I’ve always wanted to have a family of songs where there was a story, a timeline.
I’m sweating as I zip through throngs on un-rushed pedestrian in Belfast city centre. It’s too hot for this time of year, the Primark cordon still dominates Royal Avenue, and I’m late already. It doesn’t help that I have never had the opportunity to meet my interviewee, not unusual by any mean, but I am a big believer in good first impressions. It’s a shame the group of tourists in front of me don’t share my haste, thus inciting the age-old strategy of “excuse me, excuse me, sorry, sorry, sorry” as I elbow my way through. Needs must.
Luckily, the other half of my conversation seems unbothered by the wait. I make my way upstairs, all too aware of my moistened brow, and scan the crowd at the café. Thankfully, I know who to look for, otherwise, he might have remained camouflaged.
The term ‘best-kept secret’ gets bandied about frequently, and loathe as I am to use it, it describes Sam Wickens better than anything. In a business dominated by loud personalities, the Bangor born musician is something of an enigma, seemingly well known and respected but simultaneously removed and isolated. A large following and experience working with industry legends Tony Visconti ("He was unbelievable. I was nervous, I thought he was going to be like a mad scientist, mad genius. But he’s very grounded, very humble”) and Stuart Copeland would suggest a high market artist, yet a carefully curated online persona is hardly forthcoming with stories. All in all, Wickens seems curiously normal, someone who could disappear into a crowd if he wished. That is, until you speak to him.
I sit down opposite with an apology (“Traffic was mental…”) and am greeted with a small, understanding grin. No worries, I am assured, he and his manager had only just arrived. Setting up my equipment, I begin to explain my interviewing process, ensuring we are on the same page. As I do, I become more and more aware of Wickens and am struck by his presence. His stare is intense, but not intimidating, listening intently as if we are the only people in the building. There are few I have sat with in this capacity, fewer still with a tangible aura. His seems brittle and yet expansive, his area of personal space almost visible, his haptic communication clear. Was this seriously the same man I almost missed when I entered?
My curiosity now turned to a deeper interest, I look at the word document I had prepared with questions, and decide to scrap it almost in its entirety. Something told me I wouldn’t need it. Indeed, Wickens proves to be a fascinating individual, interested and engaged throughout. Subtly charming and endearingly honest, his soft-spoken nature belies the quick wit underneath. I get the impression he is used to having his guard up, hence the close attention he continues to pay to me. Pleasantries are exchanged, and while Wickens is forthcoming with his answers, the phalanx remains tight. Then the music comes up.
A dedicated craftsman, Wickens approaches his art with a methodical delicacy, and any mention of the subject causes his eyes to light up like candles. Briefly, his protective shield shrinks as he recalls that while his household was not the most musical, the talent shone through. And yet, for someone with a seeming natural aptitude, Wickens never had ‘the moment’ where it all fell together. Perhaps had he joined the army and been good at shooting, people would have had said THAT was his calling as opposed to performing. Wickens thinks about this often. He thinks about a lot often. As fate would have it, his mother-brother combo was there with a gentle push in music's direction. The latter, through providing him with his first copies of Linkin Park, Jay Z and Eminem tracks. The former, by fanning the initial spark of interest, a leapfrog book containing a plethora of instruments to discover. "It had a page in it with loads of different instruments, there was like brass and wind and a saxophone. Looking at them I knew how they would move and was saying to my mum “Aw, look at this!” and from then she was just like ‘let's see what other weird stuff he does, let's give him a piano!’ ” It was hook line and sinker from that point, beginning on a small Casio and graduating to a guitar aged 7. Reflecting back, he muses “I've just always enjoyed music, it’s always just been the most natural thing in my life.”
I still get nerves walking into anywhere.
Wickens continued to learn and progress, strumming guitars turning to humming while playing, then singing. Hampered only by his shyness and fears of mockery, Wickens laid the groundwork for what would later become his unique style of artistic creation early. His earliest songs were comedic ones, content as he was to make people laugh with him instead of at him, but before long he took the plunge. “I just took a step one day and uploaded, what I thought was, the most serious song ever. It was like this broken-hearted, teenage love track and I just thought, “Right, I’m gonna do it.” From there I just started taking bigger steps, seeing what else I could throw out without people being too weirded out by it.” Steps became strides, leading to his first performance in front of a crowd aged 17. “It was an open mic night, just some bar that had a sign up that said ‘singers wanted.’ My friend told me to just get up and the people there, they encouraged me to come back the next week and the next week.” Like a moth to a flame, Wickens obeyed, gaining vital experience over the coming years, hoping him to form his live act.
Even here, however, in his artistic space, demons lurked. Nerves and performance anxiety, although abated in recent years, remain factors. “I still get nerves walking into anywhere. I cannot go to gigs, other peoples gigs, I get nervous and I hate it. I just get really anxious being in and around all the people.”
“Not much has really changed, I’m a bit calmer. I’m a bit less defensive about it, instead of going in with the idea that people are going to laugh at you, people are going to mock you because you’re not their cup of tea. Going in without that mindset has been a massive help because it means I get to enjoy it a bit more.” True enjoyment seems to be a rare commodity for Wickens, with the stage and the studio being some of the few places he finds solace. “Whenever I am most calm is when I’m on stage and away from everyone and I can think “Okay, it’s just me and the music right now.”
On the subject of his own music, Wickens takes a different approach, delighted at the prospect of discussing it with strangers and see what strands they follow. Differing conclusions are a valuable currency in his world, a place in which every answer is worthy of consideration. When asked how seeing his songs dissected affects him, he brightens considerably - “I love it because all my songs are written in really spider way, kind of sub-conscious ways wherein like, I could delve into what it's about and then someone reviews it and they tell me something I didn’t know about myself. And I’m just like, they have just unlocked this drawer that I didn’t know that existed on that track.” To be questioned and picked apart is a necessary part of the process in his eyes. For what is the point of any of this if it is not understood? “I love seeing people dive into them… I love that, I love when they find little hidden meaning because like, I do this as a form of therapy. So it’s great for reviewers or managers to say “This means this.”
For those willing to look deep, Wickens has left a few surprises, the memory of which draws a smile across his face. “My mantra for this album is, I’m not expecting everyone to like this album but they’re all going to respect it. There’s loads of unorthodox stuff. I know in ‘Ravens & Crows,’ when we were doing the final mix I could just hear this ancient noise on it and was just like “I love that, I love what you’ve done” and the producer was looking at me like I was mad. It turned out to be this farmer outside cutting planks of wood with this old bench saw. So I went out and asked if I could record the noise of him cutting, sitting there getting a big face of sawdust for that two-second clip. Because it meant something, and getting it on the album meant something.”
Talk then turns to his album, his debut effort. I’ve always put stock in album titles and this one, ‘All I’ve Seen,’ has the gravity of something greater. It sounds that way too. From the towering bog gothic architecture of ‘Ravens & Crows’ to the shimmer folktronica of ‘Falling,’ it takes a clairvoyant eye and open mind to fully explore its sonic labyrinth. By the end of it, you feel spent and sore, aching all over in the best way, a mental work out of a professional level. For Wickens, this should be the standard. “It’s a meeting of many worlds, to be honest. The thought of having a body of work from one viewing point, my brain doesn’t work like that. My brain can’t stay in one viewing point for one second, it’s constantly thinking of everything. So the album was a way of getting all of those little voices out there together. It's like, do you know the DVD sign on the screen that bounces around? It’s like that, except they’re all bouncing off to where they are supposed to be going. Sonically, there is a difference, because I didn’t want to do a ‘folk’ album or an ‘indie’ album, I wanted it to be a body of work album, where you can listen and have a bit of everything, all these little ingredients.”
I’m trying not to look that far into the future.
Influenced by the audio profiles of Bon Iver, The National, Big Red Machine and podcasts (Joey Diaz and The Church Of What's Happening Right Now in particular), ‘Everything I’ve Seen’ sees Wickens attempt to give form to the formless in his head, the million images and questions swirling around, and the result is a desolately beautiful chaos. Each song, drifting through its own personal miasma, inevitably bumps into another, tied together by tendrils of experience and authenticity. Exactly as planned? “There were a lot of songs that could have been on the album but these ones all had sort of a connection with each other. When we were in the studio, the came out as twin, then triplets, then all of a sudden there were ten songs all joined at the hip. I’ve always wanted to have a family of songs where there was a story, a timeline. I couldn’t get that with a single or an EP.”
My watch beeps. Time has flown by and I have no intention of being late twice for an arrangement twice in a row (my next appointment is far less forgiving of tardiness), and yet I feel no desire to leave. So much seems left unsaid, but I settle for the following - what then, can we expect for the rest of 2019? Music talk is gone, and the shield begins to balloon outwards again. Still, not before another smile appears. “I’m trying not to look that far into the future. The start of this year has been massive, not just for myself, but the music has been unbelievable and I feel blessed to have the team that I have.” Most would reel off a prepared spiel, but Wickens remains gracious and honest to the end. Satisfied, I pack up my equipment and beat a quick goodbye. Making my way down the stairs, I end up facing back the way I had come, just in time for Wickens urban camouflage to reactivate. I'm sure if I turned again, he would have disappeared entirely. Exactly as planned.
Sam Wickens debt album will be released on June 13th in The Black Box in Belfast. He will also perform in Whelans bar in Dublin on June 15th.
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