interview – ryan pollie

– featured image courtesy of dominic ferris –

ryan pollie’s brisk, twenty-five minute new self-titled album is bookended by a pair of choral tracks, brief exercises that retain a remarkably cleansing effect. in the past year or so, pollie relinquished his nom de guerre of los angeles police department, battled cancer, and wrote many of the songs that would wind up on this record, but not necessarily in that order; he received his diagnosis after much of the album was complete, putting those songs – and their existential themes of mortality – into a slightly more immediate context.

under his own name, ryan pollie is much more clear-eyed in his approach to songwriting. the hazy ennui that dotted his output as los angeles police department – a perfect analog to one’s mid-twenties – has disappeared, bucolic slide guitars, straight-ahead acoustic strumming, and detuned piano chords reigning supreme.

breezy though its contents may be, ryan pollie’s aural affect is at times belied by its namesake’s lyrical tone; the plaintive refrain of “my god’s insane” on “aim slow” might serve as a mantra for the entire album, an attempt to explain the inexplicable. “only child” finds pollie addressing his diagnosis and its accompanying uncertainty head-on, while “raincoat” is a brief, heartbreaking ode to a relationship’s end.

the nostalgia of pollie’s earlier work as los angeles police department has throughlines in cuts like “leaving california” and “eyes of vermont,” both awash in images of childhood and home. taken in as a whole, this ten-song collection serves as a potent snapshot of pollie’s current existence, its delivery done in a timeless fashion.

we recently caught up with pollie via e-mail to discuss 1970s singer-songwriters, the fruits of collaboration, and his lingering affinity for new england. check out the transcript, lightly edited for clarity, below.

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this is your first album under your own name after a handful as los angeles police department. was there anything in particular that led to you shedding that moniker?

totally. the past few years i’ve been getting heavy into singer-songwriters from the early 1970s. whether american, english, irish, japanese – most of the artists i fell for were making music so personal that the subject matter and the tone was so closely linked to the writer. like graham nash or jackson nrowne both writing really personal break-up albums (both about joni mitchell) – there was just no separation between the songs and the songwriter.

i came to kind of an existential moment where it felt like by shedding a “band name,” i was able to dig a little deeper with what i had to say and how i wanted to represent myself with my art. once i made the decision, it really provided a new space for me to grow as an artist, i think. 

you wrote most of this album, which tends to grapple with mortality and the general essence of being, before receiving a cancer diagnosis. did you subsequently find yourself ascribing new meaning to those completed songs, or a new perspective on the contents and scope of the album? 

i think that’s really perceptive of you to ask, maybe just because that’s absolutely what happened. i had written and recorded most of the material before i knew that i was sick, and the lyrical themes you are describing, that i was already exploring, became even more meaningful to me.

songwriting seems to have this magical prophetic nature sometimes. not always. but for this record, and this has happened to me in the past, i was writing songs about facing death, getting sick, ending a specific relationship – all things that just kind of flowed through me without knowing that they would be around the corner in my life.

the collaborations across this album feel especially significant, given the intimate circumstances surrounding its final stages of creation. can you speak a bit to any part or parts of the collaborative process you found particularly meaningful?

community was a huge part of the album process for me, and a really important part of my life through all stages of making the record.

i feel really proud of where i’m at as far as my relationship with my own work. i not only feel so lucky to have amazing friends and family supporting me in general, but i was able to collaborate with all of my friends in bringing the songs to life. i would reach out to all of my friends who play music, asking them to contribute on different days when i was writing and recording different songs, and they all were so graceful in that they really gave 100% of themselves to my art.

i can hear the personalities of all my friends all over the record, as if i’m spending time with them, as if they’re in the room with me. it’s nice to know that i’ll have that feeling when i play the record for the rest of my life.

i also mixed the record with one of my best friends while i was going through chemo: brian rosemeyer. he would be in a room with me, as i was pale and bald and sick – i looked like nosferatu. and he would not only give such caring attention to each track, but he was also a huge emotional support for me through that whole experience of getting cancer. i could tell he was emotionally invested in the story i was weaving together, and it really shows, i think, in his work. it was the best get well soon gift, looking back on it now. 

your childhood home is on the east coast, but you seem pretty geographically and musically preoccupied with california. do any parts of life in new england – and its accompanying experiences – seep into your songwriting?

very much so. i wrote “eyes of vermont” in vermont – while listening to a lot of will fox demos. being among the trees, at the lake – it’s so inspiring to me visually and just gives me such a different feeling than california does. it was nice bringing that energy back.

i wrote “leaving california” – originally called “leaving california for vermont” – right after that trip as well. that song is about going home, the fear and anxieties of los angeles and the comfort of the green mountains. 

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ryan pollie is out now via anti-.

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erin durant – “islands”

– featured image courtesy of sarrah danziger –

remember erin durant come year’s end. the new york-based songwriter has been releasing a steady stream of impressive singles in anticipation of her forthcoming album, culminating in the recent unveiling of its title track, “islands.”

framed around durant’s clear-eyed piano progression, “islands” is vivid in its introspection; when a soft choral echo emerges halfway through its six-minute duration, the track blooms into something radiant, more than the sum of its various lilting components.

islands, produced by TV on the radio’s kyp malone, arrives june 21st via the austin, texas label keeled scales. listen in on its title track below.

kate teague – “in our element”

– featured image courtesy of ben davis –

the oxford, mississippi-based singer-songwriter kate teague continues her impressive streak of singles with “in our element,” delivered on the eve of her inaugural voyage to SXSW.

on “in our element,” teague’s lead vocal swoons in tandem with a melancholic guitar counter-melody, the ends of phrases evaporating in wisps of echo and solidifying the track’s slow-burning aesthetic. it’s another notched victory for teague, who keeps sharpening her songwriting chops with every new single and stoking anticipation for the day her full-length finally arrives.

“in our element” is out now via muscle beach records. take a listen below.

molly burch – “to the boys”

– featured image courtesy of kelly giarrocco –

the texas songwriter molly burch only released her stunning debut full-length, please be mine, last year, but its follow-up is already slated for arrival.  first flower picks up right where its predecessor left off, its eleven tracks packed with whip-smart lyrical observations set to jazz-inflected, country-infused guitar pop; for a primer, digest the album’s lead single, the lilting “wild.”

“to the boys,” the latest offering, is quintessential burch, the contours of her smoky contralto dovetailing in conversation with a contemplative, wandering guitar line, a gently syncopated rhythm section in tow.  brimming with a cool confidence, burch subverts the generally accepted stereotypical portrayals of power, quipping “i don’t need to scream to get my point across / i don’t need to yell to know that i’m the boss,” her unabashed assuredness reverberating throughout the track.

first flower is due october 5th via captured tracks.  listen to “to the boys” below.

a grave with no name – “when i pass through here”

– featured image courtesy of the artist – 

alexander shields prefers his folk music with a spectral glint.  at the helm of a grave with no name, the london songwriter directs compositions capable of lingering for hours after completion, haunting the depths of an audience’s collective consciousness.

take “when i pass through here,” the second single off of his forthcoming album passover, as an example: the stuttering tremolo of shields’ electric guitar melds into foundational percussive brushstrokes, creating a potent vessel for shields to explore a theme of fleeting existence and its implications.  augmented with pedal steel swells and the timbral richness of a cello, “when i pass through here” evokes an eeriness and immediacy distinctly within the trajectory of a grave with no name.

passover is out january 19th via forged artifacts.  listen to “when i pass through here” below.