Time Stays, We Go (Pitch Beast)—the Veils‘ 10-track, fourth release—is both patiently restrained and wildly emotional. It’s full of lush brass and sing-along melodies, moments of surf-rock guitar and beachside ukulele, and essential personal queries within the struggles of the human endeavor. It’s a small dose of Pixies, and definitely reminiscent of Talking Heads, with a nod toward Jeff Buckley. In other words, Time Stays has a familiar quality despite its newness, and it’s instantly likeable, much like frontman Finn Andrews himself. Andrews and bassist Sophia Burn will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new Veils feature.
Finn: I would like to just briefly offer some words of encouragement to any of you up-n-comers out there (you precocious scallywags you) who might feel a burning desire to be a singer, but feel that their voice isn’t good enough.
Here comes a wee reminiscence: For at least the first three years I was singing, I was, without doubt, the worst singer in the history of the world … ever. My voice was unrelentingly nasal, out of tune, out of time and thoroughly unpleasant in just about any way you’d care to name. I used to record Van Morrison songs onto a Dictaphone then speed them up so that I could sing along with them, and it wasn’t pretty.
Depending on what you think of my voice now, this may or may not surprise you.
What I’d like to say though is, none of my favourite singers are very “good” singers. The voice is the most human instrument we have, and I like to hear all aspects of humanity in someone’s voice. Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Van Morrison, Janis Joplin, Shane MacGowan, Nick Cave, Patti Smith, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash—voices full of ecstasy, hurt, hope, premonition and bile, these are the voices I want to hear coming out of my stereo. I worry the generation growing up now has been so bombarded with talent shows that they might think that unless you sing like an competitively epileptic parakeet you have no place opening your mouth. Bugger the showy histrionics; no one cares how many octaves you’ve got—you live in a cold and hostile universe where the only certainty is death: Just close your eyes, open wide, and let it all out.
Video after the jump.
