Author: Adam Gorecki

Where we fall short as beings is when we start to believe that our struggles can merely be solved externally rather than internally. Understanding what that may mean is a journey within itself. The pursuit for peace is more often than not, a tide that constantly merges itself away and towards the shore, quietly claiming more ground as it advances and accepting the moments where it may briefly retreat. Falling short of your own potential is a part of the process, recognising, accepting and forgiving yourself when this happens is the crucial aspect. You accept it as a part of the game, a part of the experience, a part of the epic journey of you. Besides, I can’t remember the last time I watched a good film with no failures, no unexpected twists and no growth in the characters.

Last month music producer, Richard Russell, tackled this concept in his latest release ‘Richard Russell Is Temporary’, a collaborative project under the name of ‘Everything Is Recorded’. The project featured a wide array of collaborators by the likes of Bill Callahan, Noah Cyrus, Florence Welch and Sampha. Known for his major contributions towards the UK’s hip-hop, dance and rave scene, Russell made his name alongside his label, XL Recordings. Fathering the careers of The Prodigy, The White Stripes and Thom Yorke, Russell has always been regarded as a facility for artists to discover their true and authentic selves and sew it within their own work. This pursuit encourages an indulgence in more meaningful themes that escape beyond the realms of standardised music. The result is finding music that goes beyond the artist themselves, understanding the idea that they, themselves are temporary subjects that serve an eternal life – music.

What the album confesses from the outset is that producer, Richard Russell, is a temporary construct; as are the collaborating artists and even the instruments. They collide together to fabricate one unique and infinitely lasting structure. They function only in the moment of now, a timeframe that can hardly exists as once it comes, it immanently fleets. Yet, it can be the only thing that matters. The album stands as a testament towards the value behind things that are finite. It weighs the sacrality of the things that hold an expiry date against the things that are capable of lasting forever, like music. The notion of morality vs eternal art stems from Russell’s familiarity with the book, ‘Zen Mind Beginners Mind’ by spiritual teacher, Shunryu Suzuki. The teachings speak of how ‘if something is not paradoxical, it isn’t true’. Much like listening to an artist’s music after hearing about their death, you’ll notice that in many ways, the work they produce is immortal.

You’ll notice the distinctive charismatics of individual collaborators that hover throughout the project. Whether it’s the soft velvet tone of Samphas voice, the echoing below of Florence Welch or the deep and delicate flow of Bill Callhan. What’s brought to the table are unique, contrasting colours that stroke across a florescent canvas. The project ensures itself to be a freeing and safe space. It offers honesty, tranquility and a series of stripped back acoustics that hold a calming aura. Track 3, ‘Porcupine Tattoo’, is a softly spoken country track with rolling thumps and campfire song cadences. It introduces the album as a safe haven of escapism, should you choose to enter it. I find that even with track 4, ‘Never Felt Better’, Sampha walks us through the war-torn rubble of self-conflict, only to discover a sunrise amongst the ruins. His vocals sound tired, with a hint of hope. The lyrics refer to his struggles in the past tense, he ‘thought’ he was in so much pain, he ‘thought’ he was in a bad place, but the angelic impact of Welch on the hook assures us of the fact that we’ve never felt better.

From here on out, the album takes the opportunity to explore itself a little further. It drifts away from its traditional ‘soul searching’ essence, and goes on to experiment with some more diverse sounds. I will say, however, that it doesn’t find much more of itself that wasn’t already there in the beginning. We revisit Sampha alongside Laura Groves in a funkier format in the track ‘Losing You’ which contradicts its upbeat and catchy tone with themes of fear, regret and loss. Firelight stands as the eery dark room in the corner of your conscience, jam packed with repetitive memories that are nonsensical. At its core, BERWYN raps to loved ones beyond the grave alongside a creepy Molly Drake sample. BERWYN confronts and questions himself on all things. God, love, life.

Don’t worry about me, I’m fine

 I got everything but time

Haven’t seen your face since I was nine

If I want to see your face again, I’d have to die

And I don’t wanna die

Everybody dies

From here, we accept that this album is a narrated journey through an evolving conscience. A lot of the lyrics are witnessing the thought process behind growth, remorse and reminiscence. ‘You Were Smiling’ is a jazzy, mournful ballad carried by Sam Morton. The whaling saxophone and echoed vocals serve as a shadow of things that have passed. Everything feels incredibly slow, dead beat and at the bottom of a deep ravine. Juxtaposing the majority of this album that demonstrates the productivity in moving forward, this song takes a moment to reflect how it feels at the bottom; at the verge of accepting loss and indulging in your own melancholy. The track, Norm, returns us back in the arms of soulful singer, Bill Callahan. We share a moment in mourning the loss of legendary comedian, Norm McDonald. Norm represents something that’s heavily complimentary towards the process of overcoming difficult times. Norm’s comedy surrounded finding light, fun and carelessness in the hands of such morbid subjects. The track samples a particular quote –

I find that to be the goodest thing there is

To be alive

And, ah, the reason it’s so good is ’cause it’s so bad to be dead

I’m not gonna be brave

I don’t care how old I am

I could be 94…

Never see his type

I’ll be like “Ooh! Please!

Ooh!

Take my grandson!

Norm was infamous for his dedication to ‘the bit’, his career balanced on an invisible line of not knowing when he may or may not be joking. The answer was, of course, that it didn’t matter if he was or not. It was always funny. Like all comedy, it allowed the freedom to find light in the darkest of places, even death. It gave evidence to the fact that dark times do not have to equate towards darkened people. In fact, Norm kept his terminal cancer a secret, even to his closest friends, and died unexpectedly in 2021. His closest colleagues and fans would refer to this as his last ever laugh that he had on us all, and with that, it brings us back round Suzuki’s theory of ‘if it isn’t paradoxical, it isn’t true’.

Human beings are often biproducts of our own surrounding influences. We replicate what we see, hear and read. I’m sure that even my pompous and highly grammatical writing structure was subliminally inspired by previous reads. However, it’s the job of a designated artist to express a more stripped back, unprogrammed yet unfiltered version of themselves. Almost as if they tune their radio to a static frequency in the hope that something magical connects to it. The job of Richard Russell is to bring that inner spark out of people the people listening as well as those recording, find them in a mindless and open state to connect with what is really true and to perform it. It’s what creates unique and intriguing work. In a lot of ways, it can feel a lot like you’ve made your way back home, where you belong, with your three-year-old self; who is initially a stripped back version of who you are now.

The word I am looking for to describe this project is ‘feral’, something that exists in a wild state, uninfluenced and adventurous. It kind of feels like going for a long walk in the woods after a stressful day and coming back that little bit more okay. It’s a comforting listen, as Zane Lowe said, ‘it asks nothing of you, yet you are willing to give everything to it’.  

Adam is a London-based writer, maker, and photographer with a broad love for anything that catches his curiosity, particularly music. Graduating with a Level 4 Diploma in Copywriting from The College of Media and Publishing, he sees music as a complex social study and is fascinated by how brilliant ideas can be brought to life. He has a critical eye for great storytelling and thrives in exploring the philosophical side behind an artist’s intentions and what can ignite a spark that lasts for generations.