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Ryan and Jesse Demody in what will be their recording studio on their northwoods homesteads. Photo by Jim Lundstrom.

On a quiet stretch of Peary Road, far from traffic, neighbors and anything resembling hurry, the Brothers Burn Mountain – aka Jesse and Ryan Dermody – have been building something more lasting than a career.

They’ve built a life — off-grid, self-taught and shaped as much by the forest around them as by the 25 years of music they’ve made together.

The land came first — a place they found almost by instinct, the moment they stepped onto a narrow trail bordered by birch and bog.

“There’s a quiet healing to the forest around here,” Jesse said. “We felt it right away.”

They walked a narrow trail walled in by chaga-laden birch, sound-absorbing moss and bog, listening to the quiet — real quiet, the sort that feels like a physical presence. That was all it took.

“When we got to that trail,” Ryan said, “we had already made our decision. The place felt beautiful in this quiet, healing way. Something about the bog, the wildlife… the whole forest just feels calm.”

They didn’t know then that winter would strike early that year, or that the cold would plunge into a once-in-a-generation polar vortex. Ice locked wildlife in place. Temperatures dropped below anything they had prepared for.

“That was the earliest winter I had ever experienced,” Jesse said.

They’d already chosen the place. Now the place would shape them.

“We had no idea what we were doing,” Ryan admitted, laughing now at what must have felt terrifying then. “We knew nothing of off-grid living. Nothing about heating with wood properly or how much preparation it actually takes.”

Survival skills weren’t a lifestyle choice — they were mandatory. Their closest neighbor was three-quarters of a mile away. There was no one to run to when things froze, failed or fell apart.

But the seclusion also offered a rare freedom. No traffic. No machines humming in the background. Just the forest’s own hush.

“It’s grounding,” Jesse said. “Nothing fantastical, but thrilling in its own way. A safe spot.”

A studio built by hand and vision

What drew them deeper into the woods — and kept them there — was the idea of building a studio. Their modus operandi in the past was to rent cabins in the woods as retreats to record their music.
But they always dreamed of their own space. Not a converted room. Not a basement setup. A real studio, from the ground up.

They learned every necessary trade the same way they learned to survive winter: by necessity. Masonry, electrical work, soundproofing, framing, roofing. Duluth clay, Virginia masonry, salvaged materials hauled at great cost to their backs but little cost to their budget.
YouTube became a mentor. So did every musician they knew. They listened to rooms, to spaces, to echoes.

“I tried to use my ears everywhere,” Ryan said. “To hear what makes a room sound good.”
They designed high ceilings for openness and tone, and carved out soundproofed side rooms for amps or vocals — each with windows so no musician would feel isolated. Line of sight was essential.

The build took much longer than any hired crew would tolerate, but they weren’t after speed.
“When we give ourselves a hard deadline, all the enjoyment gets taken out,” Ryan said. “This is our one big building. The last one. It had to be right.”

Their studio sits almost reverently in the clearing — tall, open, waiting for music. The brothers joke about the endless hauling, the near falls from the rafters, the vow never to build something this massive again. But pride glows quietly in every detail.

When it’s done, the studio will be more than a workspace. It will be the physical culmination of what they’ve lived for years: a home built by hand, a sanctuary for sound and a testament to the idea that music isn’t only something you make — it’s something you live in.

Enter the world of Brothers Burn Mountain with 25-year retrospective

As they near completion of their hand-built recording studio, the Brothers Burn Mountain have also prepared a 25-year retrospective collection — 20 songs of cinematic scope and the unbridled musicality shared by brothers Jesse and Ryan Dermody.

The resulting CD, 25 Years, is an amazing musical document.

Asked whether they want listeners to hear evolution in the collection, Ryan laughed: “I don’t want to speak for my brother, but yes — unexpected evolution. The kind that happens without trying.”

If you’ve ever seen them, you know these guys are true originals. But you always have to wonder about the influences that shaped them, perhpas even if they didn’t know it.

For example, I am a longtime not-fan of U2. However, hearing the song “Little Song Bird,” I felt like I was hearing the greatest lost U2 track ever recorded, minus The Edge’s one-note noodling. This track is just one of the many glorious songs in this collection.

I’m also a longtime fan of Marc Bolan and the first incarnation of his most famous band, Tyrannosaurus Rex, which preceded his glam rock version shortened to T Rex.

Just as 16-year-old me was fascinated and even intoxicated by the exotic sounds of the Tyrannosaurus Rex duo – Steve Peregrin Took on percussion and Marc Bolan on everything else – modern me is totally sucked into the deep sonic landscapes the Brothers Burn Mountain create. I feel the same sense of mystery and wonder in the Brothers Burn Mountain that I felt listening to the musical, Tolkeinesque world of late-1960s Bolan (I should add that it probably helped that I was reading Tolkein at the time).

In the first version of his band Bolan was into psychedelic, rhythmically hypnotic folk-rock music. When I heard the Brothers’ song “Off My Feet,” I had to ask – was T Rex an influence?

“That guy’s great,” Ryan said of late T-Rex founder Marc Bolan, “but as much as any other band, we’re influenced by everything and nothing at the same time.”

A great answer and worth knowing going into other ideas of the eclectic sounds of the Brothers Burn Mountain as captured on this 25-year retrospective.

I heard on another song something reminiscent of The Beta Band’s dreamy Scottish grooves. The brothers take the comparisons as compliments, but they aren’t chasing anyone’s sound.

The bass-heavy song “No Ghost” could be a tribute to Pink Floyd and/or to David Lynch/Angelo Baldamenti. Again, it’s cinematic and achingly mysterious.

A few recognizable names – Alan Sparhawk, Rich Mattson, Germaine Gemberling, Colleen “Boss Mama” Myrhe– are listed in the credits, people who have joined them on the recordings from which they mined this rich material.

If you have not caught the brothers live, do so. This is their life and they give it.

You can pick up a copy of 25 Years at a Brothers Burn Mountain show, or email them to buy a copy, dermody2@gmail.com.