The project of Baltimore’s Bob Keal, Small Sur has released four albums (as well as a couple of singles and an EP) over the last decade and a half. Attic Room is the first Small Sur album since 2013’s Labor, and more significantly, it is also the first since the birth of Keal’s daughter in 2014. During these intervening years, he created “hundreds of song fragments scratched into the margins of life,” and spurred on by sound engineer Matthew O’Connell (Chorusing) and his brother Joseph (aka Elephant Micah), Keal began the laborious process of sifting through this collection of voice memos and half-formed ideas, eventually hammering them into ten completed songs.

But the next steps were far from simple. Forced by the pandemic to cancel a five-day recording session at a cabin in North Carolina in March 2020, Keal took a few months to deal with more pressing concerns before turning to alternative plans for the album. He began to work with O’Connell remotely, laying down his vocal and guitar work in the basement of a local chapel while O’Connell handled the engineering and played piano and Telecaster. Eventually they reached out to other collaborators too, the limitations on a conventional full-band setup paradoxically ploughing the earth for a different kind of community to grow.

Keal describes Attic Room as a “bedroom country” record, a tag anyone familiar with the Small Sur oeuvre will intuitively understand. Keal makes music that is quiet and minimal, intimate in the truest sense. The sound of one person’s experience of life here on Earth, focusing not on grand narratives but the gentle wax and wane of everyday existence. The new album evokes images of weather patterns (such as the thundercloud of opener ‘A Clean Patch of Ground’), the changing seasons and countless small moments that are infused with a poetic gravity. Moments like the day’s last cigarette (‘Rays of Light’), watching harbour lights reflecting on dark nighttime water (‘Monhegan Island, 2012’), or even the warm-hued tones of a cherished memory (‘Aperture’).

It’s high tide in Tucson
and I’m bathing in the sun
in those western waters gleaming
with my lover in my arms

Small Sur has always excelled in these fine details, and Attic Room therefore fits neatly into the discography. But there are changes too, as is to be expected for work so inherently personal. Just like the landscapes and relationships he explores, Keal is slowly changing. Because of fatherhood and his relationship with his partner, not to mention the challenges of the last few years.

Nowhere is this new perspective more apparent than on ‘Sun’, a song which harks back to another called ‘I Love the Sun’ from 2008’s We Live in Houses Made of Wood. As its title suggests, the original was a simple ode to the most important star (“I love the sun /And its rays / Which fall by day from the heavens”). ‘Sun’ is the same song but sung from a different position, Keal now sharing his appreciation with his daughter. “I will show you the sunrise,” he sings, “in the meadow at dawn.” It’s a moment that, perhaps inadvertently, captures the essence of the record—the idea of finding fortitude and beauty in time passing, in cycles repeating, in the fact the sun continues to rise and set despite whatever else is going on in the world. What is love, after all, if not a study in time?

Congratulations on the release of Attic Room. How does it feel to have a new record out in the world?

Thank you! I haven’t recorded much since our last full-length, Labor, from 2013, so I feel happy to have some new music in people’s ears. It’s a bit surreal, too, mostly because of how people consume music these days, even compared with 2013. It feels like there is so much music being released—not sure if that’s reality or just my perception—so I’m just really thankful a few folks have given the album some time to sink in.

As with most artists over the last few years, the recording process was far from a simple one. How did you manage to work around the restraints of the pandemic, and do you think the album sounds different because of the circumstances it was born in?

First and foremost, my co-conspirator, Matthew O’Connell of Chorusing and Elephant Micah, brought so much to the table in terms of technical know-how and creative input. He engineered most of the record and co-produced it with me. I stand by the songs themselves, but the album would’ve been very different if I’d recorded it live with a band and added a handful of overdubs afterward. That’s what I’ve done in the past because of time and budget constraints, and that approach has its limitations. Because of the pandemic, Matt and I hunkered down and built things up from their basic parts, usually starting with voice and nylon string guitar. I’ve always tried to layer in sounds and parts in a way that feels subtle and intentional, but our overall approach really allowed that to take center stage rather than being an afterthought. In the end, I don’t think this album would be what it is without the limitations, so that’s one of the few positives I’m taking away from the pandemic’s many negatives.

Although Small Sur is very much your project, you enlisted the help of a pretty stellar cast of collaborators. How big an influence did each individual bring to the record?

I’ve always loved inviting folks to put their own stamp on my songs. I offer my opinions and input, but the spontaneity of having others just going for it is really fun. Aside from Matthew’s technical contributions to the album, he also played on piano, Telecaster, tape dubs, bass, and percussion. Erik Hall delivered an incredible mix and played some crucial piano parts. Andy Stack of Wye Oak/Joyero had a huge impact on these recordings, too. He has a super intuitive approach and special relationship with my songs, and I loved what he brought to the table, as always. Andy Abelow has played saxophone on my songs for 15 years, and he has some amazing contributions here, too, as does Will Ryerson, who’s played bass in the band for almost a decade. Cara Satalino of Outer Spaces on backing vocals, Joseph Decosimo on fiddle, Dave Hadley on steel guitar, Joe O’Connell on bass—all incredible contributions, too, and I can’t imagine the record without them.

One unique part of making this record was that most folks did their own engineering. The feedback/revision loop is a bear when working remotely, so I tried to communicate what I was looking for pretty clearly and to also be flexible and run with folks’ ideas even if they weren’t exactly what I had in mind. It was pretty fun, and everyone who played on the album brought so much talent to the table that I didn’t feel the need to clutch too tightly to control. I feel so thankful to have friends and acquaintances who were willing to chip in to flesh these songs out, and I can’t imagine what the album would be without each and every one of their contributions.

This is your first release since the birth of your daughter, and while I’m sure this had a practical impact on the album’s creation, I’m interested in how parenthood and the idea of family seeped into the songs themselves. Are you a different songwriter now? Did you write these songs with your daughter in mind?

Aside from the song ‘For Juniper,’ which I specifically wrote for my daughter, I didn’t write any of the other songs with her in mind. Parenting in general and the partnership I have with my wife Monique played a huge role in the lyrical content of the album and my ability to have the time to make it. We’ve weathered a lot together in the 16 years of our friendship and relationship, especially leading up to and during the pandemic. Continually growing in my ability to be supportive and present through the peaks and troughs of life has been a welcome education, and my reflections on that experience are all over the album.

My approach to writing songs has changed over the last decade because I often only have short windows of time in which to work. Most of the voice memos and quick ideas I record have lots of ambient noise in the background: my daughter singing or screaming, dishes clanking, the dog barking or his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. It makes me think of some of Mick Turner’s recordings, especially Moth, and I’d love to incorporate some of those sounds in finished recordings sometime.

The press release also refers to how the record evokes the “Midwestern landscapes of [your] childhood.” Does parenthood cast your mind back to your own childhood? Did you set out to explore these cycles of growth and development directly?

I’m a pretty nostalgic person, so I spend a lot of time thinking about my childhood and other past experiences. The farm in South Dakota where I grew up had a deep impact on who I am, and “place” in general has always inspired me—hence the name of the band and many songs named after specific places and times. I honestly don’t really set out to explore anything directly. Whatever happens just happens naturally.

Talking of cycles, nature has always been very present in your work. Again, is this intentional, or just something that happens as you write? And what is it about the natural world and its rhythms that can bring us so much strength and solace?

I am very intentional about spending time outside. My yearly goal is to sleep in a tent for three weeks, and on a good year I can push it close to a month. In the midst of these blocks of time, I am often—not always—calm and clear and open. During fall 2020, I wrote ‘For Juniper’ while camping in the Catskills. The lyrics and ideas that became ‘Sun’ were written while camping, too. I take great solace in the fact that I can return to places year after year and see things grow and shift and change. And I let those changes illuminate and reflect the shifts happening in my life, too. The natural world is the filter through which I understand and see my life in its clearest form. Some of the poets and songwriters I love most have similar approaches—Mary Oliver, Phil Elverum, Kyle Field of Little Wings, Joe O’Connell of Elephant Micah—so that surely inspires my work and funnels my approach in some way, too

Attic Room is out now. Order it via Worried Songs or the Small Sur Bandcamp page.

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The EP was written in one city and recorded in another, born during a time when Knishkowy was packing up and settling down and dealing with all the emotional stuff that comes with moving home. This feeling certainly comes across on ‘Red Coat’, a song all about the mixed feelings of moving on, a buzz of excitement and far-off regret bathed in a nostalgic sepia-toned light. Channeling Blood on the Tracks-era Dylan as well as Jason Molina and Small Sur, the track exists within that small and fleeting pocket in time and space that opens just before you take off from a familiar location, everyday objects taking on new importance as the seconds tick away and your surroundings can be seen outside of the context of your own unimportant worries and wishes:

Wore your red coat on the balcony
A little light for this time of year
If I keep answering all these questions about why I’m leaving,
I’ll probably be the last one here

L train’s not running late again
It’s every other weekend now right?
Probably rather walk it anyway
I told you I love this city at night

And I was thinking over it again
Not satisfied with what I find
These months alone are better spent
In the present, not on your mind

The EP will be released digitally the first week of August, so expect a full review later in the summer.

The post Song Première: Adeline Hotel – Red Coat appeared first on Various Small Flames.

Tracklist:

1. Kids Will Be Kids – Praything
2. Do You Have Romantic Courage – Hallelujah The Hills
3. The Shore And The Coastline – Now Wakes The Sea
4. The Corrections – Alphabetical Order Orchestra
5. Give Me Time – Roo & The Howl
6. To Remember – City States
7. Vow – Sales
8. In The Rain – Cut Ribbons
9. Feel What – Jacques Greene
10. Down On My Luck – Vic Mensa
11. Greater Than – Sharpless
12. Tennis Court (Flume Remix) – Lorde
13. Warehouses – Kane Ikin
14. Wild Geese – Small Sur
15. Youth – Best Wishes
16. Early Morning – Eagle Lake Owls
17. Dust To Settle – Rough River
18. Slow Down – Scott Orr
19. Gray Lodge Wisdom – Will Stratton
20. Brother, Do You Know The Road? – Hiss Golden Messenger
21. Something Like That – Wolf Collage
22. Muscle and Bone – John Joseph Brill
23. All Your Promises – Jesse Marchant
24. Echo Tropism – Inventions
25. Veiled Grey – Christian Löffler
26. All I Want – Dawn Golden

If you missed them, we have such mixes for January, February, March and April too.

May Mix from Wake The Deaf on 8tracks Radio.

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William Thomas Lawrence – Doghouse of Yer Dreams

First we have some laid back summery vibes from New York’s William Thomas Lawrence. I can’t find much info on him, but he has just released an album called Doghouse of Yer Dreams and it’s great. You can get it via Bandcamp for just $4, so what are you waiting for?

Tyler Childers – Live on Red Barn Radio II

Tyler Childers is a 22 year old singer-songwriter from Eastern Kentucky. He makes classic, country-inflected folk songs which will appeal to fans of Joe Pug and John Moreland. His latest EP is a four song live recording on Kentucky’s Red Barn Radio programme. The EP opens with two covers, one a traditional song by Utah Phillips, and the other originally by John R. Miller. There are then two of Childers’s own tracks, one of which I have embedded for you listening pleasure below:

Eagle Lake Owls – Eagle Lake Owls

Next up is the brand new self-titled EP by Winnipeg’s Eagle Lake Owls. The band promise “folk songs about small town life, long winters and endless summers, filtered through a dusty car window”, and that’s pretty much what we get here. Their sound has a dash of Bowerbirds, a splash of John K. Samson and a sprinkling of the Rural Alberta Advantage. I like it a lot. My current favourite track is ‘Tall Grass Dance’, but it’s all really good. Check out ‘Sunday Morning’ below:

You can buy the EP via the band’s Bandcamp page

Small Sur – Wild Geese

Small Sur have released a brand new 7” single as part of this great feature courtesy of Singles Club. Singles Club run a subscription service, so you send some cash and they send four great records (from four different artists). Hit the play button and read the interview with lead man Bob Keal, complete with some really nice photography.

Also, if you’re not familiar with Small Sur, what are you doing?? Check out our review for the last album Labor, and then buy all their records.

Hiss Golden Messenger – Brother, Do You Know The Road?

This lovely slow-burner has been released by Merge Records in anticipation of Hiss Golden Messenger’s upcoming LP. The song won’t feature on the album though, as despite featuring in their live set, it is apparently something of a misfit. It’s a good thing it is seeing the light of day though, even for the refrain alone:  ‘And though the storm’s passed over/And the sun is in its place/Oh, it took a long time/And the rain, how I know it.’

Scott Orr – A Long Life

More than a little late on this one but Scott Orr released an acoustic album back in January that is gentle and mournful and lovely. Released on Other Songs Music Company, you can grab it here.

Best Wishes – Best Wishes EP

Finally, another (newer) release from Scott Orr. Best Wishes sees Orr team up with friends Eric Fusilier and Matt Henderson to produce a rocky, shoegazy collection of songs, a departure from his sparse fingerpicked solo material. Again out on Other Songs, you can buy it here.

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First of all, how did Old Earth come into being? Was it something personal that developed into something bigger? Or did you always plan to have collaborators?

It started out personal by necessity… I’ve always been a collaborator for other people’s projects, but didn’t write full songs until I was about 26 (I’ve been playing guitar since I was 15, and I turn 34 tomorrow). In ‘05, I didn’t have a band, so I bought an acoustic guitar and started from the ground up.

I met most of my collaborators in ’06 doing open mics around Milwaukee. They focus on Field Report now, but back then, we regularly shared members and shows. I drummed for Conrad Plymouth, which became Field Report, and it was the most fun I’ve ever had as a collaborator. I think of Berg, Porterfield, and Whitty as my core team. They’re my go-to guys when I start recording, and my network grew through them. We’re friends first, though, because I’m hard to work with. I’m untrained. I use my own tuning, my own structures, and I don’t know a thing about theory. When people ask what key I’m in, they might as well be speaking another language.

The pool I’m able to draw from right now is incredible, and there’ll probably be about a dozen people on the next record.

What inspires your song writing process? Are you mostly influenced by other musical acts? Or do things like literature play a part too?

Rap has inspired me since I was 11. That genre is propelled by innovation, competition, and a sense of hustle that isn’t present in the indie rock scene. I’m equally motivated by acts that disgust me by their lack of ideas, energy, and hard work… Small Hours was very driven by things I don’t like. It’s what I’m NOT doing on that record that’s important to me.

Yes, other mediums play a huge part, and finding ways for it all to interweave makes for a rich experience. I have my hands in a lot of disciplines and my mind in even more. I like poetry (esp. the Beat poets) and short stories, visual art, and always have movies on (mainly for atmosphere).

For me, many Old Earth songs are cinematic, not in way that the word is often used (you know, big orchestral sounds and over-production) but in that they conjure imagery. This is very difficult to properly describe but the sounds have an underlying sense of action or violence that produces pictures or events without the need for words. Maybe it is because the music is so psychological, with abstract sounds and phrases rather than a traditional narrative.  Does film have any impact on your work? Or is this just a consequence of releasing your mind through your music?

Film has a huge impact on my work- movies are about pacing and dynamics, creating and changing a mood in an instant, and marrying words and images to sound. I’d say that has more to do with my work than any other medium. I even think of certain riffs or words as characters, because they recur and represent a time, place, or person to me. When I do recordings, I put myself in the role of director, composer, and most often, curator. I’m also doing more scoring for other people’s film work, and it feels very natural.

The process of writing music such as this is really interesting to me. I find the idea of sitting down with the intention of putting together a song that will eventually sound organic and fully intended overwhelming in the extreme. I can see how people sit and write traditional folk songs, with maybe a poem or a story set to guitar strumming, but when the instrumentation plays such an important, visceral role I find it hard to imagine someone sitting down and working it out. How do you assemble something so convincing from the basic units of notes and words? Do you focus equally on the lyrics and the music? Or are the words governed by the music (or vice versa)?

Well, you have to bear in mind that I’m never starting from scratch. I have riffs and words and half-formed songs that I’ve been playing on for years, and I don’t have rules about one element governing another. For me, the song is the basic unit, and the riffs and words arrange themselves around it. Patiently living with the songs will tease out what they want to be… Writing never happens the same way twice, and it’s best for me to think of it as magic and leave it at that.

I’ve found that working on a few songs at once is really useful because they innately speak to each other, and the motifs become inherent. And, sometimes, you have to write three (or more) to get the one you want. Sometimes a song will spring from practicing an older one, or trying to play someone else’s.

Writing is constant, though. Singing with a guitar is only part of the process… As I’m doing a chore, running errands, or riding the bus, I’m working in my mind or on paper. I don’t think I can completely isolate the process from myself and describe it, it’s just what I do.

I once heard Damien Jurado speak on his writing process, something I’ve mentioned before on the blog, where he stated that songs always exist in some unknowable place within an artist, and that there is a spontaneous moment where each song is realised and takes form. Is this the case for you? Do songs tumble from your mind in something like a cohesive manner? Or is it more of an arduous process of trial and error, experimenting with different things?

Some seem to pop out fully-formed, but again, that’s only because I’ve played guitar basically every day for over half my life. You could argue that every song I make now has taken my entire life to write, rendering any spontenaity an illusion.

Trial and error plays a role, and it can be challenging at times, but I’m lucky if music is the most arduous part of my life. Cohesive moments are rare and can’t be counted on, so I just keep working. As for what Mr. Jurado is saying, I instead think of my songs as existing somewhere outside of myself, and I’m just witnessing and interpreting them.

For me there is a duality in your music, two aspects which combine to form a very convincing whole. The instrumentation represents the atavistic emotions and sensations, the instinctive things like fear and joy and unease, and the words are the complex thought, the reasoning that tries to bind the first category together into something that can be understood or shared. The music and lyrics together form something that is very human. Is this something you ever consider? Or is it a by-product of writing your mind?

I don’t think reason enters into it, especially with the lyrics. They’re intentionally vague, contradictory, and sometimes irrational. I like homonyms and multiple interpretations- sometimes the lines are a conversation, sometimes narration, and sometimes simply a human voice needed to be present and it felt good to sing there.

Music is inhuman if it isn’t saying “I love everything and it all makes sense” one moment and then “I’m confused and hateful” the next. The duality is more honest about the experience of being alive.

In our review of your album we included a quote where you essentially say that you take risks in order to make your art, and that pleasing people is not at the forefront of your thinking when trying to create something true to yourself. I read an interview with the Steinberg Principle where you go on to say that it is easy to pad yourself against criticism by being ironic. This remark brought to mind an essay by David Foster Wallace on TV and literature where he basically says that whole generations have grown up into superficial/empty people because they have been continually pumped full of ironic and clever TV characters who make fun of everything to appear ‘cool’. He pointed out that cynicism and irony can only ever be destructive, and truly brave art will stop poking fun at things and be itself, however hideously revealing that may be. Do you think this applies to music too, where it’s maybe not as clear as Family Guy or The Simpsons or a Mark Leyner novel? I’m thinking of artists such as yourself versus the current trend of ‘folk’ bands.

Overall, much of what’s popular is very sad and shallow to me, and I don’t need that kind of trash in my life. I’m not worried about any current trend because I’ve seen so many of them come and go. The joke’s on those bands, really. They’ll look back and feel foolish for dressing up and behaving that way. Fuck irony. I’m trying to make something to uplift myself, and it’s reassuring to me that other people can relate to it.

Finally, could you name 4-5 artists that you are currently listening too? They could be brand new or decades old, whatever you are enjoying at the moment.

My lady plays a lot of 60’s country and punk, I love Golden Oldies, I always have Gucci Mane in my headphones, and I couldn’t fairly list all my friends who are doing music that excites me. Milwaukee is an amazing place to be right now. The stuff that I’ve bought on bandcamp and shows up in the “collection” tab has a lot of good suggestions.

To better answer your question, though, the last month has been a lot of Drake’s Take Care, Fabolous’s The Soul Tape 2, J. Cole’s Truly Yours 2, and as for rock stuff, Ladyhawk’s No Can Do is ruling my world.

Jon: If you want to get some Old Earth music then head on over to his Bandcamp page. Mini50 Records have put out Small Hours, and a low place at The Old Place is now available on vinyl.

Also, in some strange twist of fate, Old Earth is playing with Small Sur and Peals, bands we featured just last Friday, this Tuesday (11th June ’13). If you are in the Milwaukee area then you would be silly to miss it. More information can be found here.

The post Interview: Old Earth appeared first on Various Small Flames.

The band was expanded during the recording of Labor, with Dave Hadley (on pedal steel) and Andy Stack (of Wye Oak – on bass) joining regular members Bob Keal, Austin Stahl and Andy Abelow (who provided a lovely cover of ‘Two Years on Film’ on Slowcoustic’s J. Tillman tribute). These additions are particularly apparent on several tracks, including ‘The Salt’ (which you can hear in the player below) which has a bassline reminiscent of Elephant Micah (an artist the band profess a love for on their blog).

The entire album is filled with beautiful writing, poetic vignettes which compliment the style and pace of the instrumentation perfectly. I don’t have the lyrics to hand but from what I could gather by ear, there are several references to water and the sea, see for example on ‘The Salt’:

“Wandered into the water just in time to watch the salt lines climb up the wall”.

and on ‘Bloomington’

“I can’t follow you into the brackish water, where the oysters make their beds”.

The closing track, ‘Through The Blue’ is also heavily based around this theme and, again, is superbly written. My current favourite is the title track, with it’s opening of:

“Oh I swear I will find even more light in this coming year,
And the darkness will subside or bring focus unto the light.
I will build a shrine and within place my present mind,
Shaped from water, auburn earth, I will favour my lover over others.”

The song starts with a gentle guitar but swells and gains momentum as it progresses. The narrator delivers a pretty hopeful message of inspiration and promises to labour for his lover. I got some Strand of Oaks vibes, particularly from the electric guitar work later in the song. That has to be a good thing.

Every six months or so I tend to fall hard for a hushed and delicate folk album (past examples include Mountain Man’s Made The Harbor and Spirit Guides by Evening Hymns) and I think I have found my next one. The album has been on repeat all week and but I still can’t stop listening. Any fan of this type of music should be checking this out right away.

You can buy the album now on beautiful 140-gram white vinyl (in a sleeve featuring the art you can see above by artist Skye Gilkerson) or as a digital download, from the band’s Bandcamp page. As you may guess, it comes with my seal of approval.

P.S. The band are also going out on a North American tour with Peals, an experimental outfit made up of William Cashion of Future Islands and Bruce Willen of Double Dagger, who have recently released a very good album, Walking Field, on Thrill Jockey. Also check out the ingenious Furniture on their website, an interactive track comprised of 16 sound clips that the listener can play or adjust at their will. Get the tour dates here.

P.P.S. If you’re not familiar with Small Sur’s previous release, Tones, then 1. Take a good long look at yourself and 2. Get it here.

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