Adolf Zeising told us about the Golden Ratio in nature. That the very foundation of the earth is connected by a higher law. The same patterns found in branches are found in the human body, with life as we know it intertwined by an intrinsic force that dictates pattern. It explains the natural connection we feel to the world around us, the affinity in the beauty and bleakness of the world. It’s the reason why the spirit of folk resonates on such a primal level. With one's environment, both man-made and natural, melded into the very fibres of its composition, flowing from one medium into the next with seamless grace. It has been as such for generations and will continue to do so under the tutelage of contemporary artist David Boland and his debut album ‘Learning To Breathe’.
In a world obsessed with moving forward, Boland’s commitment to his roots comes across as near rebellious. Despite the sparse flashes of modernity (upbeat, poppy bounces and the occasional electronic wave), Boland carries of a staunch tradition of transporting the essences of humanity through relatable, full-bodied folk music in his debut. Despite a clear inclination towards ‘paths well travelled’ however, the folk-artist is keen to take his sound beyond its earthly birthplace. After-all, the place in which it calls its home, the ancient character of Eire, is not rooted in the ground, but in the very air, we inhale. ‘Learning…’ reacts to this reality accordingly, at times grounded and carnal, while breezy and incorporeal in others. Both loudly humanistic and not at all, the mood of the albums shifts with a tectonic, seasonal pace; with blistering fits of anger, icy sadness, crisp joy and bleak contemplation. The whims and emotions of ‘Learning…’ are tied inexplicably to their performer, and yet seem utterly inevitable, like the rise and set of the sun. It is in this inescapable truth that Boland comes into his own, stating emotional conclusion as fact with a gravity that listeners can not help but nod along with before they are whisked away on the next sonic tale.
This is not to say that anything in this album is held to you against your will. Far from it - there is a gentle affection, a yearning for community and self-betterment offered to the recipient of each song. Amidst the despair and despondently, there is a chance for peace to be found if you follow the lead of Boland. He walks an intriguing path throughout, straddling the tight wire between light and dark with the duality that only folk music truly allows. In album high point ‘The Guest House’ for instance, the following lines appear a verse apart from each other -
“I'll take the rain so the roots can grow, stand tall when the wind it blows”
“Hello Sadness, tell me how have you’ve been. Hey Frustration, it’s been a few days since we last played. Anger, I see you’ve found me, come and sit we’ll have some tea. Oh look It’s my old friend Envy, tell me what’s been happening”
In two stanza’s Boland manages to convey a sense of warmth and protection as well as a critical self-analysis and darkly humorous introspective glance into his own being. The stark catalogue of his own condition and irreverent regard for his own shortfalls gives the endpoints in the album a believability that few can master so early into their releasing career. Indeed, the pairing of the good and bad is a relevant and prominent theme throughout, from the colloid glide and chunky, toothsome rhythm of ‘You Go,’ the barren electronic reverberation of ‘Intermission’ or the claustrophobic haggard resignation of ‘Learning To Breathe,’ Boland seeks to illustrate the duplicity of the one-sided view (“The dark’s only here so the light can shine” - ‘All Good’)
Spiritually and emotionally, Boland creates an album that pays tribute to yesterday for the betterment of tomorrow. His finger snapping rhythms are an easy listen, allowing you to delve into the meat and bones of his lyrical ability (“I know I’ve sung these songs before, but I don’t think you listened to them, which I thought was kind of rude, I wrote those songs for me and you”). This is where his true strength as a storyteller lies, in balancing the funny, bitter and heartfelt with deft ease. In a world that grows increasingly black and white, surging forward with a relentless gait, the gentle, authentic waxing’s of Boland is a calm port in the storm. Filled with wanderlust, ardour and serenity, the Wicklow musicians debut is a winner.
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