By Megan Magdalena
A story of nostalgia, community, and the magic of never outgrowing your favourite band.
This heavier direction was cathartic for McLeod, who recorded and played every instrument themself, save for one song on the 10-track offering. “I ACTUALLY DON’T WANNA DIE,” the next track on the album, plays with perception by starting as a slower atmospheric acoustic lullaby, but then swells into a massive emo rock outro with McLeod screaming in a frenzy. “Sometimes, it just feels good to scream,” they tell RANGE from their home studio in Norfolk County, ON.
The walls in the studio behind them are a wailing yellow, and there is music gear everywhere; four guitars scattered on stands, two organs side by side, and a drum set in the corner. “I’ve only started doing the yelling vocal thing in the two years I’ve been playing with the band and I’m doing like a full-on yell, which is not what you’re supposed to do.”
Since starting to release music under Sunnsetter back in 2013, McLeod has striven for divergence. McLeod says this record started off as more of an ambient slowcore project, but as they thought about what they wanted to do and put out in the world, the heavier music just made sense. It’s an influence that has always been there, and one that they have explored since joining Indigenous alt-rock outfit, OMBIIGIZI, who recently released their sophomore album, Shame, on indie imprint Arts & Crafts.
“Playing with that band has always been influential, very collaborative and super cool, but I’ve definitely always gravitated towards heavier music to listen to,” says McLeod.
One album in particular, Home, Like Noplace Is There from Massachusetts emo punks The Hotelier, was a “huge album” for McLeod and always a sound that deep in their mind, they knew they wanted to strive for. For them, there was something about the high-pitched, yelled vocal style that felt super real, and not tacked on like some emo music.
With Heaven Hang Over Me, it just felt right to go for it, especially when Mcleod thinks about the album’s title. Even though it started from a misheard lyric in Nirvana’s “Dumb” it actually became the whole impetus for the album.
“Yeah I always heard ‘Heaven hang over me,’ from just the way he [Kurt Cobain] sang it, and wrote it down as an interesting phrase. But to me, it’s this concept of overwhelming dread,” McLeod says. “That’s ultimately what the album is about, this lingering dread or feeling hanging over your head at all times and you can’t really explain it, but it’s there. So that concept really meshed well with this heavier sound on many of the songs.”
By Megan Magdalena
A story of nostalgia, community, and the magic of never outgrowing your favourite band.
By Liam Dawe
Through grief, groove, and lo-fi soul, the Calgary duo deliver the first of a two-part muse on self-actualization.
By Cam Delisle
The Manitoba artist spins prairie dust into falsetto-led indie folk on his debut EP.