Take It Forever plays like the manifesto of someone who doesn’t know all the answers but finds meaning in asking the questions, the words not of a revolutionary or prophet but an ordinary man striving to make life extraordinary, just as it should be.

Since Sendrowitz has continued to make great music, we endeavoured to come up with some new questions and pick his brains all over again. I think you’ll agree he did a marvellous job of answering them.

Hello Brian, thanks for speaking with us again! How does it feel to have released Take It Forever? Is it a milestone you are proud of?

It’s my pleasure! I really appreciate the work you guys do with Wake the Deaf. As someone who puts a lot into songwriting and lyrics in particular, I’m grateful that there are people who take to time to listen, dig into themes, and approach our music with a depth of thought and understanding. This record definitely feels like some sort of milestone, and maybe more than usual. I think you mentioned in your review that it felt like a culmination of ideas, and for me it was in the sense that I wanted to address very specific themes, articulate ideas as directly as possible, and then move on from them. My resolution for 2016 is “no more songs about the internet.” I had started writing about the subject way back with our song “Teenage Anthem for the Drunken Boat”, and have revisited it frequently. There’s been such a massive shift in our culture and the way we communicate. It feels generation-defining and to not address it in my art would have felt inauthentic to me. With Take It Forever I wanted to make an entire record dealing with the sort of questions I’m always asking myself: where does art fit into our culture now? What place does music have in my life, as both an artist and a fan? In a way it’s sort of a break-up album, in the sense that it chronicles my coming to terms with letting go of my own careerist ambitions, and also with the concept of music careerism in general. But it also tells the story of me finding my way back to a purely creative motivation, which is how this whole thing started anyway.

You have been making music as Beat Radio for over ten years now. How has your music changed since the early days? And are your reasons for making it still the same?

Looking back on the 5 records we’ve made with Beat Radio, I feel like each one was its own unique adventure with different motivations, goals, and perspective. It usually involves some sort of self-imposed set of rules. For this one I knew I wanted to create a more traditional “band” sounding record, guitar-driven and using primarily organic sounds. I think the earlier albums were more escapist in nature, lyrically. Songs were always a sort of fantasy world I could create and control, and exist in. The last record dealt with more personal subject matter but still mainly in an impressionistic way. Take It Forever is our most direct and autobiographical album. It’s also the first time since our first album that I had a band to rehearse and develop the songs prior to recording them, which changes the feel quite a bit and was a lot of fun. To answer the last part of your question, I think my reason for making records on a fundamental level has always been the same. I have ideas I want to express, and the process of writing songs and ushering them into existence is joyful for me. It gets me out of bed in the morning.

Point three of your Advice For Artists list suggests making your ‘peace with the capitalist yardsticks that you thought would signify creative success’. The idea is echoed in the opening song too, taking stories from television, being haunted by the resulting ambition etc., basically being a prisoner to dreams of greatness. So, assuming you have vaulted the problem (or are at least in the process of jumping), do you attempt to measure your success in any other way? Are there any goals (no matter how small/ludicrous) which drive you on?

Ha, I think to say I’m “in the process of jumping” is probably most accurate, if I’m totally honest. I read somewhere recently that when you’re giving advice, you’re really talking to your former self. I’m including that advice for artists list in the artwork for the new record because I sort of consider it a part of the same body of work. Looking back, I think I kind of believed it was too late to achieve a traditional version of music industry “success” before this band even started. The second song I wrote for Beat Radio was “Mexico” which contained the lyric “the dream I had was beautiful, but I let it get away from me.” For a long time though, I secretly believed that there was some mystical equation or weird alchemy that could bring me to that dream of success – touring, quitting my day job, acclaim and recognition, etc. Like, if I could reach a certain level of honesty in myself, and openness, I could magically overcome all the obstacles in my path. Who knows, maybe that’s still true. It’s strange to admit that now though, because it’s in contrast to so many things I believe on a rational level. We all know that you can’t equate commercial success with artistic success, but on some level we all seem to do it anyway. Like, the Bruno Mars song “Uptown Funk” just won the Grammy for record of the year. Do we know anyone who really believes that is the best record of 2015? I know a lot of musicians and we’re all generally conflicted about this stuff in one way or another. And I know so many brilliant musicians who exist almost entirely outside of the dimension of not only the Grammys but also Pitchfork, Stereogum, Noisey, and everything else.

I guess part of the manifesto of this album is to communicate that it’s okay, and it doesn’t mean the songs are any less meaningful, important, and valuable. It’s just a different dimension. In its own way, maybe a creative life outside of that world can be more authentic and valuable because it’s not compromised by the pressure of capitalism. Either way, the creative process is its own reward, and individuality needs to be celebrated. I believe our culture depends on that. Humanity depends on that. So I measure success by the way a record makes me feel when I hear it, and the degree to which I was able to express the idea or emotion that I set out to express. I’m motivated by a desire to make something beautiful, and feel blessed every day that I have the opportunity to create and share things that may inspire others in some small way. I want to build a great body of work and a legacy. I want my sons to know a father who stayed true to a creative vision, and worked at it. I want them to know what that means.

I’ve recently read Quicksand by Steve Toltz, a rather hyperactive novel in which a teacher has written a book to help creative people. There are lots of quotable one-liners, but one really stuck out. “We make art because being alive is a hostage situation in which our abductors are silent and we cannot even intuit their demands”. Do you identify with this? Would you say your creative process exists in such a desperate, awfully alive situation?

That’s a really powerful image. I think that it gets down to the heart of faith – the question of whether or not we can intuit our abductor’s demands. I’d like to believe that we can intuit their demands, and art is one of the ways we are able to do so. And maybe that’s what the author is implying? Or at least, maybe the implication is that we should ask the question? Art doesn’t feel like a stab in the dark for me. It feels like a healing, or a transcendence of the pain of that uncertainty.

You have a job and a family so this question will probably make you laugh, but I’m interested distractions from working creatively and was wondering if you find a particular thing gets in the way of making music? Like, besides general life stuff? I’ve purposefully not signed up to the internet at the library because I’m genuinely 5x more productive without it. David Foster Wallace lived without a TV in his home. Are there any specific things you have to avoid or deny yourself in order to make musical progress?

The internet is a big thing. It’s always there and it’s irresistible. Netflix is a big thing. Being married too – I love spending time with my wife, and it’s very easy to crash on the couch with her at the end of the day. I find that to stay on task the only thing that works for me is to give myself projects, set goals and a timeline for myself, and commit to a schedule. I write it down in my notebook and do my best to commit to it. I used to be much more manic about it, I’ve gotten better at finding the balance. Also – involving collaborators in the process is always helpful for me, because I feel a sense of responsibility to do my part and send them mixes to listen to, review, give feedback on, etc. The keeps momentum and drives a project forward.

Right, I don’t want to get too deep here but there’s something I often wonder and although it’s vague to the point of rhetorical I want to ask you because the album pokes at similar themes. Is the dissatisfaction and emptiness you battle right across Take It Forever a modern thing? Or is it just the by-product of being aware of our own mortality? I mean, do you think our parents/grandparents felt the same way we do?

I think there is something about the sort of dissatisfaction we experience that is unique to our time. I tried to describe that in the title track, with the lines: “Everyone is casting spells, and building myths around themselves. All we want is everything, and all we find is suffering.” It’s funny we have all these great tools to allow us communicate more easily than ever before, but people are probably more self-absorbed in general than ever before. I’m not religious in any dogmatic sense, but I have embraced and incorporated Buddhist philosophy into my life over the last few years, and that has changed my perspective a lot. I’ve become more aware of my own need for validation. I think every artist has that. Most people in general do. Part of that is the human condition but it’s also exaggerated by a modern need for instant gratification, and a feeling of lack. I think about my grandfather, who for the sake of brevity I will describe as a man who basically had the personality of Gene Hackman’s character in The Royal Tenenbaums. I can’t imagine him checking his Instagram to see how many likes his selfie got. I can’t imagine him giving a damn about any of that. I admire that, but then here I am, carefully curating my personal brand. It’s sort of hilarious. I guess the key is to keep a sense of humor about it, and not take anything too seriously. Nothing matters, everything matters. “How strange it is to be anything at all.”

I asked this last time but it was long enough ago to ask again. Could you name 4-5 bands you are enjoying at the moment? Who do you find yourself turning to?

I was really taken with Hop Along’s Painted Shut LP, and also Sufjan’s Carrie and Lowell. I was a little late getting to listen to Joanna Newsom’s Divers, but got that recently and it’s really something to behold. I dig that Nap Eyes record that everyone is talking about also. They remind me of a band my friend and old guitar player/producer Phil Jimenez produced called The Piltones, back in 2002 or so. I’m also co-producing a new record right now for my friend Tim Lannen, formerly of The Diggs, so I’m pretty engrossed in that. It’s turning out to be amazing.

You can buy Take It Forever now via Beat Radio’s Bandcamp page. Read our review here.

The post Interview: Beat Radio, Part II. appeared first on Various Small Flames.

The band haven’t put out a full-length album since 2012’s Time is Past, but did have a song (and award-winning video) on the OIM Records compilation out this summer. Not ones to rest on their (film festival) laurels, the act recently reworked Joanna Newsom’s ‘The Book of Right On‘, composing a completely new arrangement that is clearly novel yet still imbued with the special something Newsom weaves into all of her work. The result is a haunted indie pop song, the vocals (which are far crisper than Newsom’s) circled by an array of plucked guitars, glockenspiel and distortion and stalked by a vast empty space illuminated by pedal effects and echoes. Have a listen to the track below and download it for free via Soundcloud:

Discovering the track coincided with us planning Lit Links: a new, semi-regular feature as part of our Quiet, Constant Friends project, one which will hopefully allow us to examine to relationship between music and literature from a different angle. The idea is to create a playlist of songs that are in some way relevant to a particular book, be they songs which are related to the plot or themes, exist within the same general mood, or just bring to mind certain passages for whatever reason.

Well, the link might be tenuous but we saw ‘book’ in the title and thought Foxtails Brigade might be the perfect people to kick us off. Luckily for us, Weinbach agreed, and has put together an excellent piece/playlist centred on Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron by Daniel Clowes.

Daniel Clowes and Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron Speak To Me
by Laura Weinbach

Despite mild disappointment and passively hoping for something better, there is a kind of entertainment factor to simply observing the innately crude, grotesque nature of the world. Daniel Clowes has a knack for magnifying that film of abhorrence clung to most people, places and things. When I picked up my first issue of Eightball as an early twenty-something year-old, I was hooked from the get go feeling like this was was something that sees the world the way I do and Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron immediately became the series within that I most anticipated.

What’s cool about Clowes, particularly with regard to Like A Velvet Glove, is that he captures an essence that feels uncensored and honest and without seeming to try too hard; there’s fluidity to the pages. As a result, the story reads like the transcription of a dream in a mood of impending desperation on the brink of total apathy. But unlike just hearing someone talk about some dream they had that isn’t real and doesn’t make sense to the listener, this isn’t boring because it feels like it’s the reader’s dream too.

Anyway, there’s no doubt that this book and much of Clowes’s other work, has had an integral impact on my developing psyche and pushed its influence one way or another through the stuff I make. Though it’s sometimes hard to really know or see what’s at the core of one’s own art, I sense a similar condition to Clowes’s (or at least his characters) inside much of what I do.

Tunes To Listen To While Thinking About Like A Velvet Glove Cast In Iron
(in no particular order):

1. Laura Palmer’s Theme – Angelo Badalamenti
2. Can We Kiss – Calvin Johnson
3. Took You Two Years To Win My Heart – Final Fantasy
4. Never Had No One Ever – The Smiths
5. Lightening Rods – Faun Fables
6. Shine On You Crazy Diamond – Pink Floyd
7. The Artifact and Living – Michael Andrews
8. Red Head Walkin – Beat Happening
9. In Boxes – Aurora Aksnes
10. I’m An Outlaw – Kurt Vile
11. Unloved – Foxtails Brigade
12. Barragan – Blonde Redhead
13. Seven Two – Blonde Redhead
14. Another One – Mac Demarco
15. The Perfect Timing – Nedelle Torrisi (from the 2013 Paradise In Piano Album)

To find out more about our Quiet, Constant Friends project you should head here. You can buy the Quiet, Constant Friends compilation now from the Wake The Deaf Bandcamp page: All tapes come with limited-edition postcard prints (which you can browse here) and all proceeds go to the global literacy charity Worldreader.

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Jon: Hi Austin, thanks for speaking with us! How are things with you? And how are preparations for the new album?

Austin: Thanks for getting in touch! I’m doing well. Seattle is a beautiful place in the summer so I’ve been trying to spend a lot of time outside in parks and in the mountains. Things are coming along nicely with preparations for the release. This is the first time I’ve released new music through a label, so it’s been fun to learn about everything it takes to release a record at this scale, and to be intentional about setting things up well. The band in Seattle has been playing together a lot recently. I’m excited to play some more shows and share the songs with people.

How would you describe the themes of When I Was A Child? What did you set out to achieve with it (if anything)? The press release says it “contemplate[s] life, love, and death, faith and doubt, time and space”. Would you agree with that?

The majority of these songs were written during a 3-year season of my life when I wasn’t really playing shows out at all. Most were written without the idea of any upcoming release in mind. During much of this time I was living in Kentucky and teaching, taking classes, and working on my master’s thesis for 12+ hours a day. Songwriting has always been a way for me to engage with the sort of themes mentioned in your question, but I think especially in that season of intense grad studies, these songs became a way for me to maintain a dialog with where I had been and where I was going. It was only during the process of compiling songs for recording that I noticed how they were cohesive, or at least complementary, thematically. Since these songs come from a time of life that saw a lot of change for me personally, I guess they are a testament to that change, growth, and movement.

The lyrics on the album are packed with doubt and questions, yet there seems to be an overarching clarity, as if you now have answers or else have accepted the answers aren’t coming. It got me thinking of a Checkov quote, something along the lines of “art can’t answer questions, but it can help us formulate them correctly”. Does creating your own music help focus serious personal stuff in ways you didn’t expect when starting out?

I like that conception of art by Checkov very much. I studied Russian language and literature for my undergrad, and I think I resonated with the overarching approach of authors like Dostoevsky, Gogol, and Tolstoy to the human condition – precisely because they honestly engaged how fragile our minds are, how limited our understanding can be, and how mysterious it is to be alive and in community with others, let alone a deity. Personally, I’ve always been drawn to songs that contain an element of mystery or open-endedness, songs that invite your mind to inhabit them with your own reality and questions. Songwriting, for me, can be an exercise in engaging difficult questions – whether those are questions of faith and doubt, or questions of what it means to move away from home, or even to share your life with someone else. The songs on When I Was A Child do at times wrestle with what can and can’t be known, and try to make peace with that. But the value of music and art for me is to creatively engage that process, not necessarily to arrive at or broadcast the conclusions.

Kind of related to the above question, but do you think of others when writing? Like, do you have a perceived audience, or do you do what works for you and hope that it resonates? And do you ever think about how your music can help other people with these big questions too?

While I don’t feel like I write songs with any particular audience in mind, and I would probably have written these exact songs even if they didn’t have an anticipated audience at all, I do think the audience is immensely important to the process of revision and performance. I’ve always had an impulse to share a song soon after it’s written with a bandmate or friend, or sometimes even to try it out at a show. I feel like having someone else present and gauging their reaction helps me figure out where I’m at with it personally. But perhaps most importantly, it gives me a sense of whether or not the song feels honest to play in front of others. If it feels honest when I share it, that’s the most meaningful thing for me.

I do hope others find meaning in the songs as well. It’s always really special to know that someone else has connected with a song I’ve written – but exactly how that happens is totally out of my control. Aside from overtly religious or political kinds of writing (such as hymns or protest songs), I’ve never liked the idea that songs are 100 percent “about” x, y, or z. People sometimes ask me what certain songs are about and I never know how to answer that question, it kind-of makes me uncomfortable. Obviously there is the static artifact of a recorded song, and of course songs are written in particular moments with unique intentions and thought processes – but I see songs as living entities that we engage with differently over time, whether we are playing them or listening to them. So the twelve songs on When I Was A Child came from specific moments and events in my life, but how they remain meaningful for me is always changing. That’s the only way I can keep playing them into 2016 and beyond and not feel like a fraud. Insofar as people listen to the lyrics, I hope they will find meaning in them over time in their own ways. If the songs are helpful with sorting through big existential questions, that’s great. Or sometimes just listening to music as a background to driving or walking through a park is nice too.Where do you get the inspiration for your music? Lots of coverage focuses on your upbringing and religion, but what else inspires you? Do you draw upon the work of other musicians? Or perhaps works of literature?

Well my music is certainly inspired by where I’m from. I think that my upbringing in the US South in a fairly conservative religious community is one reason I’ve taken a lot from writings by the likes of Flannery O’Conner, William Faulkner, and Walker Percy, or from 19^th and 20^th century Russian literature. Generally speaking, one of the most fascinating things to me about music and literature is how people’s sense of place comes to bear on their work. It seems to me that people usually have fairly complicated or conflicting relationships with their homes and upbringings – it’s rarely simple. For me and for many friends that I grew up with, our coming into knowledge of the world and our place in it was infused with religious belief and practice, as interpreted by our families, communities, and churches. There was a lot of beauty and love in that upbringing, and I’m thankful for it, but there are also aspects of evangelicalism that I now find fairly troubling, personally and politically. Songwriting has been one way to work through that, but I wouldn’t say it’s the focus or key inspiration for my music any more than present realities of my life are.

In general, I spend a lot of time listening to records and going to shows in Seattle these days. When I hear or see something great, it always makes me want to be a better writer and performer. I’m inspired by songwriters like Will Oldham, Bill Callahan, Damien Jurado, Chan Marshall, Phil Elverum, and Dan Bejar, to name a few, who have made diverse and compelling songwriting records over the last two decades and are still going. Jason Molina’s songs have been a source of inspiration to me since I first heard Didn’t It Rain at age 17. I never met him personally, but his records are such a gift. It’s been hard to come to terms with his passing.

Do you feel more distant from some of the songs because they were written a few years ago? Or do you feel that they have finally been given the treatment they deserve?

This record has been over two years in the making, between sessions at Archer Avenue Studios with Kenny McWilliams in Columbia, South Carolina and at the Unknown with Trevor Spencer in Anacortes, Washington. Good friends contributed to the recordings in each location (Amy Godwin and Nathan Poole in both). So I feel proud of what the record represents as a whole – in a big way because it is representative of my communities of friends and musicians on both ends of the country. I’m glad that it will be coming out on vinyl. Thanks to everyone involved, I ultimately feel like it developed into an appropriate treatment of these songs that I’m excited to put into the world.

Does this feel like the start of a new chapter, and can we expect more Valley Maker material in the future?

I think moving to Seattle in late-2013 was the start of a new chapter for the project. Upon moving here I started to play a lot more shows and I’ve gotten to know some amazing musicians and people in this city and wider region. Amy Godwin, who sang on both Valley Maker records, is living here now and I’m so honored to be able to play with her on a regular basis, along with Drew Fitchette (bass, guitar) and Wendelin Wohlgemuth (drums, percussion). I’m always writing new songs, and I’ll be excited for the time to come to start compiling material for the next record, but now seems like the proper season to inhabit the songs on When I Was A Child. Some of these have indeed been around for a while, but I don’t feel particularly distant from them. What the songs mean to me is always developing, and part of my vision for this project is to interpret the songs differently with the band in various live settings – that helps keep things fresh as well.

I saw that you recently uploaded your self-titled debut album to Bandcamp. Why did you decide to make it available after all this time? And do you still feel proud of those songs, which were written a part of your senior thesis project in 2010?

That record is a strange beast for me. I do feel proud of it as a collection of songs, and I see it as a foundational moment for this songwriting project. It was the first time Amy and I worked together; it was the first time I wrote mostly on the nylon guitar with alternate tunings; and it was the first time I really tried to give the songs I recorded space to breathe – to only bring to the recording what the songs needed. I had the first record online to download for free for about two years, and it was fascinating to me how people around the world found it and connected with it, with hardly any promotional efforts on my part. The internet has interconnected our lives in strange ways, but I guess that’s not always a bad thing.

As you wrote in your question, that record was written in 2010 for my undergraduate senior thesis project at the University of South Carolina, and it focused thematically on narratives from the Biblical Book of Genesis. So songwriting-wise, it was a momentary, structured focus on stories of beginnings that I had grown up being taught were foundationally true. For me it was both an academic and personal project to look at them in a new light by focusing on their humanity and mystery. But as years went past, and particularly as I moved to Seattle and actually started to play music regularly again, it felt increasingly strange for these to be the only songs people could access from the project. I didn’t want Valley Maker to be pigeonholed as a sort-of “Bible songs” conceptual project, because for me it had already evolved far beyond the thesis record into a general songwriting project. All that being said, I am still happy for people to be able to access that record. It just seemed appropriate to bring it back in concert with plans for new material to be released. That way 22 and 27 year-old me are both represented.Finally could you name 4 or 5 bands/artists that you’ve been enjoying lately? They can be brand new or from a hundred years ago, whatever you like.

I saw Tinariwen play in Seattle a few weeks ago and it was mind-blowingly good. I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can about guitar-based music from Africa over the last few years, and it was really incredible to be in the presence of that style of playing. I’m really moved right now by the work of Sidi Toure and Boubacar Traore, who are both guitarists and singers from Mali. I’ve been a big fan since Michigan, but Sufjan Steven’s latest record was nearly the only thing I listened to for several months – just incredible songwriting. My most listened to record of the last two years is probably Joanna Newsom’s Ys; it’s a gift that keeps giving. I’ve also been really enjoying Chad Vangaalen’s last two records. Finally, my friend Chris Staples in Seattle is a wonderful songwriter; we’ve played some fun shows together recently and I love his latest record. Sorry, that’s more than five.

When I Was A Child will be released on the 25th September. You can (and definitely should!) pre-order it now via Brick Lane Records. We’ll get a full review up nearer to release. You can read our review here.

The post Interview: Valley Maker appeared first on Various Small Flames.

The record opens with ‘the bird’, a song that utilises animal analogies to describe the strange intimate-yet-remote relationship we share with loved ones. “You bring me dead birds and then you go” sings Joseph, “and it sounds like all our lives and it sounds like you do not know me and never will.” The track is both unsettling and comforting in its honesty, facing up to the awful truth that we will always be separate and distinct, even from those we love the most. While this is something that is usually ignored (for the sake of our sanity) or magnified into melodrama (quite probably also for the sake of our sanity), Joseph (paradoxically, I know) lets the listener into her innermost thoughts in a way normally only possible in the strongest, most unflinching of novels.

In this way Bones You Have Thrown Me and Blood I’ve Spilled brings to mind Marilynne Robinson‘s Housekeeping. At various points during the novel the narrator Ruthie finds herself alienated from-/abandoned by her mother and sister and aunt, leaving her alone in the world. Rather than write this as the the usual hard-luck-with-happy-ending Hollywood story, Robinson’s character confronts and travels through confusion and grief and studies them from the other side, coming to appreciate the fragility of human relationships and realise that our desire to maintain them is what makes life so beautiful:

“They walk ahead of us, and walk too fast, and forget us, they are so lost in thoughts of their own, and sooner or late they disappear. The only mystery is that we expect it to be otherwise.”  

But before the clarity, Ruthie sees and does a lot of strange things, actions which barely make sense to her or those involved, let alone others around them. You get the impression that the characters are subject to forces larger than themselves, things they are not equipped to understand. With this album, Joseph paints a similar picture by presenting her feelings straight, appreciating their importance without being able to grasp their context, an autobiography that goes beyond superficial times and places. Poetic and strange but never contrived, she appears to be trying to convey something that sits just outside of her view, or else is so large that it is only possible to see a small speck at any given time. What’s more, she seems to realise that what feels vital to her is foreign to others, but, without any other option, strives on regardless, surrendering to a diligent ignorance, a promise to try and to love in a world too detailed and complex to understand.

To write about something so deep requires a skilful balance between the explicit and implicit, lyrical and beautiful yet clear and true. Thankfully, like Marilynne Robinson, Joseph proves more than capable. By knitting together abstract imagery and phrases, she crafts something larger than the sum of its parts, forgoing clear song structure and even good grammar in a way which accentuates the deeply personal feel. “I hear your babys here your babys here your babys hear your babies,” she sings on ‘the blood’, “and the wind will blow and the seed be sown and the made of blood is the only loved.” Every song contains similarly striking language, and Joseph’s voice and melancholy piano make the whole thing creepy in the way that we all secretly think we’re creepy . Take ‘the bone’ for example:

“Under the bird of the prey and black hole made of what will not grow back still and the born of the loved and lost heart hard of stone and mouth of dust you are the bone sticking in my throat”

This is a simple album about things so complicated that it’s almost impossible to put them into words. It’s about those thoughts and feelings that we all experience but never admit, the things that we, be it through etiquette and embarrassment and fear, dare not confess to others or even ourselves. Bones You Have Thrown Me and Blood I’ve Spilled is an album about people: lonely and loved, corporeal and divine, mortal and terrified yet enduring with a resilient hope that never quite goes out.

You can buy Bones You Have Thrown Me and Blood I’ve Spilled now via Bandcamp (and via Hits the Fan Records).

P.S. Bones You Have Thrown Me and Blood I’ve Spilled is up for the Scottish Album of the Year award. Joseph has some stiff competition (we really like The Twilight Sad) but gets the nod from us. You can vote too, so head on over to the website before the polls close at midnight tonight to make sure your favourite (*whispers* Kathryn!) lifts the cup.

The post Kathryn Joseph – Bones You Have Thrown Me and Blood I’ve Spilled appeared first on Various Small Flames.

Tracklisting:

1. On A Good Day (Joanna Newsom Cover) – Jordan Klassen & Brian Chan
2. Storm Windows (John Prine Cover) – Jeffrey Foucault
3. I’m Going Home (Hank Williams Cover) – Teen Suicide
4. You Are the Everything (R.E.M. Cover) – Redbird
5. You and I Are a Gang of Losers (The Dears Cover) – Admiral Fallow
6. Won’t Back Down (Tom Petty Cover) – Benjamin Francis Leftwich
7. I Dreamed I Saw St. Augustine (Bob Dylan Cover) – Dirty Projectors
8. Storms (Fleetwood Mac Cover) – Matt Sweeney & Bonnie Prince Billy
9. It’s Not Happening (Be Good Tanyas Cover) – Lowpines
10. Two Headed Boy (Neutral Milk Hotel) – My Latest Novel
11. Cruel Summer (Bananarama Cover) – Superchunk
12. Southern Girls (Cheap Trick Cover) – Cold Warps
13. Tambourine Man (Bob Dylan Cover) – Cloud Cult
14. Black Cat (Donkeys Cover) – Advance Base
15. Save Yourself (Sharon Van Etten Cover) – Brendan Losch
16. Learning (Perfume Genius Cover) – The Bearcat
17. Wicked Game (Chris Isaak Cover) – Widowspeak
18. John Wayne Gacy Jr. (Sufjan Stevens Cover) – Bryan John Appleby
19. Reason To Believe (Tim Hardin Cover) – Evening Hymns
20. You Are My Sunshine (Oliver Hood Cover) – Peter Broderick

As ever, please please please support the musicians we feature if you enjoy what you hear. The artist names in the tracklisting will take you to a page for each so please explore their music catalogues.

The Covers Mix: Volume #5 from Wake The Deaf on 8tracks Radio.

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