The Backward-Footed Woman of the Mountains: The Legend of La Ciguapa

Deep within the forests and mountains of the Dominican Republic lives one of the Caribbean’s strangest and most haunting legends: La Ciguapa.

Unlike many monsters born from violence or revenge, La Ciguapa exists somewhere between spirit, woman, and wild animal. She is not entirely evil - yet she is rarely harmless. For generations, Dominican folklore has described her as a mysterious creature that lingers just beyond the edge of civilization -  watching from the trees, moving silently through dense jungle, and vanishing before anyone can truly understand what she is.

Descriptions of La Ciguapa remain remarkably consistent across the Dominican Republic. She is said to resemble a beautiful young woman with long, dark hair that hangs nearly to the ground. Her skin is often described as bronze or darkened by moonlight, blending into the forest itself. But the detail that defines her - the feature that turns beauty into unease - is her feet.

They face backwards, ensuring no one can trace her path.

Hunters tracking her through the mountains would follow footprints only to become hopelessly lost. Trails seemed to double back on themselves. Signs pointed in the wrong direction. A person could believe they were moving toward her when, in reality, they were wandering farther into the wilderness.

Many stories say La Ciguapa appears near rivers, caves, and hidden mountain paths. She is nocturnal, emerging after sunset when the jungle grows quiet and mist clings to the trees. Witnesses often claim she is shy, almost curious, observing humans from a distance before disappearing into brush and shadow.

Yet there is danger in seeing her.

According to Dominican legend, La Ciguapa is known for luring men deeper into isolated places. Some versions portray her as seductive -  not in a glamorous sense, but in a hypnotic, almost supernatural way. Men who followed her into the forest were said to become lost, enchanted, or never return at all. Others came back confused, unable to explain where they had been or why they wandered so far.

The legend likely carries echoes of much older beliefs tied to nature spirits and Indigenous Caribbean mythology. Some folklorists believe La Ciguapa may trace back to the Taíno people, who inhabited the island long before colonization. 

The Taíno were the original inhabitants of much of the Caribbean - including Cuba, Hispaniola, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, and the Bahamas - when Christopher Columbus landed in 1492. Descended from South American Arawak peoples, they built a sophisticated agricultural culture with thriving communities that once numbered in the millions. Their world changed dramatically after European arrival, as disease, enslavement, and violent conflict devastated the population.

In these interpretations, she becomes less of a monster and more of a guardian of untamed wilderness - a being meant to keep humans from taking too much from the forest.

There are even stories claiming La Ciguapa can only be captured under strange conditions. One belief says she can be trapped only during a full moon and only with the help of a black dog that has no white markings. Even then, capturing her supposedly brings misfortune rather than understanding.

Like many enduring legends, La Ciguapa survives because she refuses to fit neatly into a category. She is not exactly a ghost, not entirely an animal, and not simply a witch or demon. She belongs to the mountains themselves - a figure born from isolation, mystery, and the fear of becoming lost in places where humans do not belong.

In the Dominican countryside, some still avoid wandering alone into dense forest after dark. Because if you notice footprints heading one direction while somehow seeming to walk the other, you may already be following La Ciguapa.

Famous Cases: The Flatwoods Monster of Braxton County, West Virginia

In the misty hills of central West Virginia, where the Appalachian night swallows sound and shadow alike, a single evening in 1952 etched itself into American folklore. On September 12, a bright object streaked across the twilight sky like a falling star. What followed wasn't a simple meteor shower. What came was a horror film entity come to life, a towering figure that locals still whisper about as the Flatwoods Monster.

This isn't just another tall tale from the backwoods. It's a story that gripped the nation during the height of UFO fever, blending eyewitness panic, a sickening mist, and a creature straight out of a 1950s sci-fi nightmare. Decades later, it remains one of the most vividly described - and hotly debated - close encounters in U.S. history.

It was around 7:15 p.m. in the small town of Flatwoods, Braxton County. A group of boys - brothers Edward and Fred May, along with their friend Tommy Hyer - were playing outside when they spotted a fiery object hurtling overhead. It seemed to land on a nearby hillside owned by farmer G. Bailey Fisher.

Excited, the boys rushed home to tell Kathleen May, mother of the May brothers. She gathered a small search party: herself, the boys, local kids Neil Nunley and Ronnie Shaver, and her cousin Eugene "Gene" Lemon, a 17-year-old West Virginia National Guardsman. Flashlight in hand, the group trekked up the hill under the gathering dusk.

At the crest, they encountered a pulsing red light and a strange, metallic odor that burned their eyes and throats. Lemon swept his flashlight beam across the darkness - and froze.

There, about 10 to 12 feet tall, stood the creature.

Eyewitness descriptions painted a chilling picture: a round, blood-red face glowing with an otherworldly light, framed by a pointed, hood-like shape resembling the ace of spades. Below it, a dark, metallic-looking "dress" or pleated skirt tapered downward, giving the figure a rigid, almost robotic appearance. Some recalled small, claw-like hands extended menacingly. The being seemed to levitate or glide rather than walk, and as the group stared in horror, it emitted a hissing or squealing sound before moving toward them.

Panic erupted. The dog accompanying the group whimpered and fled. The witnesses scrambled down the hill, some retching from the noxious mist that lingered in the air. 

Kathleen May later described the head as "fiery red" with no discernible features beyond those terrible, glowing eyes. Lemon reportedly dropped his flashlight and never looked back.

The next day, local authorities and reporters descended on Flatwoods. The story exploded in newspapers with headlines screaming about a "monster from outer space" arriving via saucer. A New York artist even sketched the creature based on Kathleen May's description - an image that has since become iconic.

The Flatwoods Monster wasn't a fleeting shadow. Multiple witnesses - adults and children - corroborated the core details, though minor variations emerged over time (height estimates ranged from 7 to 12 feet; some emphasized the "metallic dress," others the clawed hands). A pungent, irritating odor and physical symptoms like nausea added an unsettling layer of credibility.

The timing was perfect for UFO hysteria. Just five years after Roswell and amid the early Cold War, strange lights in the sky fueled speculation of extraterrestrial visitors. Some theorists suggested the creature was an injured alien pilot from a crashed craft, its "suit" damaged and leaking toxic fumes. Others tied it to broader 1952 "flap" of sightings across the U.S.

Yet skeptics offer more earthly explanations. Investigator Joe Nickell of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry visited the site decades later and concluded the "bright object" was likely a meteor - visible across multiple states that night. The pulsating red light? Possibly an aircraft beacon. And the monster itself?

A barn owl.

Startled by the flashlight, a female barn owl (known for reddish facial coloring and aggressive threat displays when protecting a nest) could have spread its wings, creating the spade-shaped silhouette in the shadows and foliage. Its hissing call and sudden movement match the reports, while the "skirt" might have been underbrush or the owl's lower body. The brief sighting - mere seconds before the group fled - left room for fear and imagination to fill in the gaps.

No physical evidence (footprints, craft debris, or residue) was ever recovered, and the "landing site" showed no burn marks or unusual traces beyond what a meteor might leave.

Still, believers point out that the witnesses weren't hoaxers - they were ordinary folks whose lives were upended by genuine terror. Kathleen May and others stood by their accounts for years. A similar sighting reportedly occurred nearby the next day, and some link the creature to later Appalachian lore.

The day after the September 12th incident, the weirdness spread south. George and Edith Snitowsky were driving through the rural stretch between Clay and Braxton County on Route 4 - their infant son in tow - when their car died without warning on a deserted night road. Then came the sulfurous smell. Their baby started screaming. A blinding light flooded the dark and a ten-foot creature materialized in front of the car, hovering. The description tracked closely with the Fisher Farm sighting, with one notable difference - no spade-shaped hood. Instead, the head was bony and reptilian. The thing dragged a lizard-like hand slowly across the hood before drifting into the treeline. The moment it vanished, the car started. They didn't stop driving. Snitowsky would eventually tell the whole story to Male Magazine in July 1955.

Also noteworthy, before the infamous Fisher Farm incident, a Flatwoods-adjacent sighting had already occurred near Heaters, a small town about five miles north. Audra Harper and a friend were cutting through the woods to avoid a rutted, nearly impassable road when they spotted a ball of fire on a nearby hill. Harper brushed it off  - "probably a neighbor out fox chasing" -  but when she looked back, the fire was gone. In its place stood a tall, dark, man-shaped silhouette. The two women fled into the rocks and boulders on the hillside and didn't look back.

The Flatwoods Monster quickly transcended the hills of West Virginia. It inspired songs, books (including Gray Barker's sensational UFO writings), and even early video game appearances in Japan. Today, it features in Fallout 76, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask (as "Them"), and countless cryptid documentaries. Flatwoods itself embraces the legend with a dedicated museum, oversized "Monster Chairs," and roadside signage welcoming visitors to "Braxton County Monster" territory.

A giant Flatwoods Monster chair welcomes visitors, and there are 4 more featured throughout Braxton County.  These 10-foot-tall, 4-foot-wide chairs are part of a tourism scavenger hunt and are located in Flatwoods, Sutton, and Gassaway. Each of the five chairs wears a unique paint scheme designed by Andrew Smith to evoke the 1952 creature and visitors are encouraged to collect a sticker by photographing yourself with all of them. They all capture that unforgettable spade-headed silhouette with piercing eyes. Vibrant modern illustrations capture the monster's eerie, otherworldly presence in the woods. 

The Flatwoods Monster endures because it taps into something primal: the fear of the unknown hurtling down from the stars into our quiet backyards. Whether it was a misidentified bird amplified by mass suggestion and meteor excitement, or a genuine visitor from beyond, the story reminds us how easily the ordinary can twist into the extraordinary under the right (or wrong) conditions.

Next time you're driving through Braxton County at dusk, keep your flashlight handy - and your eyes on the treetops. You might just catch a glimpse of glowing orange eyes staring back. In the hills of West Virginia, some legends refuse to die. And the Phantom of Flatwoods still glides through the night, ace of spades and all.

Monsters, Metal, and Chilean Lore: A Conversation with Artist Claudio Bergamin

Heavy metal has always had a strange relationship with the unknown. Its imagery thrives in shadow - masked figures, foggy landscapes, ancient symbols, monsters, forgotten gods, and worlds that hover just outside the real. Album covers often become more than decoration; they act like portals into the mood and mythology of the music itself. Few artists understand that visual language better than Claudio Bergamin.

Known for his striking work across the metal world, Bergamin creates paintings that feel massive in scale and cinematic in tone. His artwork for bands like Judas Priest doesn’t simply illustrate songs - it builds entire universes around them. There’s movement in his work, a sense that something is happening just beyond the frame. 

Machines merge with mythology. Figures appear suspended between science fiction and ancient legend. The result feels both futuristic and timeless.

What makes Bergamin especially fascinating is how naturally his art overlaps with the kind of themes explored here on Blue Banana. His imagery often brushes against the unexplained. There are echoes of UFO lore, cryptid-like forms, spiritual symbolism, and dreamlike environments that seem to exist outside ordinary reality. 

His paintings invite questions rather than answers, which may be why they linger in the mind long after you’ve seen them.

Claudio Bergamin 

Growing up in Chile, Bergamin was surrounded by a culture rich with folklore, mysticism, and stories passed through generations. Those influences may not always appear directly, but they seem to live beneath the surface of his work. There’s a feeling that his art comes from somewhere deeper than simple imagination - as if he’s translating fragments of something already waiting to be discovered.

In this interview, we talk about the connection between heavy metal and visual storytelling, the strange pull of the paranormal, and how imagination, culture, and mystery collide inside the creative process.

You grew up in Chile - how did that environment shape the way you see monsters, mythology, and the unknown?

Interesting question. While South America doesn’t have Sasquatch, it certainly has its own rich tradition of mythological creatures and monster lore. I clearly remember my parents and relatives telling stories about strange creatures in southern Chile ever since I was a child. Many of these legends have ancient roots in the indigenous tribes that inhabited what is now Chile and Argentina long before the arrival of Spanish explorers. 

That said, we did experience a wave of Chupacabra sightings in northern Chile in the late 90s, particularly in the extremely arid desert region. Some witnesses described a bipedal creature that moved in an ape-like manner. I even personally met one witness who claimed to have seen a bizarre animal perched on top of a palm tree. According to him, it resembled a mandrill  - a species that is definitely not native to that area.

"Heavy Metal '84" Artwork by Claudio Bergamin

Do you think your visual style carries something from your roots, even when you’re painting futuristic or cosmic scenes?

I’m sorry to say no. I don’t want to come across as disloyal to my cultural heritage, but as a kid and later as a teenager, I simply wasn’t interested in the traditional artistic styles or subject matter of my homeland. All I cared about was fantasy and science fiction. At the time, the most celebrated Chilean art was heavily political, which really annoyed me. On top of that, the kind of work I was pursuing was often viewed as childish and superficial, arrogantly dismissed by professors and critics as a lesser form of art. “Oh that is just comic strips”. It is ironic that of all the people I met when I was in Art School back in the day, I am the only one currently working as a professional artist. I guess I am a stubborn guy.

Latin American folklore is full of strange creatures and legends - did any of those early stories stick with you and show up in your art later?

In my art? Not yet. But a few of those stories stand out in my mind and who knows, I might explore them one day. There’s an island in southern Chile called Chiloé, famous for its incredibly rich creature lore. That part of our culture truly fascinated me. 

In Chilote mythology of southern Chile, El Caleuche is a legendary ghost ship that sails the foggy canals of Chiloé. Appearing at night as a brilliantly lit white vessel filled with music and revelry, it is crewed by drowned sailors, witches, and demons. The magical ship can shapeshift, vanish instantly, or submerge underwater, luring victims with its enchanting lights and sounds. 

Also from Chilote mythology, El Trauco is a short, ugly dwarf-like creature who dwells deep in the forests. With no feet, a grotesque face, and a small stone axe, he uses his hypnotic gaze and breath to irresistibly seduce women, often impregnating them. Unexplained pregnancies in the region are traditionally blamed on encounters with this perverse forest spirit. 

From that same area La Pincoya is a beautiful sea spirit with long golden hair. She personifies the fertility of the ocean and dances on the beaches or in the waves. If she dances facing the sea, fishermen enjoy abundant catches; if she faces inland, seafood becomes scarce.

Another strange creature from Chiloé is the Imbunche. A horribly deformed guardian monster created by warlocks (brujos). According to the legend, it starts as a kidnapped baby whose body is ritually twisted: its head is rotated backwards, limbs are broken and contorted, and one arm is often inserted through a hole in its back so it appears to grow out from behind. It usually walks on one foot (with the other leg twisted behind it), making it a grotesque, crippled-looking being that guards the entrance to caves of sorcery. Alan Moore featured this character in his Swamp Thing series, published by DC Comics.

What was your gateway into heavy metal culture, and how did it fuse with your art style?

The artwork of the Heavy Metal world fascinated me just as much as the music itself. I remember spending hours at stores going through shelves and shelves of vinyl records, mesmerized by the incredible album covers created by legendary artists like Ken Kelly, Derek Riggs, and Roger Dean. That’s my earliest memory of Heavy Metal music.

My first rock heroes, however, were Queen. Their career spanned so many different styles, including heavy rock and metal, so when I started exploring heavier and faster music as a teenager, it felt like a natural progression.

Funnily enough, the high school friend who introduced me to Heavy Metal quickly grew out of it, but I’ll never forget the day he handed me Iron Maiden’s Piece of Mind. I became an instant fan. From there, I dove headfirst down the metal rabbit hole and discovered Judas Priest, Metallica, Mötley Crüe, W.A.S.P., Helloween, and Mercyful Fate. Bands that remain my favorites to this day.

As for how it all fused with my artistic style? It was simple. I had been obsessed with comic books since childhood, and many of those artists shared a very similar aesthetic to the bold, dramatic graphics of Heavy Metal album covers. Going from drawing cartoon and comic book characters as a kid to creating album art graphics as an adult felt completely natural to me.

The cover to Firepower by Judas Priest 

Describe the process in becoming the primary artist for Judas Priest cover art.

I had already been doing design work for Richie Faulkner before he even joined Judas Priest. After he became part of the band, I continued collaborating with him on various projects, including branding, his official guitar picks, and even an emblem for his stage outfit.

What many people don’t know is that I started proposing concepts to Judas Priest as early as the Redeemer of Souls era (2013), back when the album was still under the working title Metalizer. For that project, I created a series of sketches featuring cybernetic faces, though the band ultimately decided to go in a different direction.

That experience only strengthened my desire to bring Judas Priest’s aesthetic back to the iconic robotic creatures that Doug Johnson created in the 80s. So when the time came to pitch ideas for Firepower, which happened to be on a Friday, I already had a very clear vision in mind. Remarkably, Richie shared the same vision for the artwork, and we spent the entire weekend exchanging concepts and inspiration over text. By Monday morning, I had a finished sketch ready to present to the rest of the band, and by Monday evening, it was officially approved and given the green light.

Everything just seemed to fall into place perfectly. It was a truly fascinating experience.

Heavy metal has always embraced the epic, the dark, and the otherworldly - what drew you to that world as an artist?

As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been into fantasy cartoons, comics, and anime ever since I was a little kid. Transitioning from that to the dramatic (and often horror-tinged) aesthetics of Heavy Metal felt completely natural to me. It was all part of my programming.

Your interest in UFOs and cryptids - what is it about those subjects that resonates with you personally?

I don’t know, it’s hard to say for sure. I was simply drawn to these subjects from a very early age. I clearly remember being fascinated by TV shows like “In Search of…” and “UFOs Are Real” when I was a kid. “Unsolved Mysteries” also had a few UFO episodes that caught my attention.

Since I was already so deeply into fantasy and science fiction as genres, discovering that there were real-life cases with that same fantastic quality felt completely irresistible to me. It’s also worth mentioning that my mom was into Erich von Däniken and J.J. Benítez back when these topics were still very fringe, especially in Chile, where almost no one was talking about them. I definitely have to give her credit for introducing me to so many of these “crazy” subjects early on.

Claudio created cover the art work for Lyle
Blackburn's book Beyond Boggy Creek.

Have you ever had a personal experience with anything unexplained? Did it influence your art?

Yes. I actually saw a ghost once, or to be more precise, a Shadow Entity. By that time, I was already deeply into high strangeness, cryptozoology, and ufology. All of it built up years later to the point where I felt compelled to start illustrating these topics in my own style, which is exactly what I did in 2016.

If you could create the ultimate album cover about a real-life paranormal event, which case would you choose?

Interesting question. Well, I have created a bunch of book covers for Paranormal authors and that is not that different from doing album covers. But I would say either the Roswell Crash or The Philadelphia Experiment.

Aliens land tomorrow and make contact with you - what’s the first Metal album you’re showing them?

Ha ha. You’re funny. It probably wouldn’t be a Heavy Metal album but maybe something prog rock, like “The Universal Migrator” by Ayreon.

You can explore more of Claudio Bergamin’s vivid and otherworldly creations through his online art store, where his signature blend of heavy metal imagery, fantasy, cryptids, and cosmic mystery comes to life in prints, originals, and collectible pieces. It’s a chance to step deeper into the visual universe that fuels both his imagination and his unmistakable artistic style.

Other Notable Links: The Creature of Boggy Creek artwork

                                          UFO Collection - Bergamin Art 

                                  Bigfoot Collection - Bergamin Art 

                                  Judas Priest Firepower - Bergamin 

                                  Heavy Metal '84 - A tribute to KISS - Bergamin Art 

                        

Now Playing: My House On Mars - Ayreon 

Iowa Bigfoot Newspaper Project: Bigfoot lives near West Bend

 

- There have been several newspaper accounts of Bigfoot sightings in Iowa throughout the decades and by all accounts, they have been lost to time. As I find them, I will transcribe and post them here, for easy viewing. These articles paint a fascinating picture of historic Iowa Lore and the people who investigates it. -

Bigfoot lives near West Bend

But the costume is safely hidden from vigilante guns

By ART CULLEN

It was a dark, if not stormy, late July night 35 years ago when a nine-year-old girl from Ottosen in Kossuth County spotted a “short, hairy, ape-like animal with fangs and deep-set eyes” that stood in shadows a few inches away and growled.

Three nights later, the girl’s 11-year-old sister saw the same creature walking on Main Street in the village just east of West Bend on the Humboldt County line.

And in early August there were even more sightings of a short version — maybe five feet tall — of Sasquatch making grunting, squealing and whining noises.

By then the world’s media had swooped in on Ottosen. It already was a big story in Iowa.

“What she saw that night may have been Bigfoot, the beast rumored since July to be responsible for eerie night screams, broken fences, stampeded cattle, chewed-up cats, mangled rabbits and the death of a dog whose neck had been broken while it was chained near the home of its master. It — named or nameless, male or female or something biologically unknown — has been seen since. So have the terror and uncertainty,” wrote Steve Klaus in The Des Moines Register of the day.

Bigfoot was seen near Renwick in Humboldt County. It was seen near Boone and Atlantic and even in the dense woods of northeast Iowa.

“It was the biggest scam in the history of Iowa,” Jerome Kohlhaas, 62, told me at the bar of the Algona Country Club on Friday.

Kohlhaas knows who it was. The grin says it all.

And it was not a gorilla from the mists of the Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest.

It was a farmboy from St. Joe, Iowa, a hamlet on Hwy. 169 halfway between Algona and Humboldt.

The costume is around somewhere, but nobody is saying where.

Mr. Bigfoot hung up the hair once the guns came out. Defenders of home and hearth took to the gravel roads along the East and West Forks of the Upper Des Moines River with shotguns in search of their trophy.

“When they started shooting, the outfit disappeared,” said Kohlhaas, a cropdusting pilot who figures he has survived 35 lives. He has rolled so many cars, crashed so many planes and otherwise engaged in a life of hail and harrow that it makes him wonder why others die and he prevails.

“I guess there’s a reason I’m still here,” he said.

The bartender is putting six-packs of bottled beer into the cooler. Someone bids for a drink. The bartender leaves the sixers on the bar and Kohlhaas tries to hand them to women he knows. He is a merry prankster 24/7.

He knows nothing of mangled cats or strangled dogs. He pretty much knows Bigfoot’s range around Ottosen. He does not know how I might contact Bigfoot.

A woman from New York once approached him about writing a book. Kohlhaas said he didn’t know what she was talking about. Then he stops:

“Hey, everybody! There’s food in the other room! Let’s go get it!” he proclaims to the crowd at the bar.

Everyone falls in line behind the Pied Piper.

My old college chum Walter Bradley from Algona has a pretty good idea who Bigfoot was. He about cracks a rib laughing over the phone.

“Somebody said they saw Bigfoot walking down a road when a truck drove by hauling a wagon. Bigfoot flew into the wagon at full speed,” Bradley recalled.

He is an old buddy of Kohlhaas. But he ain’t spilling much, other than to say that Bigfoot was not the missing link. Bigfoot is short and balding with a bit of a beer belly.

Most people knew the gig was up when a girl riding her bike in Ottosen saw Bigfoot and screamed. Parents came out of the house. They searched near a shed. Someone heard a man’s voice say, “Anybody know what time it is?”

Nobody had a notion where the voice came from. Sasquatch speaks! The kids all scattered for safety.

And he was never heard from again.

But he is still out there. Eternally a teenager. A wise-guy smile etched on his lips at all times. And alive to tell about it.

Someday someone will out him. Maybe Jerome Kohlhaas will be the one with the courage to lift the veil of hair and rubber.

But probably not, so long as people still chase the legend. There’s even a TV show about Bigfoot sightings. Kohlhaas is one to savor a scam over letting it just end so cleanly. He just might like a TV cameo.

Storm Lake Times Pilot - February 25, 2014 

Travelling Through Time: An Interview With Tommy Spase

They call Los Angeles home, but what they’ve built sounds like it rolled in from somewhere far stranger - like a traveling show that doesn’t follow roads so much as it follows energy, appearing wherever the weird is welcome and the ordinary doesn't stand a chance.

Step right up - don’t be shy - slip past the velvet rope and into the flicker of a half-lit midway where the calliope hums and the night feels alive with something electric.

This is where Tommy Spase and the Alchemists set up shop, not so much a band as a full-blown spectacle, equal parts carnival, cosmic transmission, and beautifully controlled chaos. A swirl of color, character, and sound. Cloaked figures, cosmic drifters, alchemists with glitter on their hands and stardust in their lungs. It’s as much a visual fever dream as it is a sonic one - half rock show, half living, breathing illustration. You don’t just hear it… you see it unfolding in real time.

They don’t so much perform songs as they conjure them - like some strange carnival has torn loose from time and is now rolling through a neon-lit dreamscape, powered by steam, stardust, and something just slightly unhinged. If you tried to pin them down to a genre, you’d miss the point. This is music that shape-shifts.

At its core, their sound feels like a collision. You get flashes of carnival rock, theatrical glam, psychedelic swirl, and something that almost borders on operatic storytelling. There are moments that hit like a runaway roller coaster - loud, chaotic, electrified - and then, just as suddenly, the band pulls you into a slow, hypnotic waltz, like you’ve wandered into the quieter corner of a haunted midway. It’s controlled madness. Intentional weirdness.

And that’s the key. Nothing about Tommy Spase and the Alchemists feels accidental.

The band has been described as a “spasedelic, steam-powered carnival rock opera,” and that actually lands closer to the truth than anything else. There’s a theatrical backbone running through everything they do. You can hear it in the arrangements - the rise and fall, the dramatic turns, the sense that each song is less a track and more a scene. This isn’t background music. It demands your attention, like a ringmaster stepping into the spotlight.

But what really sets them apart is their commitment to atmosphere. There’s a Tim Burton - like quality to their world - dark, whimsical, slightly off-center. Their sound feels populated by characters rather than just musicians. You don’t just listen - you step into something. A universe where velvet-coated ringmasters, starlight smugglers, cosmic drifters, and carnival ghosts all share the same stage.

It’s theatrical, but not polished in a sterile way. There’s grit underneath it. A kind of raw, churning energy that keeps it from becoming parody. The band walks a tightrope between chaos and control, and somehow never falls.

That balance is rare.

The Carousel Cabaret  - You can get a FREE copy
at the link below.

In a music landscape that often rewards safe repetition, Tommy Spase and the Alchemist lean hard into identity. They don’t smooth out their edges - they sharpen them. And in doing so, they’ve built something that feels alive. It's unpredictable... maybe a little dangerous.. yet perfectly safe. 

It's the kind of sound that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled onto something you weren’t supposed to find.

Step into his website and wander a while - it’s a strange, captivating space where circus, magic, and conversation all unfold together.

Reaching out to Tommy through his website doesn’t feel like filling out a contact form - it feels like stepping onto a path that’s already in motion. You don’t just send a message and wait; you’re pulled into something warmer, stranger, more personal. There’s an open invitation baked into the whole experience, like he’s not just hoping you’ll write, he’s expecting it - and welcoming it. The responses carry a kind of genuine enthusiasm that turns a simple exchange into the beginning of a conversation, and before long, it feels less like artist-and-audience and more like the early stages of a friendship. Then come the surprises - free gifts, unexpected extras, little tokens that make the whole thing feel tactile and real. It’s not marketing, it’s not distance - it’s connection. And honestly, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

He is currently offering one of the band's most popular albums, “The Carousel Cabaret” for FREE. All he asks is that you pay for shipping and handling.

Somewhere between the smoke and the spotlight, I caught up with Tommy Spase himself - the ringmaster behind the madness. What followed was less an interview and more of a glimpse behind the curtain, where the illusion fades just enough to reveal something even stranger.

Before we get weird - can you tell readers a little about your musical background and what kind of music you make?

I grew up in a somewhat musical family. My Mom graduated with a degree in music and taught music. However, oddly enough, she never taught me directly. At one point she urged me to take piano lessons which I regrettably did not. I did however feel a calling to the guitar and taught myself how to play.  I only had an acoustic for the first few years but upon seeing an electric guitar, and the thin body, I knew one day I would get one, which my mom really didn't want to happen. She, of course, ended up supporting my musical journey. As far as the kind of music I make, I describe it as Whimsical, Mystical, Theatrical, Cosmic Vaudevillian Rock ...or… Carnival Rock Opera.

Your sound feels like it exists outside of time - part vaudeville, part rock opera, part something harder to define. How would you describe it in your own words?

I am glad that you mentioned the Timeless feel of it. It is always felt that way to me as well. There was a point in my musical journey where instead of being so wrapped up in my influences that the songs, and music I wrote emulated a certain sound, the songs started writing themselves, so to speak. They truly do come from somewhere else. So the sound is rooted in the tapestry of “people’s music” as it evolved through the human experience, like old gypsy folk songs or spiritual music from the jungle. But it doesn't escape the influences from my early days as a rock guitar player.

Do you write songs like traditional musicians… or do they start as characters, scenes, or stories first?

I can't speak to how traditional musicians write songs, but as I mentioned before they, more often than not, write themselves. At some point I will get an inspiration, or a nudge, or feeling to grab the guitar and then I will quickly stumble onto a musical phrase or a riff and it will strike me as something special. Other times, a turn of a phrase, or a few words, will grab my attention and it's like a little bell goes off and I know it is great lyric, or the lyrical thrust of a song, or the title of a song. Then there is a phase of developing the song and, of course, a creative dance between my own songwriting craft and allowing it to present itself. Oftentimes I jot down these little inspirations on a voice memo and don't come back to it for weeks or months only to listen to it again and have my mind blown as to where that came from. Ultimately, it is a spiritual experience.

Your world overlaps heavily with horror, steampunk, and the unexplained - what personally draws you to the paranormal? 

Ever since I can remember I've had a fascination with the Paranormal. In my younger years I was way into UFOs, extraterrestrials, Sci-Fi, the unexplained and the mystical. I have heard my music categorized as being associated with "horror" as a pop culture genre but it really isn't. "Horror" to me, is more about terror and fear and victimization and that couldn't be farther from the message of my music. The interesting thing about the steampunk thread is that there was a point in time when I gravitated towards the aesthetic of brass and copper gadgetry from some vintage form of technology that I didn't really understand where it was coming from. This was before I knew there was the term "steampunk" or an entire movement. When I discovered this,  I realized I was tapping into the same stream of consciousness that others were. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is some kind of unconscious memory of living in the time of Tartaria, if that was indeed a real thing. But when I did discover “steampunk” I really loved the aesthetic and how far people were taking it, but I came to realize that my music actually did not qualify as steampunk music. There are actually rather defined guidelines to what makes steampunk music, “steampunk” and my music is firmly rooted in the rock band template.  And although there are hints of the steampunk aesthetic in our fashion style, we don’t take it nearly as far as true steampunk enthusiasts. 

What was the inspiration for you to write "Things that go bump in the night"? 

Besides the obvious? It is simply a song that, on one level, celebrates a very Halloween-like, pop-culture human fascination with ghosts stories and the like, and on a deeper level, puts forward the esoteric truth that what we experience in the third dimensional realm is only a small part of the entirety of reality. One of the core messages of my music, in general, is that we are spiritual, multidimensional beings having a human experience.

Do you see your music as storytelling… or as a way of channeling something stranger?

Well, as the saying goes, truth is stranger than fiction. On the storytelling side of it, I very much sing about the journey of life. The ups and downs, the struggles... the victories and defeats. In that, I aim to inspire hope, courage and comfort. On the “stranger” side, I would say I am definitely channeling esoteric truths about the spiritual nature of being incarnated in the body on the material plane in this journey of life…and all that comes with it.

Have you ever had an experience - paranormal or otherwise - that influenced your sound or performances?

At this point in my life, I have done so much spiritual work on myself, that the spiritual realm is a constant influence. Even bringing the music and songs into existence is a sacred mystical experience most of the time. 

Tell me about a weird experience you've had while on tour.

I have had plenty of experiences with technical glitches that made no sense, had no reason to happen that forced me to make due with an alternative solution, only to find that the gear worked perfectly at a later time in another place.  It can be quite annoying and troublesome.

There’s something about old carnival music and the paranormal - they seem to live in the same space. Why is that? 

I would venture to say vibrational resonance. There is/was so much enchantment around carnivals. Early carnivals were all about mysticism and the “uncanny”. Fortune tellers and mediums and freak shows must have really challenged reality to early carnival audiences. That psychic energy still exists in the collective unconscious, I bet. Then throw in the warped, slightly out of tune music… 

A lot of the paranormal is rooted in place - forests, old towns, forgotten roads. If you could perform in any paranormal hot spot - Area 51, Stonehenge, etc, where would you choose? 

Probably somewhere like the pyramids in Egypt or in Chichén Itzá. Maybe the Bermuda Triangle. I was fascinated with the Bermuda Triangle when I was a kid as well.

If your band had existed 100 years ago, do you think people would’ve seen you as entertainers… or something stranger?

Well, if we were rocking electric guitars and full band configuration, they’d probably think we were time travelers. Maybe we really are….

Now Playing: A Funky Space Reincarnation - Marvin Gaye 

Famous Cases: The Allagash UFO Incident

In the summer of 1976, four friends paddled into the deep wilderness of northern Maine looking for nothing more than to fish on quiet water, and take a break from ordinary life. What they later claimed to experience in the remote forests surrounding the Allagash Wilderness Waterway would become one of the most discussed alien abduction stories in American history.

The men - Jim Weiner, Jack Weiner, Chuck Rak, and Charlie Foltz - were art students and outdoorsmen. They planned a multi-day canoe trip through the lakes and waterways of the Allagash region, a place known for thick forest, long stretches of silence, and dark skies untouched by city light. In August of that year, they camped near Eagle Lake, surrounded by miles of wilderness and almost no human presence.

The first strange moment came quietly. A bright object appeared above the treeline one evening, glowing unnaturally against the night sky.

According to the men, it did not behave like a star, aircraft, or satellite. It hovered silently, bright enough to demand attention, then vanished abruptly - as though someone had switched it off. They noticed it, discussed it for a moment, and moved on.

Two nights later, things became far stranger.

The group launched a canoe after dark to go night fishing. Before leaving shore, they built a large bonfire to help guide them back to camp. The fire would later become one of the most puzzling details of the story.

Out on the water, one of the men noticed a brilliant sphere of light hanging above the trees. It appeared larger and closer than before - described as glowing like a miniature sun. The object was silent, suspended in place, and strangely alive in the way it pulsed and shifted. One of the campers reportedly flashed an SOS signal toward it using a flashlight.

The response came immediately. The object began moving toward them.

Panic replaced curiosity. The men paddled hard for shore as the light followed overhead. They later described a beam shining downward, illuminating the lake around them. Then, according to all four, that's it. Memory simply stopped.

The next thing the men remembered was standing back on shore. The canoe was there, but the object was gone.

And the bonfire - built to burn for hours - had burned itself down to glowing embers. To the men it seemed like they'd only been out for a short while. But according to the embers in the fireplace, they'd been gone for most of the night.

They finished the trip without another incident, but the experience stayed with them. 

For years, they rarely discussed it publicly. Then, more than a decade later, nightmares began.

The Weiner brothers reported recurring dreams involving bright rooms, examination tables, strange humanoid figures, and overwhelming fear. The dreams felt like more than imagination... more like fragments of something buried and pushing to the surface. Eventually, the men sought help from UFO researcher Raymond Fowler.

Under hypnosis, each man was interviewed separately. According to those sessions, all four described remarkably similar scenes: being taken aboard a craft, stripped, examined, and observed by thin beings with large eyes and emotionless expressions. They recalled medical-like procedures involving skin samples, body examinations, and a clinical atmosphere that felt cold and detached. 

Supporters of the case pointed to the consistency of the recollections as compelling evidence. Critics argued hypnosis is highly suggestive and unreliable. 

The case exploded into UFO culture. Books were written. Television programs revisited the story. The “Allagash Four” became a fixture in discussions about alien abduction phenomena, often compared to the famous Betty and Barney Hill abduction case.

But the story remains controversial.

Over time, skepticism grew. Some researchers questioned the reliability of hypnotic regression. In later years, Chuck Rak publicly distanced himself from parts of the abduction narrative, suggesting embellishment may have occurred, while still maintaining that strange lights were genuinely seen in the wilderness.

Maybe that uncertainty is exactly why the Allagash case still lingers in people’s minds. Like so many abduction stories, it offers no neat ending or clear resolution. There are no photographs to study, no physical evidence to examine, and no definitive explanation.

Maybe the truth of the Allagash story matters less than the feeling it leaves behind. Four men entered the wilderness expecting silence, stars, and a few days away from the world. They came back carrying something harder to explain. Whether it was a shared psychological event, a fractured memory, or something genuinely unknown, the lake kept its secret. 

And somewhere in the dark skies of northern Maine, the question still waits  to be answered.

Now Playing: "Doctor Doctor" - UFO