Canadian producer Airick Woodhead, known by stage name Doldrums, isn’t afraid of apparent contradiction. Producing an uncompromising debut record containing both big dance beats and unsettling noise, often concurrently, is testament to this. Even the plodding phonetics of his chosen moniker seems to sit awkwardly alongside the frenetic psychedelic soundscapes on Lesser Evil. ‘It’s about escape,’ Woodhead explains ‘it’s a pretty positive driving force, though Doldrums is kind of about escaping isolation and the feeling that nothing is happening.’

Uncertainty juxtaposed with an invigorating thrill permeates the record, exemplified by the aptly-named ‘Anomaly’, where reverberating noise and glitchy production fail to mask the power of the anthemic beat into which Woodhead’s melancholic vocals inject a disturbingly hypnotic sense of purpose and drive. At times, Lesser Evil is euphoric, and at other points close to breaking point, but ultimately composes a gripping visceral experience from start to end.

Woodhead explains how this conflicting aesthetic works within the context of Doldrums. ‘Pop music is a way out. It’s a way to get excitement, to share something with other people. I think that the attraction that I have towards stagnation and all those negative things is a result of my unwillingness to compromise or live by other people’s standards.’ Marrying pop sensibilities with a tendency to explore isolation almost naturally then involves the incorporation of noise, flying in the face of other people’s standards. ‘It’s like a fuck you to consumer popular culture. It’s so hypocritical to make pop-noise. Noise is all about not wanting to be liked.  I just love the idea of these two terms battling it out, pop and noise. Both sides will hate me.’

The tension explored throughout is perhaps Woodhead’s mixed feelings towards the sense of isolation explored, when contrasted with the notion of personal freedom. He describes there being a ‘positive and negative side to both complete isolation and personal freedom, but also a positive and negative side to living by other people’s standards.’ However, Airick quickly corrects himself, ‘Actually, what I mean by other people’s standards is always a negative, fuck that!’ A different metaphor is drawn, more aptly describing the underlying competing themes throughout the record; ‘Lesser Evil is a dialogue between a person who is completely selfish and another person who’s completely altruistic. It’s not that either one is right, it’s just a conversation.’

Having spent the majority of his teen years travelling and on tour, first with previous project Spiral Beach, Woodhead possesses a disparate range of influences. Utilising heavy sampling because he enjoys ‘not only consuming culture but twisting it into something new’, these find their way into his work. Previous projects have found inspiration as far as 70s Bollywood psychedelia and Brazilian mash-ups via Costa Rica, yet Lesser Evil’s samples have come from a fairly narrow pool. ‘I wanted to have some more consistency on my album. Instead of stealing Missy Elliot beats for a track, I wanted to make my own.’

Nonetheless, the influence of Montreal is evident in the abundant layers of noise that cocoon the beats, Woodhead takes the aggressive spirit of noise he’s encountered whilst living there, applying it to great effect. ‘We put on a lot of poetry readings, shows, art shows. A lot of the shows are really insane violent noise shows and I’m really hoping to retain that spirit on a bigger scale, because I find bar shows really fucking boring.’ Further, the laptop on which Lesser Evil was recorded was borrowed from good friend Grimes, the Quebec connections almost seem endless. ‘[Montreal] collects people like me who are just looking for something and somewhere to pursue their own goals. I don’t think it’s like other scenes, because the label really is trying to foster our individuality and help us each do what we do as best we can.’

How to describe Doldrums accurately and concisely is difficult, with many opting to label Lesser Evil as experimental. ‘It’s only my kind of anthropological interest in noise music, especially with regards to electronic music that has made people call this project experimental. I try to shy away from the term experimental because it’s ambiguous what the experiment is. I don’t like how that term just means weirdo or something. It kind of has a negative connotation for me.’ If experimental isn’t apt, perhaps enticingly energising or irresistibly compelling will have to do.  Neither of those serves as an adequate description of the music, but they’re both certainly true. With the release of Lesser Evil, Airick Woodhead has firmly marked himself out as an exciting talent, and although his originality and ingenuity may polarise listeners, it will ultimately reward those who choose to persist.

Depression, disease and illness are explored at unnerving length by Yoni Wolf, the creative force behind Cincinnati alternative hip-hop outfit WHY?, on Mumps, etc., their fourth full-length release. Paradoxically, this record marks a new lease of life for Wolf as opposed to wallowing in morbid reflection, returning to rap having taken a measured sombre excursion to humourless gallows on Eskimo Snow.

Revelling in what is clearly his element, Yoni could assume a mantle far greater than ‘minor star’, effortlessly twisting fact and fiction to produce eminently quotable lines that form his sardonic yet sincere confessional narratives. Wolf explains that the use of embellishment and creative licence is central to accurately conveying the sentiment of the songs; ‘It’s based more on my emotional life than anything else. You might be painting a portrait of the Duke of whatever-the-fuck but you might decide to change his shirt colour from red to green, because it gives the background better, or you might decide to change the background to suit the colour of his outfit.’

 ‘Sometimes I’ll get into a character, which is part of myself. Like on ‘Shag Carpet’, that’s definitely a part of myself.’ Wolf’s characters expose the darker facets of himself, utilising fictional personas to give unforced straight-faced deliveries of painfully brutal yet revealing lyrics. On Alopecia, Wolf illustrated the lows by recounting ‘jerking off in an art museum john till my dick hurts’, whereas on ‘Strawberries’ (featured on Mumps, etc.) he is rejuvenated, embracing the inherent risk inseparable from living freely, rapping that ‘I don’t wear rubbers and I don’t wear sunscreen / I want to heat my hide, not hide under something’.

There’s a comic darkness bound up in Wolf’s wit, and he explains that crafting lyrics that seamlessly combine wordplay and phrasing while retaining the intended meaning and feel are the most satisfying. ‘I really like that line from ‘Shag Carpet’, when I thought of it I was like “yes!”: “teen night, over at the roller rink / Rehearsing slow lewd winks, nude, at the men’s room sink, y’all”. The way the alliteration and rhyming go, and the meaning – it explains who that guy is without having to describe him. My sense of humour tends to be dark and twisted sometimes, but that’s what it is. My favourite lines are the ones that make me want to laugh and cry at the same time.’

The level of honesty in Yoni’s lyrics reaches refreshing levels, to the extent that his use of fictional personas candidly reveals the multiple elements of darkness and vulnerability his unified persona, without him even beginning to feel a shred of self-consciousness. ‘That’s just what an artist is. That’s what an artist does for society; releases tender moments and sort of strips down things to a real form or exposes things. I think if you’re not being honest on even an emotional level, then you’re doing everyone a disservice. You might as well be selling sports socks instead of albums.’

Perhaps sheer openness combined with a talent for phrasing and communication is what makes WHY? appeal to a wide demographic, Wolf noting that their live audience is progressively ‘getting younger and younger’. But what is it precisely about frank insights into the life and mind of Yoni Wolf that attracts such a young and dedicated following? ‘I was asking myself that yesterday at my therapist’s office. What is it about me? I mean, there are things about myself that I feel are probably young and/or immature. I don’t know, maybe since I’m older and more seasoned than them, yet of the same generation. Maybe I’ve thought of some things to say that they haven’t thought of yet, but can relate to.’

Stepping out onto a stage with a ukulele and an overhead projector, Robert Taylor (alias Sparky Deathcap) cut a peculiar figure when opening for Los Campesinos! in 2009. Performing acoustic tracks backed by a stream of hand-drawn illustrations on a screen behind, tying together a cohesive multimedia narrative heavily underpinned by a wry sense of humour, this particular image is one that manages to capture many sides of a multi-faceted artist.

Motivating unusual modes of performance is more natural to Taylor than attempting to categorise his own varied body of work. ‘The main advantage is that people don’t really look at you when you perform, as you have this big screen to distract the audience.’ Labelling his work isn’t quite so straightforward; ‘it’s always a bad idea for an artist of any sort to try and invent labels for themselves (no matter how generic and vague) or categorise what they do too specifically. I prefer to produce the work and then see how everybody else defines it.’

One sense of defining an individual can come from examining how they differ from their peers. Now a full-time member of the band he once supported, Taylor differentiates himself by being able to contribute a wide repertoire of skills, from ‘sex rapping’ (a term faithfully coined by messageboard users to describe the method of delivery of Sparky’s lines in ‘By Your Hand’) to designing artwork for single releases and subscription-only ‘zine Heat Rash. In terms of peers who fulfil a similar role to Sparky as a solo artist, only one springs to mind; ‘Jeffrey Lewis is a genius and I’m a great admirer of his work. I used to fret quite a lot about how I could ever find a place as a singer-songwriter that incorporates drawing when he so completely dominates that role.’ 

Carving out a niche wasn’t the reason behind the adoption of illustrations into his live sets; ‘it was always something I did from very early on. My dad and grandpas on both sides are very talented artists and so I had a lot of encouragement. My dad used to bring home meters and meters of these concertinas of old green, dot matrix computer printouts from the planning department at Newcastle Council where he worked. I used to just spend all my free time doodling on that.’ In fact, the noble art of student journalism is to thank for reinvigorating Taylor’s enthusiasm for producing artwork later on; ‘I started producing comic strips and satirical cartoons for the student newspaper and that reignited my interest somewhat and upon graduating I just divided my time between music and drawing and working stupid, dead-end jobs.’

Clearly a natural progression for the singer-songwriter to use artwork to illuminate his music, but his comics stand somewhat distinct from his music, insofar as the humour is far more apparent upon first glance. ‘I think humour is quite a difficult thing to get right when you’re inexperienced. If you get it wrong you can turn your entire output into a joke.’ The source of inspiration for humour when used, does strike a chord, feeling more like wry observations than scenarios constructed for comedic effect alone; ‘I spend a lot of time travelling and sitting in airport departure lounges and coffee shops watching the world go by. Then suddenly you start to notice that everything in the world is totally bizarre and weird. Everyone’s just trying their best not to say something really crazy.’

Nonetheless, a dark sense of humour finds its way into the songs produced on the Tear Jerky EP, but is incorporated into a wider commentary, incorporating aspects of melancholia as well as just humour. Despite appearing distinct, both humour in comics and the pathos induced by his songwriting fit together cohesively as an interpretation of the world, where Sparky Deathcap finds his own place alongside his influences. ‘Regardless of medium it’s probably the way artists view and interpret the world around them that interests me. I like art that deals with the here and now, particularly, preferably in a wry, melancholic way. I find it weirdly comforting to be able to trace the same essence through the writing of Lorrie Moore, the poetry of Billy Collins, the art of David Shrigley and the music of David Berman. It’s as if your favourite artists are all sitting down for coffee and get on like a house on fire.’ 

Ernest Greene’s life has changed quite a lot since 2009. Posting a handful of demos online from a bedroom in his parent’s house in Perry, Georgia caused waves of excitement across the indie blogosphere, and he was soon being championed as the posterboy of the then emergent genre ‘chillwave’, propelling him into the limelight. Just months after posting an initial set of tracks online and subsequently producing two EPs in quick succession after unrelenting demand for new music, Ernest was embarking upon his first ever Washed Out show, in New York, which was ‘sold out, slam-full of people – and there was definitely a kind of stage-fright for me’. Being catapulted into the fore wasn’t the easiest of transitions to make for Greene; he explains that ‘there was kind of a dual feeling of being really excited to have people talking about music and coming out to the shows but also feeling some pressure. It’s been a trial by fire, learning on the go.’

Since his initial shows, Greene has gained the support of a band for live performances which comprises Washed Out’s current line-up, ‘I tried playing shows by myself but I wasn’t very happy with it. I’m more familiar with live music. I think it’s much more entertaining for an audience to have five or six people up on stage performing than just me… singing and all that.’ However, Washed Out’s new formation doesn’t distract from Greene’s creative primacy and ambitions, or even alter the lone bedroom producer perspective from which he creates his music. ‘If it takes 50 tracks to do the song, I’ll do 50 tracks, then figure out how to play it live after the fact. It’s in the back of my head when I’m writing, thinking about the different guys in the band. But I feel like my best work is completely outside that way of thinking.’

Attempting to label Washed Out’s music isn’t particularly easy, though self-effacing parody blog Hipster Runoff saved music journalists from arduous long-winded descriptions by terming the simple phrase ‘chillwave’ to describe the genre which Washed Out is now synonymous with. The multi-layered complexity of understated dance music married with elements of revivalism to create the deeply introspective soundscapes of 2011’s masterful Within and Without is surely not so easily defined. ‘I can say that I never aspire to make chillwave music, that’s for sure. I understand vaguely what it is and definitely that the music I was doing a couple years ago fits in with what the genre was about – this kind of lo-fi dance music that has a lot of obvious 80s references, that’s still very pop. Whether or not the music I’m currently doing or not is beyond me and I really try not to even think about it in those terms.’ Although perhaps there are valid comparisons to be made between bands also labelled ‘chillwave’, such as Neon Indian and Toro Y Moi, ‘It’s probably true that we share similar influences. We’re all around the same age and have grown up in similar situations, either listening to similar music or working with the same software, so maybe it’s not entirely unfair. There’s no doubt that that type of music has progressed over the last couple of years and has gone in various different directions – which is only natural.’

Escaping being confined to being defined by chillwave alone shouldn’t be particularly difficult for Greene; as he admits that ‘I come from a sampling background’, citing DJ Shadow’s Entroducing as particularly influential due to ‘the heavy psychedelic weight he has to his music’. Another large influence, clearly informing Washed Out’s hazy and introspective aesthetic, Greene explains is ‘Boards of Canada, who do a little bit of sampling, but the thing that I really loved and took a lot of ideas from is like how their records feel very organic. I hate saying ‘vintage’ sounding but there’s almost the songs decaying like an old cassette tape, which I’ve definitely taken ideas from.’ Influences from 80s synth-pop form a key part of Washed Out’s constructions, but Greene is quick to differentiate this from ‘just pure revivalism’. ‘I definitely don’t want to just rehash ideas. In the best cases, revivalist music is taking ideas from two different generations or two different styles of music and bringing it together, where it’s creating something new. It’s definitely influenced by the past, but not just repeating what bands were doing back then.’

Further metamorphosis is on the horizon for Washed Out, perhaps not in terms of how they line up, but an evolution in their sound. Ernest explains that he creates music and progresses by ‘just kind of challenging myself to do things I’ve never really done before. I think a lot of the time that happens in a very unconscious way and whether it’s a mistake that I stumble upon or via experimenting, something that’s unfamiliar feels to me the best way to go.’ The difficulty in preserving the sound cultivated and grown over the past two years whilst allowing this level of experimentation is one certainly noted by Ernest Greene and the direction he chooses to take Washed Out in is as yet undetermined; ‘I think there is such a thing as a sound I’ve created and I want to continue to honour that but do different things with it. I never want to repeat myself – it sounds easy, but is quite difficult, having that attachment to the past but making bold steps towards the future.’

 

Los Campesinos! may one day come to be defined by the sound of twee-like euphoria that follows agonising build-up, present in the opening of ‘You! Me! Dancing!’, an early track re-emerging into public consciousness through its prolific use in recent Budweiser advertising campaigns. This isn’t the image that the band aspires to and their dedicated fanbase would likely vehemently disagree, but it’s not too far off the mark – though the twee description certainly is. Hello Sadness, Los Campesinos!’ latest record, like the beginning of ‘You! Me! Dancing!’ is an exercise in cathartic release following a period of unsettling tension; this time in lead singer Gareth Campesinos!’ life as opposed to within the sonic arrangements.  Gareth explains that “the record is very much centred around a break-up and reacting to it – different stages of hatred, despair, attempts at reconciliation and reconciling things with yourself”. The remit of this record; the exploration of anguish inextricable from emotional pain lies in stark contrast to the cherryade-fuelled parties, awkward dancing and pain induced by sticking fingers into sockets that formed the basis for their earliest lyrics. It’s clear that seven-piece outfit Los Campesinos! have grown up and matured, and although their evolution has been gradual and publically displayed through their releases, little embodies their complete departure from purportedly twee roots quite so clearly as Hello Sadness does.

Though sharing is something Los Campesinos! routinely engage in through extensive use of social media, be it the minutiae of tour meals or expounding feelings of hatred held towards Joey Barton, Hello Sadness opens them up to a whole new level of transparency. Gareth explains that ‘I can only ever really write about what I know – I admire a lot of songwriters who can think in a fictional manner, but I just don’t have the imagination to be able to do that kind of thing.’ Having gone through a break-up just prior to recording Hello Sadness, the immediacy of emotion is apparent in the lyrics with Gareth admitting that ‘I find it really difficult to sort of sit down and be like ‘ok I’m going to write a song’ – when I do decide to write, it’s usually because I have to, things are getting late.’ Written in the midst of an emotional whirlwind, the candidness and brutal honesty inseparable from Gareth’s writing methodology lends remarkably raw power to the lyrics found in Hello Sadness.

Their last release, Romance is Boring, was self-described as a record covering ‘sex, death, the body and football’, themes which re-emerge on Hello Sadness. ‘Obviously they’re themes that are always in the back of my head or whatever. I like repetition of imagery and ideas, and things from one song referencing something else that’s happened in a previous song. I like the idea that when we finish making music I’ll be able to piece all the songs together and see what bit applies to other bits and how it all fits together.’ Despite covering familiar territory, the imagery finds itself in a completely different context on this record, making it more affecting than ever before. Nowhere is this clearer and greatly amplified than in the heart-wrenching ‘To Tundra’, where the constructed image of bodies being taken to water seamlessly marries two themes prevalent throughout Los Campesinos!’ records. 

Morbidity appears to be a constant in Los Campesinos!’ penned lyrics; Gareth explains that ‘without realising it always I’ve got a preoccupation with the human body, the destruction of the human body.’ However, working part-time at a graveyard for Gareth is somehow distinct from this unconscious obsession. ‘When I’m working at the graveyard it doesn’t seem like a morbid place. It seems like a really pretty place with all the symmetry from all the gravestones. Most of the graves there, no one visits them, they’re really old and unattended. It feels nice that if it wasn’t for us cutting the grass down there it’d just be horrible. I see that as a happy place, it’s one of my favourite places to be; you can just listen to music and shut yourself out. It’s really peaceful.’ It seems as though full immersion in what is difficult for others to cope with leads to a form of release for Gareth, venting of feelings paving the way towards inner comfort. The lyrical directness of Hello Sadness embodies Gareth’s attempts to find peace in the face of post-break-up angst, allowing ordinary life to resume without being unbearably plagued by the issues explore.

Greater commercial success isn’t out of the question for Los Campesinos!; a recent appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman manages to apex a previous claim to fame of ‘having our band poster appear on The Inbetweeners’ and the public awareness of Los Campesinos!’ music is exponentially increasing due to wide exposure through inescapably ever-present Budweiser advertising campaigns. Gareth can’t help but beam with pride as he explains that with ‘a lot of people I know from home, football and stuff, it’s kind of difficult to explain to them that being in a band is what I do for a job and even though we’re not famous it’s not a hobby. It’s a proper thing and we’ve been doing alright for ourselves. You can’t really explain that unless you have a Budweiser advert.’ It’s a far cry from Gareth’s earliest attempts to promote the band, being afflicted by the often debilitating burden of Football Manager addiction, he explains that the Sports Interactive community forums were ‘the first place I ever posted a message about our band, before any music site, that’s where I went to do it.’ Although Los Campesinos! have matured, with Budweiser and greater public exposure on their side they’re not yet done growing, with a committed fanbase likely to expand further. The project is only just beginning, with Gareth proclaiming that ‘we’re more excited than we ever have been.’

 

2011 saw the completion of a transformation of the relationship between musicians and their influences. It’s now au fait to openly engage in revivalism; new music is borrowing heavily from the past in an unprecedented fashion. At the forefront of this were Girls, skilfully avoiding the usual pitfalls of making retro music by injecting colour and personality into the eerily familiar soundscapes present in their latest release, Father, Son, Holy Ghost. Frontman and primary creative force, Christopher Owens, explains that ‘the influences are different for each song and to me unimportant, the music is only a backdrop for what is operant, people spend too much time trying to figure music out – in my opinion.’ Owens works on his own terms, refusing to allow even the weighty influences employed to distract from the task at hand; an introspective exploration of the important things in life, which he explains are ‘looking for love, wanting happiness [and] reaching out to be noticed.’ With such an ambitious remit, it’s not a surprise that Owens is so forthright in being uncompromisingly hard-hitting lyrically; ‘I don’t know how to take a step back or be impersonal or to write fiction, I only write from my heart, when I become overwhelmed. I think that’s the reason I love it, because it’s a release’, he explains.

The extent to which Girls’ directness is unrelenting is particularly clear in the emphasis placed upon the no-holds-barred discussion of Owens’ relationship with his mother throughout the record. He explains that ‘[catharsis] is the only thing songwriting is for me’. With the discussion of such emotionally charged personal issues Owens admits that in a live scenario ‘it is intense, and there’s no way around that for me, because any other way would be a bad show and I’m very committed to a good show’. The honesty and integrity required to pull of such a feat could easily be understated as it’s clear that Owens’ feelings regarding his maternal relationship are particularly intense and complex in ways far removed from ordinary experience. Having been brought up by his mother within the confines of cult-like separatist Christian group ‘Children of God’, they led an almost nomadic existence, rarely settling in any country or area for large periods of time. An experience that Owens doesn’t ‘feel much affected by that musically’ but clearly affected the relationships that form the basis for his lyrics. The underlying tone behind the exploration of his feelings towards his mother appears to be forgiveness, a notion  heavily supported by the spiritual transcendent quality Girls’ music takes on, a result of the utilisation of a gospel choir as modest backing for a voice which is self-described as ‘not the best’.

Christopher has wised up and grown up and wears this on his sleeve without betraying the fraught sense of vulnerability present in his voice that lends his words discomfortingly penetrative power. There’s a strong sense that ‘My Ma’ and ‘Vomit’, both perspicaciously commenting upon previously unhealthy perspectives towards past relationships, are reactions formed following a period of epiphany and self-realisation.  This is evident in the borrowing of a biblical metaphor found in Proverbs 26:11 (“As a dog returns to his vomit, so does a fool return to his folly”) to liken a parasitic relationship to in the sprawling epic documenting emotional breakdown, ‘Vomit’. The wisdom exuded by the resurgent Owens is unflappable, taking on an almost supernatural capacity for love in opening himself up towards reconciliation with the mother he left when escaping from ‘Children of God’ aged 16. There is however danger in overplaying the religious aspect of a record filled to the brim with biblical references, it’s merely one facet of a complex narrative woven by Owens and he’s keen to draw attention elsewhere; ‘I have a heavy religious background… it’s less important than people think though’. The emphasis ought to be placed more in spirituality and Owens’ clear desire for love, the religious themes are just more prone to being picked out and analysed, given his background.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost differentiates itself from previous Girls records through its departure away from their original lo-fi approach, though Owens’ explains that ‘the only reason we sounded lo-fi in the beginning was because we had bad recording equipment which was broken half the time – we would have loved to have sounded this clean from the start, it’s only just now affordable for us.’ The effect this has on the record is immediate, the sonic constructions are awe-inspiring and the emotional weight of the material is striking from the offset. This allows Girls to be more effective in being faithful to their artistic intentions, which they pull off flawlessly, despite having set lofty aims. With such an achievement in their hands it’s difficult to see how Girls can follow up the intricately constructed rich complex tapestry they’ve presented to the world in Father, Son, Holy Ghost. However, the prolific Owens appears full of self-assurance in his assertion that ‘there are so many options (about 100 songs)’, a man never short of faith in himself prophesises that the next step for the band ‘won’t disappoint’.