Three-quarters of Siskiyou is gathered in a jam space in Gastown, and the noise is deafening. The musicians have wrapped up a day of practicing, and now they’re cracking beers and listening to the sounds of thundering drums and searing guitar fuzz coming through the walls.

“I think it is Sex Church,” says drummer Shaunn Watt, name-dropping the local psychedelic rock outfit. “So good.”

Despite their enthusiasm for the din from next door, the members of Siskiyou are used to playing music of a decidedly quieter variety. Frontman and founder Colin Huebert previously did a stint as the drummer for Toronto folk-rock outfit Great Lake Swimmers, while bassist Peter Carruthers was a member of local pop-rock crew Said the Whale until earlier this year. Multi-instrumentalist Erik Arneson, who is in Toronto on this day, played with Huebert in Great Lake Swimmers.

As you might expect given the players’ résumés, Siskiyou’s self-titled debut album sounds nothing like Sex Church, or, for that matter, any other skull-crushing psych-punk unit. Huebert reveals that many of the record’s sparse, chilly folk songs date back to 2008, before he moved to Vancouver.

“Stuff was being recorded while we were in Great Lake Swimmers. Erik and I would be recording in a hotel room,” the songwriter explains. The project continued to gain momentum after Huebert moved to the West Coast, and he developed a penchant for setting up his recording gear in unconventional spots around town.

“There’s a stairwell of a particular institution here in Vancouver that I had access to and I would just put a sign on all four doors that said, ”˜Acoustics testing in progress from 1 a.m. till 3 or 4 a.m.’ I would put up some caution tape and cart in a small recording rig,” he says with a laugh. “Some people would open the door and be like, ”˜What’s going on? Holy shit, somebody really is testing the acoustics!’”

As to which building served as his makeshift studio, Huebert isn’t telling. “It was a building up at UBC,” he says coyly. “I don’t want to say because I still have access to it and I might actually still need it.”

This unconventional recording approach resulted in a haunting album that mixes retro folk balladry with eerie atmospheric flourishes, sounding at once timeless and distinctly modern. “Never Ever Ever Ever Again” sets despairing lyrics against gently plodding drums and a distantly keening musical saw. Even creepier is “This Land”, a minor-key take on Woody Guthrie’s “This Land Is Your Land” that’s downright frightening thanks to tinkling pianos that seem like they were pulled from a horror movie soundtrack.

As for how Huebert and his collaborators managed to concoct such a unique and unsettling take on roots music, the songwriter is quick to extol the virtues of his shoddy recording setup. “I actually prefer the cheap, crappy Chinese microphone that I got for $200 instead of the $1,000 mike I rented,” he notes. “These junk things, you need to own them for a while before they sound good.”

Siskiyou was released back in September via Montreal’s prestigious Constellation Records, and Huebert and Arneson have now turned their recording project into a live band. With Carruthers and Watt on board as full-time members, the group has already toured Canada and Europe, and most recently hit the road with Jim Bryson and the Weakerthans Band.

While the musicians are excited to play more out-of-town shows, they admit that their past touring experiences haven’t always been positive. Explaining why he quit Said the Whale, Carruthers says that it was because he had grown tired of the group’s road-warrior work ethic. “[Said the Whale] is a band that, in the next two years, is going to have a year in which they’re going to be on tour for eight months. And the next year they’re going to be on tour for eight months,” he says. “It’s not something I can do anymore.”

Huebert chimes in to say that he left Great Lake Swimmers for similar reasons. “You can’t really have a pedestrian, civilian life while you’re doing that,” he complains.

Their aversion to touring wasn’t eased by their European outing, which they confess was frequently stressful. “I remember the snowstorm coming out of Copenhagen,” recalls Carruthers. “We didn’t have winter tires on the car. I was positive I was going to die. I was pretty sure that death was imminent.”

Frightening as it may have been, the members of Siskiyou are optimistic about returning to the road. “Touring doesn’t have to totally suck,” Huebert says. “Touring maybe three months of a year—that’s all right. That’s reasonable.”

What will he do during the other nine months of the year? “I want to get a job again soon, a regular job,” he explains. “I feel like it’s hard to write songs if you’re just touring. It’s like, ”˜Oh my God, it’s so hard on the road.’”

Laughing, Huebert continues, “Go get a job and deal with people at work. And then go home and write.”