June Madrona - Battlegrounds
Artist profile:
June Madrona
Release Date:
Label: Bicycle Records
Rating: ****
This, the fourth album from Olympians (the place, not the esteemed athletes) June Madrona is as articulate and atmospheric a record as you will hear this year. Led by the prolific and poetic Ross Cowman, the folksy three-piece is completed by classically trained Micah Ellison on melodica and Danielle Chiero on flute. The unique instrumentation lends these wistful, perceptive meditations on love, loss and youth a sense of otherworldliness; the tangible presence of those worries that nag at the back of your mind; the shapes you catch moving at the corner of your eye; the secret aches that burn the heart and sting the eye.
Opening track ‘Battle Ground’ is an exploration of the history of consequence and responsibility seen through the microcosm of the family unit – it’s plaintive delivery and funereal pace bely a quiet celebration of the cosy simplicity of the homestead, faults and all. As Cowman moves, in the final verse, toward the ironies of American history it becomes evident that this is a talent to reckon with – every single line is mesmeric but none more so than it’s closing mantra ‘We’re connected’. It’s stunning.
‘Grandpaw Frank’ will inevitably draw wry smiles of recognition, describing as it does an elderly man, full of foibles, worn and broken down but the type of man Cowman ‘would not like to have met... on the street when he was younger’. Despite the clear sadness of the situation, it is imbued with a sense of the ludicrous and an understanding of these awkward, inevitable situations, the strange complexities of human nature. It’s the kind of stuff normally to be found in, occasionally, the best work of Nick Drake or Sufjan Stevens, but more often than not in great American literature – it almost feels like Philip Roth set to minimal, beauteous music.
‘Football Dream’ perfectly prods at hideous memories of childhood inadequacy, simultaneously toying with ideas of masculinity (‘Men are supposed to be big and strong so nothing can hurt them’), all enveloped in a sparse but welcoming melody. It’s an outsider’s anthem cut through with absolute honesty – ‘How I hate the part of me that wants to be like them’ bemoans Cowman, dodging ‘rebellion’ in favour of simple displacement.
‘Trying to Sleep’ takes the tiresome subject of dreams and makes it somehow fascinating - drawing comparisons between the strange and surreal situations of the real world and those of the subconscious mind, it appears there is very little difference between them. It’s enlightening, elevating stuff with a tender, relentless guitar part reminiscent of Red House Painters driving it’s eventual anti-nuclear message home.
‘Wolf Dream’ opens with the stark and terrifying ‘I can hear wolves’ backed by a muted single guitar note. It seems things are taking a turn for the humourless and bleak before it reveals itself to be a tribute to the animal nature in us all - ‘we are pack animals searching for our families / We need to be free and wild’. The cracking vocal, straining against this lyric is almost unbearable both in it’s joyousness and, as it fades from hearing, it’s essential hopelessness.
‘Dandelion Seeds’ is a tense venture into deepest, darkest Drake territory calling on folk tradition leavened with a humorous, contemplative lyric. The flute parts here carry the song beautifully, as if the very breath they describe as ‘scattering the seeds’ were pouring through the song.
‘Contents of a Bus’ is a brilliant, Jeffrey Lewis type singalong, full of good-natured yet cynical humour in it’s nursery rhyme description of the people who regularly take Cowman’s local journey.
‘Long Distance’ reaches a little into Hefner territory, scrabbling as it does through potentially innocent, potentially damaging sexual exploits among friends. It’s knowing take on social convention is both amusing and surprisingly penetrating. It’s an ‘on the road’ song that clearly and excellently avoids the cliches of the genre.
‘Love Is Complicated’ delves into the ambiguity of multiple partner, dual gender sexual relations delivered in a style that could have been delivered by Bob Dylan if invited onto Sesame Street. It’s a celebratory romp through the essential brilliance and silliness of young love and throws off a great Jonathan Richman vibe.
‘Transatlantic’ opens with ‘Airplanes fly impossibly high’. Too true. Over a complex fingerpicking part we hear an existential tale of modern reliance on technology, and this is the track where Micah and Danielle’s backing vocals are put to best use, making the singularly terrifying experience of transatlantic flight appear somehow shared and less horrendous. As Cowman croons, Morrissey-like ‘So high in the air, breathing recycled oxygen’ it draws the listener into the private world of his paranoid fears.
‘Big Sur’ shares it’s name with both a life-altering place and, of course, a rather fantastic Kerouac novel. We’re down the long dark road toward Mark Kozelek again here, a slow and generous guitar intro plucking out a route to the heartache of a man once he has compared himself not only to others, but to nature itself. This is the devastating dark heart of an album that usually manages to keep it’s head on straight whatever life throws at it, and the record is all the more multi-layered and satisfying for it. As the incessant strums of it’s time-change conclusion come it’s evident how much this most lyrical of bands can do when only minimal lyrics are employed.
Closer ‘California Highways’ is a taut, solitary homecoming tune that swoops back through the soul of the album, touching on it’s various points of preoccupation, almost summarising them with the lyric ‘I saw the driver slam on his breaks without an inch to spare / and i never felt so alive as a cheer filled the air’. The detail, the honesty, the precise emotional clarity.
This is an album of weight and of consequence that somehow feels as light as air itself. Over twelve tracks, June Madrona have managed to create a document of emotion, a testament to intellect and perception. It’s divergent themes of aging, of the youth to be found in all people, of the age to be found in the young, the wisdom to be found in the most everyday of situations are utterly singular, absolutely unique. It’s an album that will inevitably be ignored by the masses but should not be ignored by you.
James O’Connell
June Madrona Myspace
Buy June Madrona CDs | Buy June Madrona mp3s | Buy June Madrona Tickets | Buy June Madrona Merch
Release Date:
Label: Bicycle Records
Rating: ****
This, the fourth album from Olympians (the place, not the esteemed athletes) June Madrona is as articulate and atmospheric a record as you will hear this year. Led by the prolific and poetic Ross Cowman, the folksy three-piece is completed by classically trained Micah Ellison on melodica and Danielle Chiero on flute. The unique instrumentation lends these wistful, perceptive meditations on love, loss and youth a sense of otherworldliness; the tangible presence of those worries that nag at the back of your mind; the shapes you catch moving at the corner of your eye; the secret aches that burn the heart and sting the eye.
Opening track ‘Battle Ground’ is an exploration of the history of consequence and responsibility seen through the microcosm of the family unit – it’s plaintive delivery and funereal pace bely a quiet celebration of the cosy simplicity of the homestead, faults and all. As Cowman moves, in the final verse, toward the ironies of American history it becomes evident that this is a talent to reckon with – every single line is mesmeric but none more so than it’s closing mantra ‘We’re connected’. It’s stunning.
‘Grandpaw Frank’ will inevitably draw wry smiles of recognition, describing as it does an elderly man, full of foibles, worn and broken down but the type of man Cowman ‘would not like to have met... on the street when he was younger’. Despite the clear sadness of the situation, it is imbued with a sense of the ludicrous and an understanding of these awkward, inevitable situations, the strange complexities of human nature. It’s the kind of stuff normally to be found in, occasionally, the best work of Nick Drake or Sufjan Stevens, but more often than not in great American literature – it almost feels like Philip Roth set to minimal, beauteous music.
‘Football Dream’ perfectly prods at hideous memories of childhood inadequacy, simultaneously toying with ideas of masculinity (‘Men are supposed to be big and strong so nothing can hurt them’), all enveloped in a sparse but welcoming melody. It’s an outsider’s anthem cut through with absolute honesty – ‘How I hate the part of me that wants to be like them’ bemoans Cowman, dodging ‘rebellion’ in favour of simple displacement.
‘Trying to Sleep’ takes the tiresome subject of dreams and makes it somehow fascinating - drawing comparisons between the strange and surreal situations of the real world and those of the subconscious mind, it appears there is very little difference between them. It’s enlightening, elevating stuff with a tender, relentless guitar part reminiscent of Red House Painters driving it’s eventual anti-nuclear message home.
‘Wolf Dream’ opens with the stark and terrifying ‘I can hear wolves’ backed by a muted single guitar note. It seems things are taking a turn for the humourless and bleak before it reveals itself to be a tribute to the animal nature in us all - ‘we are pack animals searching for our families / We need to be free and wild’. The cracking vocal, straining against this lyric is almost unbearable both in it’s joyousness and, as it fades from hearing, it’s essential hopelessness.
‘Dandelion Seeds’ is a tense venture into deepest, darkest Drake territory calling on folk tradition leavened with a humorous, contemplative lyric. The flute parts here carry the song beautifully, as if the very breath they describe as ‘scattering the seeds’ were pouring through the song.
‘Contents of a Bus’ is a brilliant, Jeffrey Lewis type singalong, full of good-natured yet cynical humour in it’s nursery rhyme description of the people who regularly take Cowman’s local journey.
‘Long Distance’ reaches a little into Hefner territory, scrabbling as it does through potentially innocent, potentially damaging sexual exploits among friends. It’s knowing take on social convention is both amusing and surprisingly penetrating. It’s an ‘on the road’ song that clearly and excellently avoids the cliches of the genre.
‘Love Is Complicated’ delves into the ambiguity of multiple partner, dual gender sexual relations delivered in a style that could have been delivered by Bob Dylan if invited onto Sesame Street. It’s a celebratory romp through the essential brilliance and silliness of young love and throws off a great Jonathan Richman vibe.
‘Transatlantic’ opens with ‘Airplanes fly impossibly high’. Too true. Over a complex fingerpicking part we hear an existential tale of modern reliance on technology, and this is the track where Micah and Danielle’s backing vocals are put to best use, making the singularly terrifying experience of transatlantic flight appear somehow shared and less horrendous. As Cowman croons, Morrissey-like ‘So high in the air, breathing recycled oxygen’ it draws the listener into the private world of his paranoid fears.
‘Big Sur’ shares it’s name with both a life-altering place and, of course, a rather fantastic Kerouac novel. We’re down the long dark road toward Mark Kozelek again here, a slow and generous guitar intro plucking out a route to the heartache of a man once he has compared himself not only to others, but to nature itself. This is the devastating dark heart of an album that usually manages to keep it’s head on straight whatever life throws at it, and the record is all the more multi-layered and satisfying for it. As the incessant strums of it’s time-change conclusion come it’s evident how much this most lyrical of bands can do when only minimal lyrics are employed.
Closer ‘California Highways’ is a taut, solitary homecoming tune that swoops back through the soul of the album, touching on it’s various points of preoccupation, almost summarising them with the lyric ‘I saw the driver slam on his breaks without an inch to spare / and i never felt so alive as a cheer filled the air’. The detail, the honesty, the precise emotional clarity.
This is an album of weight and of consequence that somehow feels as light as air itself. Over twelve tracks, June Madrona have managed to create a document of emotion, a testament to intellect and perception. It’s divergent themes of aging, of the youth to be found in all people, of the age to be found in the young, the wisdom to be found in the most everyday of situations are utterly singular, absolutely unique. It’s an album that will inevitably be ignored by the masses but should not be ignored by you.
James O’Connell
June Madrona Myspace
Buy June Madrona CDs | Buy June Madrona mp3s | Buy June Madrona Tickets | Buy June Madrona Merch
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