Leith Ross - Motherwell EP (Album Reviews)
22 year-old Leith Ross’ debut EP, Motherwell, is a quietly brilliant and deeply affecting collection of confessional songs. The Ottawa -based singer songwriter (who is presumably of Scottish heritage) recorded the eight-song set in a single afternoon, giving it an unpolished charm and uncommon immediacy. The frailty of human experience; the loneliness of early adulthood and the emotional resonances of family and personal history are captured in intimate, lo-fi detail, on what is one of the most remarkable releases of the year so far.
Jaunty opener ‘Everyone I’ve Never Met’ wryly chimes with lockdown life: “I get my food delivered and my books sent to my door/I don’t talk to people anymore” but the song goes deeper, evoking the paralysis of being naturally shy and socially withdrawn. Despite the humour, it’s an unwanted solitude; there is a desire for human connection, just without the noise of modern life, as is revealed in the repetition of “I miss everyone I’ve never met” at the song’s close. ‘Grown Up’ portrays the paradox of coming of age without necessarily knowing where you’re going: “Oh what a wonderful feeling/To own and operate your life/Oh what a terrible burden/all my decisions are mine”. The upright bass, imperceptible piano and ghostly rattle of slide guitar cradle the song’s central guitar part as carefully as a newborn.
The appropriately brief ‘No More Words’ extols the virtues of silence, while the necessary drone of ‘Prayer’ explores religion and humanity. Both couple Ross’s prodigious abilities as a lyricist and songwriter with the raw simplicity of the arrangement and production. The theme of family runs strongly throughout Motherwell and ‘For Now’ highlights the importance of the unconditional support only families and friends can offer. This feeds in to the nostalgic and tender portrait of parenthood that is ‘Tommy’ before the sanctuary of the family home is captured in the languid waltz of ‘Understood’, which rivals Aimee at Mann at her heartbreaking, deadpan best.
The EP’s most yearnsome moment is saved for last: ‘Coming Back To Me’, carried by soft piano, is threaded through with fears and family memories. Its mirrored opening and closing line, “I used to wake to the morning and feel like the world was created for me”, and its outro, overlaid with a beautifully banal tape recording, make for genuine lump-in throat moments. With a natural songwriting talent on a par with the likes of Laura Marling and Rachel Sermanni, Ross also shares a warm, personal delivery with Lisa Hannigan and Feist. Underlying the close-miked and occasionally brittle vocal is a great steadiness and control, which is one of the many things that elevate this EP above mere bedroom-folk, onto a rarer and far more satisfying plane.
As delicate and haunting as Elliott Smith and as endearing as the raggedy sparseness of Bonnie Prince Billy, this is simply an astonishing debut. Perfectly slight and disarmingly honest, Motherwell is a curious but utterly exquisite thing. Leith Ross surely can’t remain Ottawa’s best kept secret a second longer.
Review by Rich Barnard.
For bands and singer-songwriters, 2020 was hardly the best year to release a new album. And let’s face it, 2021 wasn’t much better. The only hope for artists with new music was that they could somehow connect online, as reaching fans via physical touring was out of the question. As a result, countless records were overlooked, under-noticed and sailed away, unloved. Scott Matthews released his eighth album, the sonically ambitious New Skin, in December 2020, at the start of a winter most of us are keen to forget. Three years later, Restless Lullabies sees the same set of songs reborn, and, in an effort to ensure that each are properly heard, they have been stripped of skin, flesh and - in some cases - their very bones, in his most exposed and intimate record to date.