Well, imagine if, rather than starting from scratch in an attempt to out-do the previous release, Tamko and Co. double-down on perfecting this idea. Imagine how powerful said EP could be if the best bits were recycled, given a new coat of gloss and accompanied by a handful of brand new, genre-bending hits to create a full-length album. Imagine Infinite Worlds, a record where the Vagabon aesthetic blooms from the seeds of the past, forgoing the disposable mile-a-minute culture that usually makes up digital age music in favour of patience and craft. Why throw away and move on when you can build something lasting? As the press release reads: “Within the songs of Laetitia Tamko there are infinite worlds: emotional spaces that grow wider with time, songs within songs that reveal themselves on each listen.”

‘The Embers’ (‘Sharks’ from Persian Gardens) opens the release with Tamko’s plaintive voice, soon escalating into something far noisier, the lyrics sounding like something  between plea and apology, though by the end it could be an accusation also. “You’re a shark that eats every fish, you’re a shark that hates everything. Run and tell everybody, I’m just a small fish.” The song has evolved since the first iteration, losing none of its vulnerability but now carrying a new defiant edge, the subject probed from a more empowered angle. Similar can be said of ‘Fear & Force’ (formerly ‘Vermont II’). The lyrics remain unchanged from the Persian Gardens version, but the communication feels somehow clearer. What was once a standard break-up/heartache song now seems to be operating on a different level, a song about missed opportunities and perhaps even alternate universes, the ridiculously wonderful and suffocating idea that so much can hinge on so little, with no chance of going back.

I’ve been hiding in the smallest space
I’m dying to go, this is not my home

Freddie, come back.
I know, you love Vermont but I thought I had more time.

Freddie, come back.
I know, you love where you are but I think I change my mind.

It’s as though Tamko’s intentions were lost in the demos through no fault of her own, passed through the bedroom pop filter by fans of the genre and filed as well done but run-of-the-mill young loneliness. With these new versions comes the realisation that these tracks resonate far wider, alluding to issues around selfhood and free will and cultural barriers, and the album’s title begins to seem all the more pertinent.

‘Minneapolis’ and ‘100 Years’ are altogether more frantic, bursting into life with the crash of guitar and tumble of drums. At several points the energy ceases, dissipating into silence before either exploding back or rebuilding gradually toward a finale, the instrumentation coalescing with practised patience, eventually gathering as a dense black thunderhead. Sandwiched between these tracks is the warm, quasi-instrumental ‘Mal à L’aise’, Tamko’s spoken word French supported by Eric Littman’s hypnotic refrain, acting more an instrument than additional vocals. The song is a musical mosaic, somewhere between downtempo electro and devotional ambient that shifts shape according to mood and context, one which hints at the spheres into which Vagabon might push in the future.

And the variation isn’t done there. ‘Cleaning House’ is blue bedroom folk which pushes past the tropes of the genre (“What about them scares you so much? / My standing there threatens your standing too”), while ‘Cold Apartment’ gets semi-near to Daughter-esque atmos-pop/rock. Here the insistent drums and impassioned vocals build in intensity, though there’s a foggy absence which refuses to be quelled, as though the track was written in the stillborn silence of some violent trauma and a mere attempt at filling the space. ‘Alive and A Well’ is altogether warmer, equals parts hopeful and wistful, not so much an attempt to plug space but rather efforts to carve one out – room in which to live and grow. In which to be.

“I would change my hair I’d grow taller
I’d live everywhere that I love
I’d stand strong, my feet will drag on
My odor will linger and it’s something they will long for

I will make a home that is my own
if I move around, I know it won’ t be for a while”

So yes, we stand by the summation. This is the sort of music that makes you feel part of a something, it does reflect a big sad and confused gang spread out all over the world, and we should be connected by shared experience and a sneaky feeling that life is worth living. However, to mark Infinite Worlds as simply sad or lonely falls into to the very trap of binarism that the album spends so much time fighting. Yes, it’s mournful but joyous too. It’s bedroom pop and indie rock and experimental ambient. It’s immensely personal and broadly relatable. It’s Vagabon, though only as it sounds right now.

You can get Infinite Worlds now on vinyl or CD from Father/Daughter Records, or the Vagabon Bandcamp page.

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Vagabon is the recording project of Lætitia Tamko who, along with Eva Lawitts (bass) and Elise Okusami (drums), makes a robust blend of indie rock and bedroom pop. Persian Garden, which came out last November, is a mini-album centred on the departure (and continued absence) of a friend or loved one which pushes and pulls in all directions, as if straining against some emotional shackles (self-imposed or otherwise). Opener ‘Cold Apartment Floors’ is a good example. The lyrics and instrumentation conjure a disconsolate air for the most part, but brimming beneath is a sense of something else, a certain charge in the guitar and Tamko’s vocals which add another dimension, hinting at a greater depth to the whole situation:

“I know its my fault, I gave up on everything
and I see you happy, it warms my heart.

And we said its not the end but she wore that white dress
and I changed, we are not the same but i thought you’d wait

So we sit on my cold apartment floor where we thought we’d stay in love”

From here the album accelerates with ‘Shadows’, an urgent track with ramshackle banjo and steel guitar supporting lyrics centred on wandering and movement (Vagabon is a meaningful moniker). The song has the breathless feel of constant action, Tamko stealing gasps between lines as she lets her words stream out in a desperate rush. ‘Vermont II’ deals with the longing that comes with a change of heart (“Freddy come back I know you love where you are /
but I think I changed my mind”) while ‘Heroine’ traces addiction through small towns and cold winters, detailing the disappointment of relapsing into old habits (“winter will never be the same now that you’re back to your old ways”), the guitars rising into squally chaos and forcing Tamko to wail behind the noise. ‘Vermont’ squirms in a different direction: backwards. Here the secondary character (Freddy?) is packing for Vermont, allowing us to see the narrator pre-mind change, wounded by deceit but trying to heal, if only to prove a point. ‘Sharks’ picks up from this point, capturing the slump in self-worth that succeeds lies and rows.

“Run and tell everybody that Laetitia is
a small fish

I’m just a small fish.

And you’re a shark that hates everything.
You’re a shark that eats every fish”

Vagabon make the special kind of sad and confused music that has the opposite effect on the listener. The sort of music that makes you feel part of something, a big sad and confused gang spread out all over the world, connected by shared experience and a sneaky feeling that life is worth living.

You can buy Persian Garden now from the Vagabon Bandcamp page. It was out on cassette via Miscreant Records but we’re waaaay too late for that. Check Ebay, maybe?

P.S. Lætitia plays guitar in Real Life Buildings, who we like very much.

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