Skip to main content

IN REVIEW: Marcus Mumford - (self-titled)

 

Born out of a simple desire to "reconnect with (his) songwriting muscles" during Covid lockdowns, the debut solo record by Marcus Mumford turned into something much more meaningful as it took shape. Through the process of creating (self-titled), Mumford uncovered and explored childhood trauma, ultimately deciding to use the album as a means by which to talk about what had been suppressed. This makes the stark opening track Cannibal much more harrowing, Mumford seething at his abuser and acknowledging that, as difficult as it may be, speaking openly about it is necessary to begin healing.

This thread runs throughout (self-titled), as following track Grace addresses the revelations of abuse to Mumford's mother; even with its difficult subject matter, though, the bombastic production by Blake Mills allows the song to embody the catharsis that comes with unburdening one's soul. It's a sound that reflects Mumford's words as he struggles to navigate the healing process, and it's the album's most strikingly cathartic moment.

As the album progresses, so does this process; Prior Warning grapples with the fear of hurting the ones we love with this harrowing information under a tasteful, subdued instrumental, while Better Off High glides on a percussive, muted melody that only explodes briefly on its chorus as Mumford goes a little more cryptic but admits the role his trauma has played in his substance abuse. This is followed by the sparse, acoustic Only Child, which reads like Mumford dealing with the aftermath of the revelation as it pertains to his relationship.

On the second half, (self-titled) continues to tell the story of Mumford's process but opens itself sonically through added instrumentation and guest appearances; Clairo shows up on the shadowy Dangerous Game, while Better Angels goes for a fuller-sounded band approach, resulting in perhaps the closest thing we get to a full-bodied rock song on the album (especially in its post-chorus cacophony). Monica Martin harmonizes on the gospel-tinged Go in Light, while Phoebe Bridgers lends some haunted harmonies to penultimate track Stonecatcher, a sullen song that allows for a little despair to creep in (hardest hitting lyric: "all we can hope is that we suffer well") before the gentle, Brandi Carlile-assisted closer How; here, Mumford lands on empathy and forgiveness, after all of the trauma and strife, referencing previous songs' lyrics throughout as an attempt to give the story an ending, even as both Mumford and the listener know the scars will last a lifetime. It's an emotional, gripping ending to what's been a difficult listening experience.

To be sure, there's precious little here that will remind anyone of Little Lion Man or I Will Wait; as alluded to, the bulk of these arrangements are sparse and intimate, often putting the listener in the stark solitude of the trauma with Mumford. In this way, it's a masterfully created experience, even if it's admittedly not consistently engaging from a musical standpoint. Likewise, with an emotional backdrop such as this, (self-titled) is obviously a record that spends a substantial amount of time in the doldrums; so as to say, while there is at least a modicum of closure, getting there can be a rough slog for anyone not to mention those who have been victims themselves. That said, though it's not perfect in execution, (self-titled) was clearly a very difficult, emotional and important record to make, and I truly applaud Marcus Mumford for overcoming his fears and sharing his troubling story with the world. 

September 16, 2022 • Capitol
Highlights Grace • Better Angels • How

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Year in Rock 2025

  Alright, I've got some explaining to do.   By now anyone who's visited this blog is well aware of how infrequently I've used this space in recent years; aside from the occasional fertile year of content, I really haven't posted all that often over the last five years or so. There are many reasons for this, which have already been outlined in previous apology posts; but, essentially, it boils down to my own laziness and the cold reality that blogs are, like Refused (again), fucking dead. So, I wouldn't hold my breath for a triumphant return to reviews, or even semi-regular posts, but:   a) I feel like Year in Rock posts have always belonged here and, even though I've experimented with different methods of presentation recently and been satisfied, the "blink and you missed it" unveiling via Facebook stories this year was perhaps ultimately a disservice to the records I lauded. After all, cramming the list into short videos isn't too far off from ju...

Year in Rock 2011 Nominee: Sam Roberts Band

SAM ROBERTS BAND I Feel You From: Collider Released: May 10 Having already endured the breakout success ( Brother Down was Canada's it rock song of 2002), the tentative dabbling in the U.S. market, as is the rite of passage for all moderately successful Canuck artists (2003's debut We Were Born in a Flame was the best time to try; one of the best albums of the year, it made a small dent in the American mindset upon its release there a year later), the difficult, druggy third album (the aptly named 2005 disc Chemical City ), and the subdued creative step backward (2008's Love at the End of the World , aside from hit single Them Kids , was really kinda bland), it seems according to script that Sam Roberts would start settling in on his fourth album (and first with the band credited as equal contributors), Collider (you know, I think it was a bad idea to give me brackets). Well, as far as settling in goes, Roberts does and doesn't on Collider .  W...

IN REVIEW: Rancid - "Trouble Maker"

As far as punk rock goes, it's hard to name a hotter hot streak than the trio of records Rancid cranked out between 1995 and 2000; the star making ...And Out Come the Wolves , the far-reaching Life Won't Wait and their balls-to-the-wall second self-titled album solidly positioned Rancid as leaders of the second generation of punk. It also preceded a period of slow progression, as Rancid would take eleven years to release their next three records. By the time ...Honor Is All We Know came in 2014, many fans (myself included) had to wonder whether or not this was the end of the road. Such concerns are handily dealt with on the closing track of the standard edition of their ninth record, the positively punishing This Is Not the End . Well, okay then, that's sorted. Now, what of this new record? What do we make of the use of their original logo on the cover, a logo that hasn't graced a Rancid record in 25 years? Is this a throwback to the band's heyday, a new begin...