August and June
One for fans of claire rousay's diaristic soundscapes, Mara McDonald's sophomore album is a gossamer patchwork of hypnogogic ambience, environmental recordings, instrumental flourishes and snatched voices.
McDonald describes her production process as lonely, and there's an unshakeable feeling of isolation that permeates 'August and June'. She assembles an impressive team of collaborators - including Portland's Kaho Matsui and Aussie noise legend Uboa - but even with these interventions, McDonald's music sounds disconnected from the outside world. We get to witness her inner reality, something that's painfully clear on opener 'A Fight', when she mumbles indistinct words across sparse piano notes, barely-audible harmonics and faintly washing synths. It's music that feels honest - it's meticulously produced, but not overly manicured.
McDonald makes sure that the environment that surrounds her is bellowing as if it's another instrument, and her memories, whether they're stray melodies or more tangible sonic snapshots, are wrapped in transparent silk. This makes the noisy 'An Apology' come as a surprise, breaking up the album's hushed ambience with its industrial whirs that coalesce into a dense, cacophonous wall of sound.
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One for fans of claire rousay's diaristic soundscapes, Mara McDonald's sophomore album is a gossamer patchwork of hypnogogic ambience, environmental recordings, instrumental flourishes and snatched voices.
McDonald describes her production process as lonely, and there's an unshakeable feeling of isolation that permeates 'August and June'. She assembles an impressive team of collaborators - including Portland's Kaho Matsui and Aussie noise legend Uboa - but even with these interventions, McDonald's music sounds disconnected from the outside world. We get to witness her inner reality, something that's painfully clear on opener 'A Fight', when she mumbles indistinct words across sparse piano notes, barely-audible harmonics and faintly washing synths. It's music that feels honest - it's meticulously produced, but not overly manicured.
McDonald makes sure that the environment that surrounds her is bellowing as if it's another instrument, and her memories, whether they're stray melodies or more tangible sonic snapshots, are wrapped in transparent silk. This makes the noisy 'An Apology' come as a surprise, breaking up the album's hushed ambience with its industrial whirs that coalesce into a dense, cacophonous wall of sound.
One for fans of claire rousay's diaristic soundscapes, Mara McDonald's sophomore album is a gossamer patchwork of hypnogogic ambience, environmental recordings, instrumental flourishes and snatched voices.
McDonald describes her production process as lonely, and there's an unshakeable feeling of isolation that permeates 'August and June'. She assembles an impressive team of collaborators - including Portland's Kaho Matsui and Aussie noise legend Uboa - but even with these interventions, McDonald's music sounds disconnected from the outside world. We get to witness her inner reality, something that's painfully clear on opener 'A Fight', when she mumbles indistinct words across sparse piano notes, barely-audible harmonics and faintly washing synths. It's music that feels honest - it's meticulously produced, but not overly manicured.
McDonald makes sure that the environment that surrounds her is bellowing as if it's another instrument, and her memories, whether they're stray melodies or more tangible sonic snapshots, are wrapped in transparent silk. This makes the noisy 'An Apology' come as a surprise, breaking up the album's hushed ambience with its industrial whirs that coalesce into a dense, cacophonous wall of sound.
One for fans of claire rousay's diaristic soundscapes, Mara McDonald's sophomore album is a gossamer patchwork of hypnogogic ambience, environmental recordings, instrumental flourishes and snatched voices.
McDonald describes her production process as lonely, and there's an unshakeable feeling of isolation that permeates 'August and June'. She assembles an impressive team of collaborators - including Portland's Kaho Matsui and Aussie noise legend Uboa - but even with these interventions, McDonald's music sounds disconnected from the outside world. We get to witness her inner reality, something that's painfully clear on opener 'A Fight', when she mumbles indistinct words across sparse piano notes, barely-audible harmonics and faintly washing synths. It's music that feels honest - it's meticulously produced, but not overly manicured.
McDonald makes sure that the environment that surrounds her is bellowing as if it's another instrument, and her memories, whether they're stray melodies or more tangible sonic snapshots, are wrapped in transparent silk. This makes the noisy 'An Apology' come as a surprise, breaking up the album's hushed ambience with its industrial whirs that coalesce into a dense, cacophonous wall of sound.