Apocalypse is for the sake of birth not death…It’s not meant to strike fear in us as a radical rearrangement. It’s not the end of the world. It’s the end of worlds-our worlds that we have created – Richard Rohr
Armageddon is for lovers—or at least, that’s the keepsake Paul Babe offers with their alchemical debut album, Dama Mesopotamica. Released April 2025 via NYC’s emerging Beige Records, the band doesn’t just flirt with the apocalypse—it dives into it, crafting an intimate, restorative lens on humanity’s ability to thrive in despair. With a blend best described as soft-psych and cosmic R&B, Paul Babe delivers an album as captivating on first listen as it is endearing upon deeper dive..
Dama Mesopotamica is a testament to the quiet power of human connection, amplified by catastrophe yet buoyed by resilience. In “Love In A Wasteland,” ambient swells of a Rhodes piano and intimate, processed vocals narrate love enduring through an apocalyptic extraterrestrial invasion. In contrast, the spirited, polyrhythmic-LFO’d synth stomper “When The Money’s Comin’ In” finds comfort in the chaos and celebrates the catharsis of starting over. The album as a whole doesn’t just ask you to embrace the end—it suggests we might find joy in the ruins.
Paul Babe—the moniker of Twin Cities-born, Brooklyn-based multi-instrumentalist Seth Evans—roots itself in Evans’ Midwestern heritage and his knack for finding beauty in the gray. The seeds of Dama Mesopotamica were planted during Evans’ retreat to Northeast Iowa’s Driftless Area, where he sought solace following the death of a close friend and collaborator. Surrounded by the spiritually charged landscape and caring for his cousins’ 20-year-old cat, Evans found a muse in the Persian Fallow Deer that rampantly roamed the property. A symbol of resilience and regeneration, the species was many years ago imported to the long non-operational venison farm and serves as the album’s namesake.
Tracks like “Cliff Diver” encapsulate the death-is-birth ethos, with woozy grooves meditating on the precipice of transformation. On “Lasso” and “Cownin’ On,” deeply personal lyrics also cast a starry resonance, carving cathartic spaces giving listeners the chance to confront their own pasts. The arrangement vision of the tracks—and the album as a whole—blends the experimental, moody ambiance of a band like Dead Can Dance with the sugary, chewable charms of an artist like Dijon.
The album’s emotional pinnacle arrives with “No Eagle,” a pleading, lush antepenultimate track serving as a self-reminder for Evans: to never take life or relationships for granted. Whether it’s the end of the world or just the ‘radical rearrangement’ of the stories we tell ourselves, Dama Mesopotamica offers a lifeline of hope and resilience. It’s not just an album—it’s a guide for finding connection amidst chaos, and proof that beauty can thrive even in the rubble.
