There are many aspects of Gemma Laurence’s new record, Lavender, which make it an engaging listen. Whether that be her voice which falls softly like autumn leaves around your ears. The understated folk and smooth jazz touches that give the record a hard to match elegance. Or the inclusion of no fewer than thirteen musicians on the record that allow it to boast an impressive and arrayed use of instrumentation. At the crux of it though, it is Laurence’s sheer songwriting ability which makes this album one that will bear repeating. She possesses an ear for melody and structure beyond her years that she marries with a modernity that keeps her rooted in the here and now.

It was a pleasure to catch up to gain an insight into the music, books and films that mean the most to her.

Three favourite albums:

Gregory Alan Isakov – The Weatherman

I used to drive this 2002 Subaru Outback through high school and college that only played CDs (no aux cord, forget about Bluetooth) and Gregory Alan Isakov’s The Weatherman was by far my most worn-down CD in that car. I have so many memories from my late teens of driving down the coast of Maine in summer with the windows down with this album playing in the background. My favourite songs on the record would likely be Amsterdam (more on that later), Suitcase Full of Sparks and All Shades of Blue. Gregory has this way of pinpointing such an exact human experience using the smallest intimate details – ‘lonely as a rim on a cold coffee cup.’ How good is that? 

Phoebe Bridgers – Stranger In The Alps

Oh god – what’s not to love? I still think Motion Sickness is the most epic indie burn track of all time – the lyrics are killer, the melody is so catchy, and sonically it’s just very interesting – the way the drums and that heavily distorted guitar hit at the same time, and then Phoebe’s ethereal vocals waft so effortlessly. Phoebe really hit it out of the park on the whole album – my favourite tracks would be Motion Sickness (of course), Funeral (wreck me), and Scott Street. My favorite line is ‘do you feel ashamed when you hear my name?’ I mean c’mon. What a line. I wish I wrote that. 

Sadurn – Radiator

This one is more of a recent fave! I was introduced to Sadurn through a couple of friends and when I finally had a chance to sit down with the record, I couldn’t stop listening. Their lead vocalist has such a unique lilt and I love those swinging drum rhythms on each track. It’s got kind of a Big Thief-meets-Field Medic feel to it – very DIY and conversational, with a great groove. The lyrics are stunning. I ordered Radiator on vinyl last Bandcamp Friday and I’ve been listening to this record pretty much every day since. 10/10.

Favourite film:

Moonlight – Barry Jenkins

I think Moonlight is the most beautiful film I’ve ever seen. The storyline is heartbreaking, the script feels so raw and real, the acting is exquisite, and the cinematography is just wild. And as a musician I really appreciated how the score complemented the visuals. I’d never seen anything like it.

Favourite book:

Ocean Vuong – On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

I’m a big reader, so this was hard. I’ve been reading a lot of Joan Didion and Ada Limón lately, and some of my all time favorite authors would be Adrienne Rich, Mary Oliver, Virginia Woolf, Toni Morrison. But I think Ocean Vuong’s On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous would have to take the gold for favourite book. This book contains the most stunning, transportive prose I’ve ever read. I think it’s technically a novel, but each line in this book rings like poetry. I’ve never read such an accurate depiction of young, unbridled infatuation. It’s queer, it’s beautiful, it’s incisive, and it’s devastating. I’ve never cried so hard reading a book before.

A song that means a lot to you:

Gregory Alan Isakov – Amsterdam

I already mentioned Greogy Alan Isakov, so maybe this is cheating, but I’d love to revisit how I was introduced to that album as it’s quite a special memory to me. I was first introduced to Gregory Alan Isakov as a junior in high school. I was fresh off my first real breakup, and I was attending a farm school on the coast of Maine. I remember this particular afternoon so vividly – it was a chilly November afternoon and I was exhausted from a long day of schoolwork and farm chores. After my peers and I finished up work for the day, we went back to one of our cabins and huddled around the woodstove in our sleeping bags to stay warm. As the logs in the woodstove crackled and hissed and the warmth of the fire filled the cabin air, I found myself slowly drifting to sleep at the foot of my friend’s cot. 

When I woke up, I heard the cascade of drums that mark the opening of Gregory Alan Isakov’s The Weatherman. Somebody had started playing from their iPod and the gentle sounds of drums and acoustic guitars lifted me gently from my sleep. I’d never heard Amsterdam before, but something in that opening sequence moved me immediately and deeply. Gregory’s lyrics spoke to me on such a personal level, and the cinematic world he created within that one song felt awe-inspiring – the way the song builds, the way the piano moves in and out of the spotlight, the way the bass and cello intermingle beneath those atmospheric, roomy harmonies. Those lush, orchestral drums marked the introduction of a sonic universe that was unknown to me, but immediately felt like home. 

I sat straight up. It was twilight by that point, and when I looked out the window into the purple evening sky I saw flecks of white slowly drifting down onto the pine tree-lined meadow outside the cabin. The first snow of the season. One by one, each of my peers woke up and were met with this collective spasm of joy as we watched the snow fall outside. It felt transformative – how something as simple as the first snow and the sound of those drums on Amsterdam lifted me out of my sadness, just for a brief moment. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a meaningful introduction to a song.