Song of the week #2 : Give me your love (Girl Ray)
Some artists are so precious because, in addition to their own music, they lead me to countless other musicians. Last summer, Kevin Morby was one : through podcasts and interviews I discovered Anna St Louis, Waxahatchee, Whitney, Bedouine... (the list goes on). And last month Bill Ryder-Jones became another. Listening to a BBC6 program with both BRJ and Poppy Hankin led me to Girl Ray, and what's probably my song of the summer : Give me your love.
An eight-minute electro-sounding song is usually not the kind of thing I'm into, but there's something so infectious about the song. Every bit has something that makes me want to dance or sing along - my favourites are probably the opening notes when the beat kicks in, and Poppy singing "I know it's right".
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Bill Ryder-Jones - lechyd Da (2024)
lechyd Da é um disco terrivelmente bonito, entre a tristeza e a esperança no dia de amanhã.
Um disco terrivelmente bonito, entre a tristeza e a esperança no dia de amanhã.
Bill Ryder-Jones tinha 13 anos quando foi um dos fundadores dos ingleses The Coral. A vida corria-lhes bem, tinham sucesso comercial e sobretudo crítico, mas em 2008 o músico bateu com a porta. Sofria ataques de pânico, tinha medo de multidões, andava num estado permanente de ansiedade. Retirou-se então para um…
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Bill Ryder-Jones Interview: Defiant, Not Defeated
Photo by Marieke Macklon
BY JORDAN MAINZER
On Bill Ryder-Jones' most personal and heart-wrenching record yet, the first voice you hear is not his own. In fact, it's not even clear whose voice it is: It's a ghostly sample of somebody repeatedly cooing "baby." Though Tropicália fans might recognize the sound as a washy sample of Gal Costa's song "Baby", the effect is disorienting, especially as Ryder-Jones introduces you into the world of Iechyd Da (Domino)--which means "good health" in Welsh--and its balance of broad hope and tangible pain.
Ryder-Jones has never been one to shy away from his struggles. He left The Coral temporarily in 2005 and permanently in 2008 due to suffering from panic attacks, sharing his story in a short film about mental health in the music industry. In an interview with The Quietus from earlier this year, he revealed long-running suffering from addiction and mental illness, ranging from alcohol and prescription drug abuse to agoraphobia exacerbated by COVID lockdown. At the time of that interview's publication last month, Ryder-Jones was, thankfully, doing better. But it's also a disservice to the contextually provocatively titled Iechyd Da to call it an album "about" Ryder-Jones' inner battles. Though many of the songs reference specific points in his journey towards conquering fears and demons, it's an album namely about surrounding yourself with love.
That the first voice we hear on Iechyd Da is Costa's only foreshadows what we hear on the rest of the record. There's singer-songwriter Michael Head (who Ryder-Jones has produced) reading a passage from Ulysses on "...And The Sea...". A chorus of children, who Ryder-Jones worked with extensively on the record, provide contrasting, innately buoyant timbres to his weary croak. On "This Can't Go On", a song representing one of Ryder-Jones' rock bottoms, he finds solace in Echo & The Bunnymen's "The Killing Moon", further references The Stooges, and samples strings from a 1978 disco track. The swaying, romantic "If Tomorrow Starts Without Me"--which gets its title from a line a sex worker reads in Eurotrash--is akin to It's A Wonderful Life, though it's not clear who's the hopeless one and who's the angel. "If the monsters call you names, then I'm with you," Ryder-Jones sings, "I've had monsters play games with me too." Perhaps best of all are the people he addresses by name in song, like Jase on the jangly "I Hold Something In My Hand", and the titular Anthony on "Thankfully For Anthony". Inspired by a real-life experience where a concerned friend took a sick Ryder-Jones to the hospital after receiving a cryptic text message from him, the latter song covers the moment Ryder-Jones thought he might die to when he overcame. Hearing him sing, "I'm thinking this might just be it" is as heartbreaking as it is inspiring to hear him sing, "I felt love." Atop xylophone and strings, it's as life-affirming as anything Spiritualized have ever released.
Ultimately, Iechyd Da is an aspirational record, not a mere biographical one. The connotatively positive words may sometimes adopt past tense, like, "Oh how I loved you," on "A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart pt. 3", the next entry in the series started on the 2013 album of the same name. [Among everything else, Ryder-Jones went through a bad breakup during lockdown.] But for every nostalgic or wistful aspect on the album, there's something positive and realistic. Closer "Nos Da", which means "good night" in Welsh, warbles to a gorgeous imperfection, its synths and strings off-kilter. And on melodramatic strummer "It's Today Again", Ryder-Jones sings, "There's something great about life," perhaps the ethos of the entire album. Notably, he doesn't sing, "Life is great," which would be a statement as absurd as it is corny. But he admits that, among all ups and downs, with a worn sense of perspective, there are things to be thankful for. A cynic might disagree. With Iechyd Da, Bill Ryder-Jones demonstrates his humanism.
Earlier this month, I asked Ryder-Jones a few questions about the album over email. Read his responses below, edited for length and clarity.
Since I Left You: With Iechyd Da, you wanted to make a more hopeful record. What about it do you think is hopeful?
Bill Ryder-Jones: I feel like the music in places is more hopeful and promising of hope than music I've made in the past. It's hard to put into words what I think makes music sound hopeful. I guess if nothing else, the music doesn't sound defeated--maybe [it sounds] even defiant.
SILY: Some of your lyrics are confessional, but they're not quite like you're reading somebody's diary. What's the importance of keeping some of your more personal stories on the vague side? How do you decide when to share certain details, like the names of songs you were listening to during a difficult time, or the names of people?
BRJ: I think that's something I have a natural taste for. I don't think I'm conscious of how direct the lyrics are. More often than not, the first verse will dictate where the song is going, so I tend to just go with it.
SILY: From characters on previous albums to older song titles ["A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart pt. 3"], you reference your previous work quite a bit on Iechyd Da. Do your records work in concert with one another?
BRJ: No, not really. Maybe they do; I'm not sure. The others weren't designed for that reason in the way Iechyd Da was. It was a deliberate attempt to draw a link between this album and A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart. I feel they sit really sweetly together.
SILY: What inherent qualities do you think the sound of children singing has? When they sing lines like, "I just don't see myself getting past this one," do the words carry a different meaning?
BRJ: Yeah, I think there's something inherently beautiful in the sound of children singing. It's so, so sweet and powerful. The idea that you can have them sound that way whilst saying a few things that are possibly beyond their understanding I think is a good idea.
SILY: You've mentioned that Iechyd Da is your most produced record. What about the specific albums you produced in the past five years gave you the confidence to make your own record more produced?
BRJ: Well, confidence isn't the word I would use. In fact, music is one of the few things I feel confident in. The decision to make an album sound like this one was mainly down to wanting to push myself and make music that truly made me happy, but of course, working with artists will influence you in myriad ways. Certainly...Michael Head [and the Red Elastic Band's Dear Scott] and Saint Saviour['s In The Seams] were important for me in terms of scope and ambition.
SILY: The instrumentation on the final song, "Nos Da", is warbly and a bit hazy. Is it supposed to reflect memory or nostalgia?
BRJ: It was originally written as a lullaby for my friend's daughter, Luna. I remembered it by chance when I was finishing the album. The warble I think I added to bookend the album, hoping it sounded similar to the sample of Gal Costa['s "Baby"].
SILY: How do you find playing live some of the songs that reference more difficult times in your life? Are you able to get into an appropriate headspace?
BRJ: I'm fine with that. I'm mainly trying to remember lyrics and not have a panic attack. I detach from things quite easily, if I'm honest.
SILY: How does the tale of Ulysses and the Michael Head-featuring track "…And The Sea…" fit within the narrative of Iechyd Da?
BRJ: I guess in the way that I thought, "I can do whatever I want," and I wanted to have this strange piece in the album as a respite from my voice. I listen to much more performance music these days as opposed to purely melodic music. I think it came from there.
SILY: How would you describe your treatment of the Gal Costa sample at the beginning of “I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)”? And the chatter on "Nothing To Be Done"?
BRJ: The sample is Gal Costa singing "Baby" but recorded to give the effect that it's playing in the background in the room I was in rather than crisply. The chatter, I think, is probably just bits of audio from the kids when they were talking mid-recording.
SILY: Are you a fan of Eurotrash?
BRJ: Ha, I haven't seen it in years.
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Mad sounds in your ears
One thing I love about author Alicia Thompson's newsletter is the way she writes about music : without jargon, nothing but feelings. She can write an entire paragraph about a single line in a song, and why it moves her so. I love reading words that try and capture this elusive feeling : getting so emotional about a few seconds of music, about a couple words and the way they're sung, about a few notes that turn a song into something spectacular.
In honor of that, here are the bits of songs I've been obsessed with lately, the parts that I want to shout out loud when they come on.
It's a dead end, don't overextend / hail the darkness you can befriend (Waxahatchee, crimes of the heart)
Please, don't look at me with those eyes / Va, don't look at me with those eyes (Hinds, coffee)
Is it true / Do the good guys win (Bill Ryder-Jones, nothing to be done)
Don't you tell my mum / Don't play that game (Declan McKenna, elevator hum)
Bet I could fix up my face between 8th and 9th / And I could be what you want (Nation of Language, sightseer)
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