Cerca:kacey johansing

In March of 2020, after learning that a dear friend’s life was coming to an end, Johansing sat down and in one sitting wrote the song “Daffodils”. An elegiac tribute to someone facing death with grace and curiosity, the lyrics confront Johansing’s own mortality by observing the brief lifespan of a Hlower. Only a week later when the world came to an abrupt standstill, she soon found herself processing this recent loss while trying to make sense of a new global reality. Across the ensuing months, Johansing found herself increasingly untethered by a world of isolation and political upheaval.

Having been a frequent touring member of bands like Hand Habits and Fruit Bats, and often being called into the studio to lend her harmonies and multi-instrumental talents to records, Johansing’s phone no longer rang. Living in Los Angeles she feared her musical community was vanishing, as friends and collaborators continually announced they were leaving the city. It was in returning to her piano nightly that she found the greatest solace, feverishly writing the songs that would be collected on her next album. Resulting from this new sense of time and focus was a deepening of her songwriting. As Johansing recalls, “I felt like a metamorphosis happened during that time. There was a lot of personal growth and healing.”

Throughout Year Away Johansing traverses uncharted emotional landscapes brought upon by the changes occurring all around her. The forced self-reflection of the moment is aptly captured by “Old Friend”, featuring an aching melody and swooning production that recalls the best of Harry Nilsson. The epic piano and saxophone-driven “Smile with My Eyes” addresses the loss of community as friends became distant and political divides between family grew. On “Smile” Johansing pushes her vocals further than ever, expanding her range and using her peerless voice as the singular instrument it is. Facing the loss of a family home due to environmental destruction, “Shifting Sands” is marked by soaring Hlutes, Hield recordings and glassy synthesizers that nod to Japanese New Age.

“Daffodils”, the stunning album centerpiece, is built from a pastiche of looping samples, swirling Mellotron and dazzling vibraphone. “Keep your heart open wide, you never know your time / Keep your heart wild, true Hlower child”, Johansing sings as she says goodbye to an elder, while the band reaches a grief-stricken crescendo of woodwinds and chiming bells. On the title track, Johansing takes listeners on an eerily meditative journey of collective experiences. “I wanted to keep the progression simple and repetitive so that musically we could add new elements little by little, while the emotional tone of the lyrics becomes increasingly more strained and expressive”. The song grows to a fever pitch as Johansing sings higher than she thought possible; the tension of the repeating chords Hinally resolving into a hopeful coda as multiple soloists weave around each other.

Amidst heavier themes, Johansing still leaves room for her love of irresistible pop melodies and lush production. The driving “Last Drop” and mid-tempo “Valley Green” are two of her catchiest songs to date. On the former Johansing sings the anthemic chorus, “As if it were the last drop, and nothing ever lasts forever / As if it were the last stop, too far out to come back ever”, longing for a love that she’ll never take for granted, while also admitting that she doesn’t always know how good she has it. “Valley Green” features shimmering layers of 12- string guitars, stacked horns and an impeccable solo by co-producer and multi- instrumentalist Tim Ramsey (Vetiver, Fruit Bats), hinting at a love for bands like NRBQ.

Having been eager to capture the initial spark of songwriting, Johansing booked time at Highland Park’s 64 Sound Studio the week that it reopened. Over the course of three days, she and her band gathered basic tracks for 10 songs, before returning home to Hinish the record with Ramsey. Setting forth to make an album that paid homage to the music that kept them company during the months spent alone together, the duo pulled inspiration from a wide net including Burt Bacharach, John Carroll Kirby & Haruomi Hosono. Ramsey’s newfound love of early digital synthesizers dovetailed effortlessly with Johansing’s fondness for classic 70’s horn and string arrangements, creating a sound that is distinctly modern yet warm and familiar.

Once again Johansing called upon some of the Hinest players of Northeast Los Angeles’ vibrant music community to lend a hand with the record. The 70s R&B-folk of “Watch It Like a Show” features an electric guitar solo from Hand Habits’ Meg Duffy, while album closer “Endless Sound” boasts backing vocals from electronic musician Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith and swooping Indian-inspired violins from Amir Yaghmai (HAIM, The Voidz). The record shines brightly thanks to an ace mix from veteran producer Rob Schnapf (Beck, Elliott Smith, Cat Power), woodwinds from Logan Hone (John Carroll Kirby, Eddie Chacon), and a featured rhythm section of drummer Josh Adams (Jenny Lewis, Bedouine) and bassist Todd Dahlhoff (Feist, Devendra Banhart). Recorded across multiple studios including LA’s famed Sunset Sound, the album remains steadfastly buoyed by the adept engineering of Tyler Karmen (MGMT, Alvvays).

Though born of turbulent times, Year Away is ultimately interested in moving forward. The album ends with “Endless Sound,” where Johansing laments seismic global changes, (“The water is hotter, the mighty thaw / The current’s reversing, the last are lost”) but vows to keep going (“No storm can take me down / Endless light, endless sound”). It’s Year Away’s resilience that shines through despite the darkness. It’s a sound all her own and Johansing’s most cohesive set of songs yet.

Born of a thousand nights lost in a surrender to stillness and contemplation, In The Air is Anna St. Louis’ second full length album and her most considered work yet. St. Louis’ debut If Only There Was a River seemed to emerge fully formed out of the recesses of her mind; a gritty, mesmerizing affair, filled with jagged edges and ghostly apparitions. The type of record that announces a new voice; one haunted by what has come before.

But this time, St. Louis is no longer concerned with what could have been and sets her sights to exploring what could be. It’s an outlook on the world that was formed when her immediate one was small. The intervening years since her last album found St. Louis in a small one-bedroom cabin in the middle of the woods of upstate New York with a new love and time to think of what she wanted to express with her music. For weeks on end, the only trips she took were to and from her job as the front desk clerk at a nearby hotel. The previous years she had spent on tour and performing constantly in the venues of Los Angeles felt like they had occurred in another lifetime.

“It really compelled me to surrender to the unknown,” she says. And in this surrender, she found liberation. St. Louis is more self-assured, open-hearted and ready to say what she wants. St. Louis describes the writing period as one of a slow harvest; a fertile time but one that required a newfound patience. Instead of documenting her first thoughts, she spent more time with each song, going deeper with the themes and ideas she wanted to express.

This slower approach also guided the sonic textures of the album. Working with producer Jarvis Taveniere (Purple Mountains, Woods) in two extended recording sessions in Los Angeles in 2021, St. Louis used the studio in a previously unexplored way, opening up her songs to more experimentation featuring brighter tones and a more orchestral sound to accompany her new perspective. To that end, she was aided by a cast of friends and collaborators including Jess Williamson, Kacey Johansing, Oliver Hill (Kevin Morby, Vagabon) on strings, Alex Fischel (Spoon) on piano, Josh Adams on drums (Bedouine, Tim Heidecker) and Keven Lareau (Cut Worms, Hand Habits).

In the Air has the sound of a joyous consideration of the present moment; a quiet morning revealing a new snowfall outside, steam coming from the kettle, just before it whistles, St. Louis with her guitar, staring out the window, with a few free hours before work. She’s reflecting on the scene in front of her, imagining the times yet to come. You can hear it; she’s a long way from the noisy bars of Los Angeles, the rigors of the road. As she intones in “Rest”: “You spend your whole life believing in the chase. And then you realize that being somewhere doesn’t matter like it used to.” She doesn’t need a river to carry her anymore ... She’s in the air.

I’ve known Alex Bleeker my entire life. Well, okay, maybe not since I was born, but there’s no doubt that I’ve shared a fair bit of memories with him over the years. We’ve acted in high school productions of Shakespeare together, gone on late-night diner runs, argued about which Weezer album is the band’s best, and swapped mutual appreciation for the music of Yo La Tengo on car rides careening around the snaky suburbia of our hometown. Just like his Real Estate bandmates Martin Courtney and Julian Lynch, we attended high school in the New Jersey enclave of Ridgewood, a place where sticky summer days yielded cool nights with a glow so nocturnal that you can practically hear the fireflies buzzing off of this sentence alone.

Indie rock—a type of music that can easily be made or listened to in someone’s garage—often dominates teenage suburban preoccupations, and both Alex and I were no exception. You can hear this legacy of listening on his new album Heaven on the Faultline, which departs from his last full-band outing as Alex Bleeker and the Freaks, 2015’s Country Agenda. Whereas that album had a more full-bodied explicitly folk-y feel, Heaven on the Faultline finds Bleeker getting back to his homespun roots over the course of its 13 songs, from the jangly guitar pop of New Jersey heroes the Feelies and YLT’s hushed, acoustic reveries to the open-hearted folk rock that marks so much of the Grateful Dead’s early catalog.

Written and recorded over the last several years, Heaven on the Faultline’s songs were initially recorded straight to GarageBand in Bleeker’s bedroom before receiving further studio refinement in co-producer Phil Hartunian’s Tropico Beauty space in Los Angeles. With contributions from Confusing Mix of Nations’ Josh Da Costa, Cameron Stallones of Sun Araw, singer-songwriter Kacey Johansing, and Parting Lines’ Tim Ramsey, Heaven on the Faultline achieves a warm and intimate feel that defines Bleeker’s mission for the album: “I wanted to capture the moment in which I fell in love with making music to begin with. This is music for myself—me getting back to music for music’s sake.”

The unsteady times we live in certainly creep into view on Heaven on the Faultline. The deceptively easygoing “D Plus” was written on the day of President Donald Trump’s inauguration with the cursed event in mind, while the anxiety of climate change hovers just above the lovely guitar loops of “Felty Feel.” “The album is very much about dealing with the anxiety of a sense of impending doom,” Bleeker states while discussing the album’s portentous vibes. “When is the hammer going to fall? How do we go forward in the face of such anxiety and experience the complexity of life?”

Tough questions with few answers, but try not to stress too much. It’s possible to experience such existential doubt while also enjoying the simple pleasures that life has to offer, and that ethos is square at the heart of Heaven on the Faultline. It defines who Alex Bleeker is, too, and is one of many reasons why I’m proud to have known this special person and artist for so long.

Larry Fitzmaurice

Compilation album curated by Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith

The directive for the composers featured on Breathing Instruments was, in effect, to accentuate the ways in which instruments sound like they are breathing. Some have recreated the literal experience of feeling or hearing the human breath. Others take a more abstract approach, where “breathing” is more motif than object of emulation.

From hushed pulsations and distant vocals in Kathryn Shuman’s ‘Objects creating a womb-like environment to Julianna Barwick’s blissful ‘Newborn’ the tracks give sonic form to the experience of emerging from the womb.

There is also a striking concurrence of woodland sounds throughout this collection from the ghostly tones of Emily A Srague’s ‘Flew’ to Cool Maritime and Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith’s dew dripped ‘Daybreak’.

Meanwhile the undulating seascape of Geotic’s ‘Uncaught’ conjures moments of Evening Star by Fripp/ Eno, but supplants that album’s crystalline production with the warm crackle of vinyl.
If we learn anything from Breathing Instruments it is that we are inextricable from the natural world.