Sometimes it's hard to imagine that David Eugene Edwards is a real person. The grandson of a traveling Nazarene preacher, his story is steeped in the lore of backwoods holy rollers and fire-and-brimstone sermonizing, making him seem like he should be a character largely proscribed to myth (or at least a Flannery O'Connor novel), a man with no roots, no beginning and no end. A self-described true believer, he is responsible for some of the most harrowingly evil sounds to be released in the last 10 years. To be sure, a lot of murky water has lapped against the side of the dam since their 1995 self-titled debut EP, with the band winding through four full-length albums and finding a formerly unexplored route through the Appalachian mountains whose exit led them into the Balkans and the roots of Eastern European folk music. But one thing has remained constant: David Eugene Edwards is a singularly possessed talent, arguably the most capable of his generation's peddlers of rural American doom, donning the authentic field garb of generations buried in miles of pastoral dust with a complete lack of contrivance. Of course, if that authenticity flows from a genuine persona, that's a frightening proposition, as few of us would want to spend even a day in the world of murder-minded sinners awaiting imminent judgment and backwoods thugs lying in wait to steal the breath of the innocent. But, as Olden proves, Edwards and his bandmates did have a beginning. And it was with a set of demos from 1993 and 1994.

The first six tracks, taken from a set of 1993 demos entitled the Night Owl Session, proves what the band may have originally lacked in focus was made up in intensity. An almost stereotypically boinging jaw harp (formerly known to all you non-PC'ers as a Jew's harp), opens an embryonic “American Wheeze,” with accordion rushing in before drums snap to attention to create a menacingly hypnotic swirl. With dire prognostications like “If I die by your hand, I've got a home in glory land,” Edwards had already nailed his haunted prophet persona, although his vocals here are a bit more mumbled and low in the mix than they would be on official releases. The rest of the tracks, most of which would end up on 1996's Sackcloth 'N' Ashes (a caustically surging “Scrawled in Sap” and an ominously marching “I Seen What I Saw”) feature a bit more electric slide guitar and a more streamlined version of the cavernous growl that would define them on the official release, meaning that they are somewhat less supercharged but every bit as intense.

The second set of six tracks, selected from the 1994 Kerr Macy Sessions, shows the band having moved forward a step or two while retaining their frightful concentration. Edwards sounds more confident; his phrasing isn't as slurred, his vocals are louder and clearer, meaning that when he warns, “I ain't afraid of you no more” on “South Pennsylvania Waltz,” whether issued to the devil or a flesh and blood tormentor, it sounds even more possessed than it would otherwise. On “Shametown” we hear Edwards employ double-tracked vocals for the first time in the set, utilized perfectly over the complex back and forth pull between the rambling folk picking (coaxing a believable banjo impersonation out of an electric guitar) of the verses and the more standard 4/4 beat and folk song references of the chorus. Of special interest to 16HP completists is “Train Serenade,” a stomping, somewhat conventional, never-released rarity, and one of the few songs in the band's catalogue to not feature Edwards on lead vocals. As before, the rest feature arrangements slightly different and melodies that bend in slightly dissimilar ways than those that would appear on the official release (with the extended ending of “My Narrow Mind” holding particular appeal), giving them more than simple archival value.

The final six tracks are taken from a 1994 live performance, showing the band to be leaner and more straightforward in performance. Another rarity, the B-side-only “Slow Guilt Trot” showcases a more decidedly rockabilly edge to the band, although Edwards impresses for the pure power of his vocals, proving that no studio tricks are involved in coaxing out the volume he seems to effortlessly produce. A stronger propulsive drive is present in the live dynamic, whether bubbling up through the sad plodding carnival “Low Estate” or pulsing ghoulishly over the funereal accordion (or is that a bandoneon?) of “Pure Clob Road.” It's here that the band most resembles influences such as the much-lauded, little-known Gun Club, with much of the nuance and careful authenticity giving way to the pure emotion of performance.

So, Olden does, indeed, prove that Sixteen Horsepower are a band of rather auspicious beginnings. No doubt, their sonic palette was still missing a few hues, and the Holy Ghost haunted atmosphere was a bit less intimidating, but the foundational elements that continue to define their unique vision to this day were already present and in evidence. And while Olden doesn't hold together as well as any of 16HP's full-length records, that's clearly not the point. Providing entry to the creative process, while surprisingly not demythologizing or dulling Edwards' enigmatic persona, the album allows the constituent elements of their genius to emerge a little more clearly for those of us not inclined to see them otherwise. If anyone wants to know just where the doomed 16HP express first found its rails, this is the place to look.