TRANSVERSO

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Sean McHugh

The Magnetic North's Simon Tong Discusses Past, Present, and 'Prospect of Skelmersdale'

Music InterviewSean McHughComment

When The Magnetic North first formed they set out as a one-off, planning for their debut release, Orkney: Symphony of the Magnetic North, to act as the consummate collaborative culmination between UK indie staple Simon Tong (blur, Gorillaz, The Verve, The Good, the Bad & the Queen, and Erland & the Carnival), Erland Cooper (Erland and the Carnival), and Hannah Peel (John Foxx and the Maths). Despite the trio's initial desires to run the full lifespan of a group with a single release, demand for a follow up grew (as usually is the case when fantastic records are made), and the band reconvened to contemplate their focus for a potential LP2.

The group's cartographically inclined debut focused on motifs surrounding The Orkney Islands in Scotland (Cooper's home), and turned out to be far more influential than the group had initially expected, opting to orient their sophomore effort on yet another locational premise, this time the Tong's enigmatic hometown of Skelmersdale, England, via Prosepct of Skelmersdale.

I was fortunate enough to speak with The Magnetic North's Simon Tong about the trio's upcoming release, Prospect of Skelmersdale, which consists of a series of vignettes centered on the town where Tong spent some of his most formative years.

Taken from the new album "Prospect Of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://fulltimehobby.sandbaghq.com/the-magnetic-north-prospect-of-skelmersdale.html


TRANSVERSO: Are you looking forward to getting Prospect of Skelmersdale out into the world?

SIMON TONG: I think so, yeah. I don’t know, I’m slightly worried about it.

Why is that?

Well the album [is] kind of about where I grew up. I’m kind of wondering what the people of that town will think about it – whether they’ll like it or they won’t like it. I don’t know.

With that in mind, most people in the US may not be familiar with Skelmersdale. What’s it like?

Yeah, I don’t think many people in the United Kingdom know about Skelmersdale [as well]. Its been strange. We’ve just been doing some press in Paris and Berlin as well, and its been very strange talking about this small insignificant town in England that we made a record about; its very surreal.

Does that put the onus on you to direct the dialogue about Skelmersdale?

Yeah, I suppose so, but the other two members of the group, Erland and Hannah, they’ve been there quite a few times, so they know the place, and they were very much involved with the making of the record – the lyrics and the feel of the whole thing. They kind of have an idea of what they’re talking about as well. But yeah, because our first album was about the Orkney Islands, in Scotland, where Erland’s from. So the onus was kind of on him for that one. So yeah, for this one, it feels like the weight is slightly on my shoulders. [Laughs] It’s a good weight to carry.

Does that mean if there’s a third LP, the onus will be on Hannah?

Very much so, yeah. [Laughs] I hope she’s ready for it.

What was your initial reaction when Hannah suggested visiting Skelmersdale, in regard to the album?

I just wasn’t sure, because we made the first album by accident almost. I don’t know if we got it written in the press release, but the first album was inspired by a dream that Erland had – he was visited by a ghost in his dream who had told him to write a record about where he came from. So, that was kind of the starting point of the group; that was how we kind of formed and made a record, because of this supernatural dream. It’s a strange project, really, and we didn’t think we going to do another album. We just thought we were going to do one album about the Orkney albums, and we thought that’d be it, we’d just leave it at that. Lots of people kept saying, “Oh, you’ve got to do another album, you’ve got to do something else,” and so we kind came around to it thinking, “What can we do it about? What can we do it about?” And Hannah just kind of said “[Simon] Where do you come from?” and I said “Well, I lived a long time in this town called ‘Skelmersdale,’” and she says “Ah, tell me about it. Tell me about the town.”

It was a new town, it was built in the 60s, as kind of an overflow from Liverpool. A lot of the poor people in the slums of Liverpool got moved to this new town. And then in the '80s, the Transcendental Meditation (TM) community set up there and she was like, “Wow! That’s a good plot for an album,” and I said, “Really? Do you really think so?” And she was like, “Yeah, come on, we got to!” So she was kind of the driving force behind getting project off the ground really. In terms of getting me to think about what an album about Skelmersdale would entail. So I basically wrote about ten or eleven track titles from my memory of places in Skelmersdale, just kind of things connected to it. [Then I] sent it over to her and Erland and they were like “Wow, these titles, they’re inspiring us already.” Titles like “Pennylands,” is one title and “Silver Birch,” is another, and it was kind of like “Oh, these sound like such beautiful places.” And then I thought, “Well actually, why don’t you go see for yourself,” so I sent them up there to Skelmersdale, which is sort of Northwest England. I gave them a list of places to go, and they went and visited these places. A place like Pennylands is a not particularly nice counsel estates, you know it’s the housing estates. So a lot of these places sound really nice, but when you get there. It was kind of a good adventure for them to go and see what this place was like, what kind of, its good for them to get a perspective without anything coming from me influencing their mind. They could just go and take some photographs of these places and stay there for a few nights to see what they think of the town. So that was just the starting block to sort of kick the project off.

Was that a significant turning point in regard to getting the album creatively oriented as well? With you being the most familiar with Skelmersdale – did a lot of the creative intuition come from you, or was it largely collaborative?

It was very collaborative, actually. Maybe initially, it came from me – just a few little song ideas and lyric ideas. But they very quickly picked up on things and developed their own ideas. And that was very much what we did with the first album as well, and Erland kind of let me and Hannah write about his town/homeland quite freely, and how we felt while visiting there as an outsider. So I kind of gave them that opportunity to write about it as an outsider, and then I would write about it as someone who actually has experience in there. Yeah, that’s kind of how we do it – we sort of trust each other’s view and intuition, I suppose. We all know what our sound is – we all kind of have a definite sound of what instrumentation we use, and what kind of way of recording and making a song. We kind of all know the general color palate of The Magnetic North.

Did you ever find yourself gravitating toward certain aspects or vignettes of Skelmersdale when Erland and Hannah asked you describe the town?

Yeah, I suppose it was a series of little snapshots that I had drawn from my memory of people and places. Well we knew we kind of wanted to bring in the Transendental Meditation Community, because that was where I kind of grew up in the middle of it. That was all part of Skelmersdale. We had to kind of touch on that, and we used some old audio footage from a friend of my dad’s [who] had recorded when they started building the community. So we have this sort of opening ceremony of this person kind of inaugurating the Golden Dome, which is this sort of place where they all go and meditate. And then we found, when Hannah and Erland went up the first time, they found this woman in the library who had like a local writers group in Skelmersdale, and she gave them this DVD that had these old 1970s industrial kind of promotion videos which were made by the council and the corporation that run the town to kind of promote it for industry. It’s a very funny kind of stiff upper lip kind of British BBC documentary [that was] slightly patronizing of the local community like “Welcome to Skelmersdale, look at these new factories we’ve built; we’re just crying out for industry,” and so we kind used a lot of sound bytes and interwove them with the music and really gave the album its backbone, and kind of backdrop, I suppose; a kind of late 60s, early 70s kind of lens on the music and everything.

Taken from the new album "Prospect of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016 on Full Time Hobby. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://bit.ly/1PiF3qp

So is the footage used in the videos for “Signs” and “A Death in the Woods” from those early promotional videos?

Yeah they’re these promotional videos, but they’re great. There’s this kind of sheen of slightly, well its slightly cheap film. Its not high quality Hollywood film; its really kind of faded. 60 mil or… God knows what it is, but its got this sort of grainy look, kind of mostly British look to it.

Where does a song like “A Death in the Woods” come into play when creating the album’s tone/direction?

I suppose that was one of the first songs we wrote, I think. Its kind of a mish-mash or an amalgamation of different memories of mine thrown together; its not particularly one story that runs throughout the song. Its just a lot of images and kinds of things that I remember, like in a dreamscape almost; just thrown in like a stream of consciousness. So that kind of set the feel of the album. Because the whole project was started by [the] supernatural dream that Erland had. Our creative process is sort of the process of trying to revoke ghosts of the landscape of wherever we’re writing about – whether it’s the Orkney Islands, Skelmersdale, or wherever it happens from. That’s kind of what we’re trying to do: we’re trying to find the magic that’s buried under the landscape. With the Orkney Islands it was really easy for the first album, because the Orkney Islands are a beautiful, beautiful place next to the sea, its got cliffs, and it has so much history. Its got Neolithic monuments, five thousand year old villages; its really just soaked in history. Its got great poets and writers have come from there, you just can’t fail to be inspired by the place.

How did Skelmersdale compare to Orkney?

Skelmersdale is the complete opposite of that. Immediately, there’s nothing and you think “Oh, hell. How am I going to write about this place?” Its almost like – it's very brutal – the architecture has lots of concrete, it almost looks like something out of the Soviet Union that’s sort of been picked up and plunked in the middle of England; but in its own way, that’s sort of very inspiring in and of itself. It's sort of modernist, and I’m sure that plenty of people that study architecture and town planning would look at it and go, "Oh, look at this, its fantastic.” You wouldn’t necessarily want to visit there.

So what angles did you find in regard to writing songs about Skelmersdale?

It was funded by the government, so a lot of the houses there are kind of what we call “Council Houses” or sort of rented houses, but over the years people have eventually bought them as they changed the law, but they’re still predominantly rental homes. It was quite a poor place in the '60s, '70s, and '80s; it was very depressed. The industry came initially and then just as soon as any government grunts came out, they just disappeared off to Brazil or wherever it was cheaper to work. So you were kind of in this ghost town of people. There’s no train station there, just lots and lots of roads, and people just kind of couldn’t afford the cars, so people were just kind of stuck in this town. What interested us, we realized quite early on in making the album that we can tell these stories of people and we can try and musically represent the landscape, but we have to give some kind of hope, we can’t just make a depressing album about how shit this place used to be – we had to give some optimism and hopefulness. Going back to the town, I kind of left 20 years ago and I haven’t really been back until the past couple of years since I’ve been doing this album, and it feels kind of like its getting better. It feels like the people themselves are kind of making it better. Its almost like a community needs a long time to develop.

Has the community begun to change at all, or have things just remained the same?

The town is about 50 years old now, and it feels like people are finally building that community and kind of [have] a sense of identity themselves and it just feels like there’s hope there. When the Transcendental people moved there in the '80s, I think they kind of changed the town by bringing optimism in. They had this belief that – the Maharishi is dead now – they had a belief that they wanted to set up a little village in every country that would meditate and people would gather and meditate, and affect the countryside around them. Wherever they were, they gave off good vibes. So they moved to Skelmersdale to set up this community, and there’s probably five or six hundred people there and they meditate every day in the Golden Dome with the view that they were going to improve the town simply by meditating; that they were going to give off these good vibrations. They had lots of scientific evidence to show that they were doing this. Whether that really did happen or not, I think that the fact they moved to the town itself sort of way. It brought these sort of middle class people who brought this attitude, and I think it has made it a more interesting town culturally. The identity of the town changed.

You mentioned the Transcendental Meditation community of Skelmersdale – did TM have any significant impact on the creative process?

Not really, only because it was there. I mean, I don’t do it anymore, but my father was a fanatical follower – and he still follows the Maharishi even though he’s not alive – so its always kind of been in my life. And if I was going to write about a town like Skelmersdale, it was going to have to be there in the background somewhere. I have a love/hate relationship with it, and I’m not going to slag it off and say its terrible, but I’m [also] not going to promote it. Now the Maharishi died ten years ago now, but now David Lynch has taken the mantle, and he’s kind of the leader in waiting, which makes it even stranger.

That’s where my only familiarity with the TM movement stems from, is the popularity of it within Hollywood/creative circles.

I mean they’re having an active push to try and get creative people and artists involved in doing it, to get as much promotion as it can. I mean, the Maharishi used The Beatles in the 60s, he definitely used them to springboard the movement in the West.

Speaking of The Beatles, is your track “Run of the Mill” a reference to the George Harrison song?

Yes! It actually is [the song].

Any particular reason as to why?

Initially it was a coincidence. Erland and Hannah have a studio over in East London, and they were working one day and a friend of theirs, Laura Groves – a beautiful singer from Yorkshire, actually an old friend of Hannah’s just came by and she started playing on the piano [the George Harrison song] and we thought “Oh that’s fantastic, let’s record it,” and we recorded like a simple kind of piano version which is actually the way it appears in the album, and we just put the guitars in after. Initially they just recorded it, and it wasn’t until later that we thought “actually, this would fit so well with this album,” and that’s just kind of the, obviously, the George Harrison connection with the TM. But the song itself, “Run of the Mill,” it has connotations to the north of England anyway, it has mills and stuff, so it just kind of seemed to sit really well. It was one of the last songs to go on there, because we weren’t really sure we were going to put it on. The album was just kind of there and we just plonked on at the end and then listened to it and thought it just kind of closed the album. It was just a bit of serendipity really, and we just kind of ended up using it. It just really fits with everything else, and it was a beautiful way to close the album.

Are there any sort of over-arching motifs or themes you would like to be conjured up for the listeners?

You know, I think you can enjoy the album without knowing anything about the concepts within Skelmersdale. I hope people would just enjoy it as a piece of music whether its just listening to single tracks here and there or listening to the album as a whole – I obviously hope people would listen to the album as a whole album, thought people very rarely ever do nowadays – just to invoke. Its really drawing on childhood memories anyway. Kind of the feeling of looking back on your childhood and seeing these memories that have been buried in your head, I suppose anyone can relate to that. Just kind of having that magical kind of way you remember a Christmas or whenever you remember playing on your front lawn or a holiday. Its just sort of looking back in that 70s lens or whatever era you grew up in, just looking back at it like an old photograph, or an old grainy bit of film. Trying to give that impression while listening to the album, you’re traveling back there into the midst of your sub consciousness. 


Read our review of Prospect of Skelmersdale here.

The Magnetic North Explores Simon Tong's Transcendentalist Hometown in 'Prospect of Skelmersdale'

Music ReviewSean McHughComment
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Bringing an album into existence is no small task. It’s the ultimate culmination of an artist’s expression and is - in most instances - an unceremoniously intimate endeavor. Maintaining that intimacy while orienting a collection of songs to become a living, breathing embodiment of a concept, memory, or place can be doubly as daunting.

Considering such notions, the prospect of creating a representative musical snapshot that combines the triumvirate of aforementioned sentiments almost inevitably runs the risk of falling flat – either by being too specific for those unfamiliar with the subject, or even worse, by not meeting the expectations of those most familiar. While regarding hypothetical listeners’ individual receptions of a conceptual or representative work is hopefully absent from the creative process, it is exactly what makes conceptual pieces a perilous undertaking.

Nevertheless, such hyperbolic scenarios have yet to reach the awareness of The Magnetic North – a conceptually fueled rock symphony outfit fronted by one of the UK's most ubiquitous guitarist/keyboardists, Simon Tong (blur, Gorillaz, The Verve, The Good, the Bad & the Queen, and Erland & the Carnival) – having created an altogether beguiling and transporting musical rendering of Skelmersdale, England, The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Originally designated as a site for UK population redistribution in the 1960s, Skelmersdale floundered as a council estate village for almost two decades until the Transcendental Meditation (TM) movement unexpectedly revitalized the town in the early 1980s. The establishment of the town as the official UK capital for the TM movement injected new life in the struggling village, as families devoted to the teachings of the maharishi flocked to the Skelmersdale. Amongst those the zealous masses converging on Skelmersdale was the family of The Magnetic North’s Tong, whose past relation and experiences connected to the town acted as the primary inspirational force behind the LP.

To understand The Prospect of Skelmersdale, one must first understand how The Magnetic North operates and came into being. Tong, along with Erland Cooper (Erland and the Carnival) and Hannah Peel (John Foxx and the Maths), came together in 2012 to create an album based on a dream Cooper had in which an apparition told him to produce a record focusing on his home of Orkney, Scotland. Consisting of pastoral (and symphonic) depictions of features unique to Orkney, the trio released Orkney: Symphony of the Magnetic North, and thus The Magnetic North was born.

Originally intended as a one-off endeavor, The Prospect of Skelmersdale came into consideration - after some third party encouragement - when the trio gathered to determine what their next effort would look like. Somewhat influenced by the locational focus of their first album, it was Peel’s curiosity about Tong’s past life in Skelmersdale that oriented The Magnetic North to zero in on the once promising community.

Taken from the new album "Prospect Of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://fulltimehobby.sandbaghq.com/the-magnetic-north-prospect-of-skelmersdale.html

Prospect of Skelmersdale wastes no time in transporting the listener to a wholly tangible auditory analogue of Skelmersdale, opening with “Jai Guru Dev,” an introductory piece that features choral vocals and audio from the dedication of the TM movement’s “Golden Dome;” establishing an over-arching theme that is simultaneously hopeful and mysterious, along with the TM movement motifs. The Prospect of Skelmersdale operates in a series of musical vignettes that assist in setting the overall tone of the record, with tracks like “Pennylands” and “A Death in the Woods” maintaining the optimistic outlook so many people associated with the community. The compositional prowess of Peel rings true on “Pennylands,” (an actual location in Skelmersdale) as the combined vocals of the trio offer hopeful melodies spread over dubiously tense strings that ebb and flow over driving (yet discerning) percussion.

A perspective shift from its preceding track, “A Death in the Woods” maintains a more realistic assessment of Skelmersdale – a prospective paradise that never fully reaches its presumed potential. The track shifts from a relatively subdued narrative nature into a full-blown electro symphony, as the phrase “We only came by on our way to paradise” echo into the song’s frenzied end, and in turn officially bringing the listener to Skelmersdale. Clean up track, “Sandy Lane,” echoes the same bright sentiments expressed in “A Death in the Woods,” as the combined group vocals narrate the colorful sentiments “You are golden too…” presumably a reference to the Golden temple or some relation to the TM community as light woodwind lead the song out into the middle portion of the album.

Prospect of Skelmersdale consists of individual snapshots varying in their connection to the town itself, with the body of the album providing some of the most vivid depictions. The album’s initial single, “Signs,” features more archival audio promoting the town itself, while the song’s lyrics maintain a loving assertion of wanting what’s best for someone literally waiting for a sign. Follow up tracks “Little Jerusalem” and “Remains of Elmer” begin to diverge from the established tone of hope and optimism shift into more (at least sonically) ominous songs - talks of mediation and outright order and harmony being viewed in dream like lenses, as if to acknowledgment the fledgling prospects of Skelmersdale.

The final third of Prospect of Skelmersdale coincides with the beginning of a figurative (and literal: “Exit”) exit from the town, featuring some of the strongest connections to the TM community. “Exit” brings about a quiet instructional verse that directs an unidentified listener to say goodbye to something or someone (Skelmersdale perhaps?), while maintaining an acknowledgement of some higher purpose. “The Silver Birch” and “Northway Southway” provide more illuminating lyricism and hopeful musical perspectives speaking to future opportunities.

Prospect of Skelmersdale ends in a manner that resembles the albums’ inception – with a serendipitous cover of a George Harrison song, “Run of the Mill.” Harrison was a noted disciple of TM, and according to Tong the cover came about when Peel and her friend Laura Groves were playing the song. Coincidence aside, the rendition is a beautiful song to include on the album, and arguably the perfect track to go out on – with its TM adjacent relation, as well as its exeunt nature.

For as complex and atypical a context the town of Skelmersdale features, The Magnetic North managed to encapsulate aspects of the town that evoke lush pastoral scenes seemingly foreign to a town that has been all but forgotten. Despite Tong’s more than twenty years of being removed from the township, he manages to guide the trio in a particularly deft representation of a unique environment, creating a capsule that is suitable for all to experience both sonically and spiritually. If the expectations for a once auspicious community faded, the outlook is bound to shift thanks in large part to Tong, The Magnetic North, and The Prospect of Skelmersdale.

Taken from the new album "Prospect of Skelmersdale" out 18th March 2016 on Full Time Hobby. Pre-order CD / LP / DL here: http://bit.ly/1PiF3qp


Read our interview with Simon Tong of The Magnetic North here.

Witness Låpsley's Impassioned Debut 'Long Way Home'

Music ReviewSean McHughComment

Debuts in music can be daunting and altogether treacherous endeavors. Artist development requires a deft touch – some artists succeed and capitalize fully on their first foray (see - Courtney Barnett), others simply burn out (see - JEFF the Brotherhood), or even worse, sometimes extensive anticipation can remove a promising artist from the public consciousness altogether (see – Sampha). Nevertheless, the point of the matter in debuting an artist consists of concerted effort and at times, unadulterated luck; all that to be said, of the handful of hotly anticipated debutants (Shura, Kehlani, Conrad Sewell) in 2016, few have summited the mountain of hype coinciding with their respective debuts as gracefully as XL gem, Låpsley.

At 19, Holly Lapsley Fletcher emanates a wizened perspective in her music that feels most akin to being the secret love child of Adele and James Blake. Since 2013, under the name Låpsley, she has been putting out dreamy minimalist electro pop – Monday EP independently and Understudy EP through XL – that connects with the listener in a visceral manner that’s its almost bewildering to consider the creator’s age. Her breakout track in 2014 (and third track on her debut), “Falling Short” is an austere song filled with tasteful production and self-aware lyrics – “Its been a long time coming, but I’m falling short” – that imbues a feeling of Låpsley’s jilted perspective in regard to a relationship long gone, or considering her age, maybe recent.

Låpsley’s debut album, Long Way Home, extends the mature tones present in her EPs to fully introduce a rare occurrence amongst debuting artist – full faith that she will not fall short of expectation. Opening track “Heartless” is one of the record’s fuller tracks – the slightest of departures from the minimal approach of prior Låpsley efforts – but it only enhances Låpsley’s prospects. Rather than stick to creating analogues of tracks that garnered her early notoriety, she expands her sonic spectrum with a single track on her debut.

A former single, “Hurt Me,” follows “Heartless,” and it once again showcases Låpsley’s versatility within her musical realm. The track is effectively the album’s outright anthem – coming to grips with a relationship gone awry – with Låpsley’s voice effortlessly shifting from soft murmurs into lung filled crescendos. All the while, the production is bigger, more vibrant than the tasteful minimalism of a “Falling Short,” but all the while feels unique to Låpsley.

Two more pre-release singles follow “Hurt Me;” “Falling Short” and “Cliff.” Of the first half of the album, “Cliff” is by far and away the strongest track. It runs the gauntlet of Låpsley’s sonic spectrum – echoing backing vocals, observational lyricism, minimalist production that explodes in a Jamie xx-esque club beat. The accompanying video for “Cliff” even fits the uniform mold of Låpsley minimalism; with Låpsley standing in the snow and simple camera zooms in and out on her face.

Where “Cliff” is the all around best track on Long Way Home, subsequent “Operator (He Doesn’t Call Me)” is the most empowered. With a sample at the onset, and a disco heavy beat to follow, the track also exhibits some of Låpsley’s strongest vocal work, with bellowing “My baby doesn’t call me / So tell me shit I needed to,” that give water to the occasional Adele comparisons.

The next four offerings on Long Way Home – “Painter,” “Tell Me The Truth,” “Station,” “Love Is Blind” – are more lyrically driven tracks that explore more of Låpsley’s perspectives of love, attraction, and relationships. Granted, some tracks are centered on less than fresh concepts – “love is blind with the lights out” – but others (“Station”) reveal seasoned perspectives of a skillful written voice – “Two for the taking, you can have it all at once if it makes you sane” – that’s unafraid to speak from personal experience.

The closing fourth of Long Way Home is comprised of “Silverlake,” an all-knowing narrative journey of a jaded perspective of a relationship somehow associated with the Los Angeles neighborhood of the same name – “Beautiful now, but soon you’ll be gone / By Silverlake I left a stake in the sun.” Closer, “Seven Months,” seems to be the most offertory – “Seven months I gave myself / Every night I’d say how I had my doubt” – and rounds out as one of the most finessed tracks on the record, blending Låpsley’s familiar minimalist sound with a meandering melody. Arguably the most amorphic of tracks on Long Way Home, it offers a glimpse into the future bevy of avenues Låpsley could choose to take on LP #2.

Long Way Home is altogether a triumphant introduction to an artist whose potential exceeds that of most acts in similar points of their careers. She approaches her production with a deft touch that seamlessly engages the listener with each facet of the music. Her lyricism is strong, but at times can leave more to be desired, but that’s almost certainly because of her age. As far as debuts are concerned, Låpsley’s is arguably the best this year to date, and is undoubtedly the first of many exceptional future records to come.  




Mount Moriah Pays Homage to Home on 'How to Dance'

Music ReviewSean McHughComment

Mount Moriah has all the trappings of a band that should be more popular than it is – an unapologetic front woman with lyrical chops that would make Bob Dylan blush, and a combination jazz/country/soul that’s remarkably smooth – but somehow, the North Carolina trio has yet to receive proper recognition. Despite such career hurdles, the band has remained indomitable, tirelessly touring in support of their critically acclaimed second record, Miracle Temple for the better part of a three year span.

Even with the rave reviews that coincided with the promotion of Miracle Temple, Front woman Heather McEntire struggled with the depressive sophomore slump that seems to inevitably strike artists as their careers begin to take form. Career existentialism has been known to derail promising young act like Mount Moriah before ever reaching the zeitgeist, but the Merge signees remained ever vigilant, eventually reconvening to start LP 3.

Mount Moriah’s perseverance grew a head of steam, building momentum that swelled into a sumptuous collection of alt-country rock tracks worthy of the utmost praise. Where Mount Moriah’s prior discography tended to meander every which way sonically, their third record, How to Dance, has an invigorated sense that felt unwittingly absent in their previous efforts.

How to Dance opens smoothly with “Calvander,” a narrative ballad of sweet Southern wanderlust, presumably set in the eponymous town – Jenks’ boogie guitar sounds ambling along as McEntire waveringly asserts her feminine independence, “I swear to God, tonight those Jackson boys ain’t gonna find sweet company.” Follow-up track, “Precita,” continues McEntire’s narrative rambles, as the album begins to take a more autobiographical form - apocryphal or not. The track chugs along, as McEntire builds a lush lyrical landscape with her voice serving as a vocal analog to Dolly Parton or Stevie Nicks.

Sonically, How to Dance serves as Mount Moriah’s most precise album to date, with unfettered Southern twang help the album maintain its purposefully aimless wandering, illuminating key North Carolina motifs that Mount Moriah have grown so proud to champion. “Baby Blue,” feels particularly keen on uplifting the band’s civic pride (for those who aren’t familiar, the University of North Carolina – Chapel Hill’s primary color is baby blue), creating a wonderfully idiomatic love ballad thanks in large part to McEntire’s lyrics – “Bright eyes at sunrise/It’s a haunting privilege”– and soft loping percussion.

One of the defining features of How to Dance is the record’s earnest devotion to true country, all the while expressing the collective genre appreciation in the most modern way possible without going full “throwback” (think Margo Price, Nikki Lane). Granted, that’s not a knock against Price or Lane, but How to Dance feels like an album you could play to anybody with Antebellum sensibilities and not complain about direct imitation or “watering down” of the country genre. It’s a clever angle on a genre whose most innovative successes of the past decade have come in the form of iconoclasts (once more, not a knock; Chris Stapleton and Sturgill Simpson are true deserving of their praise). Some tracks deviate ever so slightly from the genre– take “Fox in the City,” is a new-age country ballad that celebrates the same ethereal mysticism of the South, but feels more like a blues-y The Verve track, with McEntire’s vocals layered on top of each other while strings occupy the bridge.

The album as a whole acts as an innocuously unapologetic anthology of Mount Moriah’s allegorical association with their native North Carolina and the South in general. It asserts a sort of indignance that assures the listener that having some less than flattering things in one’s past don’t necessarily mean a connection should be totally eliminated. Instead, the album is a confirmation that associating with a place is more than just atoning for a checkered past, rather focusing on the personal connection within oneself.


The Magnetic North Release Dreamy 'Prospect of Skelmersdale' Single "A Death in the Woods"

New MusicSean McHughComment
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“A Death in the Woods” is the lead single from British rock symphony outfit The Magnetic North’s forthcoming album Prospect of Skelmersdale, the second full-length installment from the Erland Cooper led trio - featuring Simon Tong (The Verve, Blur, Gorillaz, The Good, the Bad & the Queen) and orchestral arranger Hannah Peel. Prospect of Skelmersdale continues the band’s series of musical vignettes drawing from its eponymous village.

A mecca of the Transcendental Meditation movement, Skelmersdale, Lancashire was a haven for families to settle and continue their lives enlightenment and mediation. Included amongst these families was The Magnetic North’s own Tong, whose experience undoubtedly provided a wellspring of inspiration as the band worked to inhabit the spirit of Skelmersdale.

“A Death in the Woods” acts as the introduction to the overall motif for both the album and Skelmersdale. The video opens with bright flutes and twinkling guitar bouncing along as we’re introduced to a collection of Super 8 clips of what can be assumed as the titular town itself.

The lyrics feel like a sort of archival account of the initial pitch used to bring people to Skelmersdale way back in the 1960s, as Erland Cooper maintains a soothing timbre over the dream-like melodies. Ambient guitars drift and meander as Erland croons “The New World’s round the corner / They found a new world order,” and the track continues to slowly build sonically with each subsequent verse. The video exudes a sort of utopian uneasiness that comes to a head as the footage shifts its focus on the children from the Skelmersdale community, and suddenly breaks into the mellowest of electronic rampages until the song and video come to a close.

Prospect of Skelmersdale is out 3/18 via Full Time Hobby

 

Closing Remarks of a Reformed Kanye Apologist

EditorialSean McHughComment

I have been an ardent Kanye apologist for quite some time.

I would assert that Kanye’s production prowess transcended the confines of genre – from the formative days of College Dropout to the unmercifully avant-garde Yeezus  - in absolute awe of Kanye’s “scorched earth” approach to his craft.

I maintained Kanye’s status as the All-Father of modern hip-hop, his discography a compendium of templates to guide those who choose to emulate the various iterations of Kanye’s career.

I blindly ascribed the successes of Chance the Rapper, Drake, Kendrick Lamar, Danny Brown, Kid Cudi, A$AP Rocky, Childish Gambino, J. Cole, Travi$ Scott, Lupe Fiasco, Tyler, the Creator, Earl Sweatshirt, Frank Ocean, Big Sean, and Mr. Hudson to the omnipresent influence of Kanye West.

885.80 miles of America lie between Nashville and New York City, but I still managed to witness the live simulcast premiere of “Yeezy Season 3” at Madison Square Garden.

I considered him an indomitable ideologue that had eclipsed culture. While I have never even remotely considered purchasing any of the exorbitant pieces from his “Yeezy Season” trilogy (not out of sartorial revulsion, but out of financial prudence), I couldn’t help but applaud Kanye’s penchant for minimalism.

I was moonstruck by the impromptu nature of Kanye’s combination fashion show/album listening party for The Life of Pablo, and admired the magnanimous charity of Kanye whilst “passing the aux” to the likes of Young Thug and Vic Mensa in front of 20 million people.

I had unwavering faith that the release of The Life of Pablo would see Kanye silence his most ferocious critics, all the while summiting the zenith of the zeitgeist as the greatest popular artist of the new millennium.

I would treat Kanye’s exploits as supreme acts of a self-aware caricature; a master class so inscrutable, even the most astute of human behavior experts would remain confounded.

I was confident that upon the inevitable disclosure that Kanye’s much-maligned escapades were nothing more than performance art, his histrionics would become a bastion of artistic sovereignty

I was under the impression that those who bemoaned Kanye’s musings were simply out of touch and unfit for such brilliant satire.

It is because of the aforementioned defenses of Kanye that I write this article with a heavy heart, having come to terms with an objectionable truth – I must relinquish my title as a Kanye apologist.

The past month and a half of Kanye’s ubiquity has withered me to a troubling perspective of self-examination. The events surrounding The Life of Pablo have been an all-out media onslaught so pervasive that it has led me to falter in my continued support of Kanye.

I do my best to remain objective in most matters – maintaining an emphasis on universal understanding rather than blind faith – but Kanye’s recent behavior has led me to a fan’s introspective crises as opposed the usual eye roll and “I’m sure Kanye knows what he’s doing,” when he interrupts someone to perform a soliloquy at the VMAs, or when confronted with the realities of whom he chooses to share him name.

Now don't get me wrong, I am most certainly not about to come the defense of Taylor Swift or Kim Kardashian – I am of the opinion that Taylor Swift has a scandal lying dormant to the public eye capable of reaching Peyton Manning-sized proportions; and Kim, well, I couldn’t tell you much about her, but neither could she – but what many consider to be two more incendiary moments in Kanye’s career, I merely regard as mischievous self-expression, along with most other dubious actions throughout the years.

Kanye was nothing more than the occasional superstar scamp in my mind, so I continued to defend his behavior, chastised for such a decision on only a handful of occasions.

Somewhere down the line, however – sometime around the beginning of 2016 -, my spirited Kanye fandom became combative amongst some of my contemporaries. Where my delight in all things Kanye had once been nothing more than an exercise of personal taste, it had suddenly become an affront to other people’s existence; as if to insinuate I share the same outlooks as a mercurial music superstar. Kanye had suddenly become a combative subject, even if the discourse was purely superficial. But nonetheless, groups of people inherently abhorred anyone who even remotely enjoyed any aspect of Kanye.

And it was in that moment I realized just how silly all of the controversy of Kanye really was. Granted, there were technical aspects surrounding The Life of Pablo that were less than stellar (looking at you, Tidal), but getting caught up in who Kanye thinks owes him their career?

Who cares?

It’s a song for crying out loud.

If there are songs on The Life of Pablo some might find detestable, then those who have such an inclination would be best served not listening. Why look for something to gripe about when we’re all better off focusing on things that have more personal appeal?

If Kanye’s behavior places such displeasure in your life, why bother spewing vitriolic epithets and the like when its so much easier to place your focus on someone or something else?

Ultimately, the World of Kanye is an exercise in futlity - whether you’re an avid disciple (such as myself) or one of his biggest detractors. Kanye is going to do what Kanye wants to do, and there’s no way around it. He is a self-fulfilling prophecy that continues to adapt and create, providing some with great joy, and others great irritation.

Its for these exact reasons that I rest my final defense of Kanye, and relegate myself from Kanye apologist to Kanye aficionado. 

But before I go, I just wanted people to recognize that Beyonce really did have the one of the best music videos of all time.


You can read our full The Life of Pablo album review here and "Kanye's Original The Life of Pablo Tracklist Analyzed in Three Acts by @NathanZed & @jonnysun" here.

Basia Bulat Makes Star Turn on 'Good Advice'

Music ReviewSean McHughComment

Imagine if Emma Stone was a good singer – more honey lined than husky – with the slightest of Irish sean-nos virbatto, as well as a proclivity for musical styling amalgam of Florence Welch and Natalie Merchant – or better yet, just listen to Basia Bulat. Questionable musical juxtaposition aside, Basia Bulat possesses a voice totally devoid of any real affectation, with the exception of an occasional emotional waver that’s reminiscent of a female Michael Stipe.

Part of a generational sundry of criminally underrated Canadian folk-singers, the Montreal-based Toronto native opted for a total overhaul of her usual bare bones, folk sound on her fourth full-length record, Good Advice. For someone who has spent 75% of her musical career working within the relatively restricting folk genre, Bulat has managed to incrementally progress the musicality of each subsequent release – though her narrative writing prowess remains her principal asset.

While carving out a unique role in an already over saturated market is admirable, there seemed to be an acknowledgement on Bulat’s third record, Tall Tall Shadow, that something more dynamic needed to happen.

Enlisting the direction of My Morning Jacket maestro Jim James, Bulat spent the better part of her recording time in Louisville, Kentucky; a far cry from her culturally urbane base in Montreal. Superficial metropolitan analysis notwithstanding, the change of scenery was a musically transcendent choice for Bulat.    

Good Advice continues the general trend of growth in Bulat, but with the assistance of James’ production finesse, the musical dynamism ushers in a new and exciting avenue for her to lay claim to.  The LP opens with the singular synth accordion heavy “La La Lie,” reminiscent of the opening of the Beach Boys’ opus, “God Only Knows,” only to break into a percussive drive as Bulat opines with great ambiguity, a hallmark of Bulat’s writing. Bulat’s lyrical preference is to skirt the line of desperation, hope, and despondence, shifting hook perspectives like “I la la lie, la la lie, keep lying to myself / While you la la lie, keep lying to yourself.” There’s an acknowledgement of apparent differences between the two protagonists within the song, with Bulat left to navigate the outcome on her terms.

“La La Lie” and its subsequent track, “Long Goodbye” are relatively similar in tone and pace. Both are slightly more developed than prior Bulat incarnations, her voice (both narrative and singing) is considerably more confident, asserting an understanding of expiring relationships. “ Furthermore, both exercise a fuller, more energetic sound, with heavy drums and synth work replacing the spacious folk sounds Bulat cut her teeth with.

Third track, “Let Me In,” steers Good Advice into more empowered territory, even despite the song’s theme of detachment. "Are you ever going to let me in without asking?" extends the sense of understanding that Bulat makes apparent in the first half of the album – coming to grips with that which is out of Bulat’s hands. “In The Name Of” is a search for purpose, an attempt to discern what influences one to continue moving forward instead of returning to what’s familiar and most comfortable.

James’ production is apparent throughout, but no more so than on the album’s strongest (and eponymous) track, “Good Advice.” James’ deft preference for glowing synth and strings sounds, building steadily on a singular bass tone while Bulat opines about her search for answers in terms of a relationship. The constant build is as constant and adroit, the eventual crescendo is almost instantaneous. The third verse is perhaps the most inventive moment in Bulat’s career musically, with her vocals not only leading the track, layering a response echo once unconsidered.

Following an almost incomprehensibly good track like “Good Advice,” it would be easy to place a less intrepid track in order to allow the listener to recover, but as this sentence conspicuously suggests, Bulat and James opted for the album’s single, “Infamous,” to follow. Placing a single in the seventh slot of a ten track record is certainly bold, but it fits the plucky, new demeanor of Bulat’s career trajectory. “Infamous” proclaims Bulat’s demands for a lover – current or past – to fully commit to coming back to her, though Bulat’s newfound confidence maintains she is not begging, stating "Don’t waste my time pretending love is somewhere else."

Through further examination, it becomes apparent that Good Advice is in fact a break-up album, though its arguably one of the most proudly valiant form of a tired concept. Lyrically, its quite apparent that there has been some degree of heartbreak, but the combination of Bulat’s inspired delivery of the lyrics and James’ impregnable production, it turns the form on its head. As an artist who has been criminally overlooked, Bulat has made a concerted effort to not only garner but also maintain the attention of many of new listener on one of the best albums released in 2016.  

Has Father John Misty Lost His Humor With Lana Del Rey's "Freak"?

New MusicSean McHughComment

Grab the hotsauce from your nightstand and pour it down your throat, because Lana Del Rey has a banging new 10 minute music video / tour-de-farce. Hipster lore and teenage phantasm reach critical mass on Lana Del Rey’s “Freak,” off her 2015 release, Honeymoon.

Sarcasm aside, the video features the misanthropic matrimony between two of music’s most aloof artists - Lana Del Rey and Father John Misty. A video sure to be misinterpreted by throngs of YouTube-ing teenyboppers, “Freak,” offers a glimpse into the pseudo-story of a cult chieftain (Lana Del Rey) and her ardent disciple (Josh Tillman AKA Father John Misty ) as they blur the lines between liturgy and carnal desire.

An unwarranted combination, the pairing represents a potentially troublesome career choice for the Father, whose career prior to his “star” turn in “Freak” was predicated mostly on skewering the life of the pseudo-ultra-apathy of “indie” pop queens such as Del Rey. Its perplexing as to why Misty would agree to involve himself in something that seems so ludicrously serious – not in the sense of importance, but rather self-perception – though, perhaps the ambiguity of Misty’s tenure throughout the video is his ultimate act of satire.

There are scenes of sacramental exchanges of acid tabs, a presumably unholy red concoction, and sultry corporeal cavorting, as doyen and disciple traipse through a hallucinatory spectacle that is Topanga, California. Supposedly inspired by Tillman’s past experience with acid (purportedly, at a Taylor Swift concert in Australia), the music video portion ends with Tillman and Del Rey dancing in thick smoke, holding hands and walking into the void.

Following the music video portion, the remaining 5-ish minutes are filled with the aforementioned harem of women swimming in a pool while “Clair de Lune” plays, eventually joined by Del Rey and Misty. Is there a more divine purpose to the video? Who knows? Is wild speculation and purveying ones own inaccurate notions abound likely? Yes. Either way, the video is a spectacle in and of itself, much to its own bemusement, and 10-minute time allotment. Here's hoping Father John Misty has reached peak prankster and not descended to half-assing apathist like his newfound contemporary. 

Aofie O'Donovan Stirs the Soul on 'In the Magic Hour'

Music ReviewSean McHughComment
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Being that we’ve reached the year 2016 in one piece (albeit if Trump has any say in the matter, things will surely crumble), it may be safe to take a brief, retrospective look at which genres were resuscitated into prominence and which ones fell from popular grace. The twenty-teens saw alternative folk enter into the zeitgeist, with Bon Iver, Mumford and Sons, and Fleet Foxes riding the wave early, before either adapting masterfully (Bon Iver), shifting genre (Mumford), or going on extended hiatus (Fleet Foxes).

Due in large part to the aforementioned bands, alternative folk opened the door for all iterations of folk music to be explored freely, a la the days of Nick Drake, Joan Baez, and Gordon Lightfoot. While genre expansions such as freak folk were fun, they came and passed with relative brevity, but as more pop and rock leaning folk emphases became passé, real roots revival folk continued to strengthen its base.

Today’s purer forms of folk are preserved by the likes of Ryley Walker, Punch Brothers, and Glen Hansard; all receiving credit where its due, but they’re obviously an all male contingency. Folk music has been a fascinating field of unidentified female talent quietly building their repertoire, with many getting the occasional glance here and there, but nowhere near the measure of fanfare a Taylor Swift or Ariana Grande may receive.

Enter Aofie O’Donovan, the Massaschusetts born folk singer formerly of Crooked Still – a pensive and familiar voice that recalls the days of yore, who ascends into contemporary folk prominence on her recently released, In the Magic Hour.

The sophomore full length release on O’Donovan’s solo discography, In the Magic Hour is equal parts quiet wretchedness and subtle charm; an overall reflection on the transcendence of time. Opener “Stanley Park” wastes no time establishing the somber nature of the record as a whole, with its idiomatic lines such as – “songbirds fly and dead is falling / I sleep to the beating of their wings” – that paint a bleak pastoral picture.

In the Magic Hour was written on the tail end of extensive touring for O’Donovan’s debut album, Fossils, in which she spent the majority of her time on the road alone, which allowed for deep introspection of lyrics. Unfortunately, the writing period for the album coincided with the death of O’Donovan’s grandfather, the Irish family patriarch, whose home in Clonakilty, Ireland became a harbor of untroubled merriment.

Following the death of O’Donovan’s grandfather, who the singer references directly in “Magic Hour,” the deep solitude that enveloped O’Donovan’s writing became the cornerstone for the album. That being said, In the Magic Hour is a disparate vehicle of coping – while the subject matter can be mostly pastoral and personal, songs are hopeful, such as “Porch Light,” or “Magpie,” with its solitary journey of reflection – the song was written about her deceased grandfather.

Folk music is bound to shift and fall victim to various trends in music, but despite whatever there is that is “en vogue,” Aofie O’Donovan will surely remain a pillar of classic folk sensibilities. In the Magic Hour is effectively a combination of O’Donovan’s penchant for seclusion and her brief moments of hopeful certainty. O’Donovan’s music searches for something of stirring substance, and in doing so, solidifies herself as a durable and formidable chieftain of folk music.