind. For several years now, the band—whose name comes from the mountainous byproduct of lead mining you can see if you take a drive through the abandoned towns of Picher or Cardin—has spoken through its twisted album cover photography. Its gloomy sense of irony is only heightened by the fact that Tackett worked for years in the state’s tourism department—a day job that asked him to be a hype man for Oklahoma.