Review by Jeffrey Grandon
I started following the band Faded Paper Figures in 2016. Early on I learned about the band members’ day jobs, which added to my appreciation of their music. John is an Ivy League literature professor; Kael, a TV and film score producer; Heather is a family practice physician. Despite busy careers, their after-work ethic is steady — every 2–3 years the group produces a new collection of intelligently penned, lushly produced songs with a strong electronic bent. If you ever dreamt of being a sensible pop star as your alter ego, these are your heroes.
FPF’s new, sixth full-length album Morningside is a continued expansion of their palette of electronic and organic sounds: creative synth sequences and pads accompanied by guitar and acoustic instrumentation (cello, banjo, plucked strings, live drums, and an Eastern-sounding stringed instrument in opener Brazilian Iris). A few songs on Morningside include early FPF sonic references, like blippy Juno-era synth lines that propelled their early music (as well as pop radio in 1982). Their lyrics are clever and interesting, and offer some fun rhymes (like, “paranoia will destroy ya”), historic and place references, and spoken samples (including a reporter witnessing the Hindenburg disaster). With headphones I’ll discover a hidden instrumental line or a new term to Google.
With successive albums, the members of FPF continue to mature in their skills at crafting songs, and as DIY music producers. Morningside’s song elements are each given space to inhabit within the mix. John and Heather’s airy and expressive vocals float perfectly atop mid- and low-frequency backing tracks; in their first albums the vocals sometimes got lost in heavy drums and buzzing synths. The subtle details of percussion are one of the best parts of this album: Kael has become a master of assembling rhythm tracks out of found sounds — listen for the clicking blocks and rustling shells which add depth in Walking over Lava. Over the past two albums, the bassline at times serves a dual role as percussion. There’s much detail to appreciate here.
With Morningside and 2020’s album Kairos the song topics feel increasingly personal. During the COVID-19 pandemic I would walk outdoors to Kairos. After some of its songs I’d be in tears. What personal crises in relationships, faith or self-confidence did these songs reveal?
With new album Morningside, the tragedy is still present, but with the addition of time and reflection. There’s newfound acceptance and accommodation of a new normal, a recognition of the dawning day. Morningside is about resurrection, reinvention and redemption. There’s hope for the future. It’s not the end of the world, even as we know it.
One of the most pleasurable parts of Morningside is its sparsity. Between its interwoven layers there’s a beautiful quietness to this record. By another measure, the album clocks in at only 32 minutes: 10 complete stories and musical themes presented precisely, without excess. For a whole-album listener like me (and you should be, too) it’s a refreshing study in editing oneself. [Yes, I’m talking to you, Taylor Swift and your 17 tracks per album.]
Morningside is out February 3 on streaming services or for download. I pre-purchased it at Bandcamp, where you can listen to 4 advance tracks now. https://fadedpaperfigures.bandcamp.com/album/morningside
Morningside Review, Part 2
If you made it this far … here’s a guided tour of some of my favorite songs on this record.
New City. This is a song about moving to New York City, to seek new inspiration in an old place. The use of echo throughout conjures the memory of past generations who’ve come and gone. Percussion jumps in and out of the mix, alternating between the rhythmic clacking of subway trains, the shuffling of pedestrians, a clock ticking away yesteryear. The compressed strumming of an electric guitar sounds as if it bleeds through the wall of the tenement next door. Oscillating synth lines conjure the vibrant thrum of the modern city. I assume we’re talking about Lennon’s ghost, and not Lenin’s ghost? This song’s theme resonates with me, in reverse: after growing up in the east and seeking a new start, I moved from New York to Utah. (Maybe Utah native John and I are trading places?) It’s a construct many will relate to.
Lucky Ones. A post-breakup song, benefitting from being a few years down the road. Simply-played guitar, quietly sung vocals, drifting background vocals are a perfect container for the topic. More clever rhyming of unusual words in the lyrics. There’s been some settlement to get “what we wanted” — to not be together. “Nowhere we can save these files” reminds me of finding it impossible to divide a shared iTunes library after a breakup. After the protagonist rationalizes it’s OK things didn’t work out, comes the surprise ending — why do I miss you?
Therefore Me. An anthem to finding oneself, and making space in the world to become that person. With age, we become different people, and that’s OK: “I didn’t know what I was.” There’s a nice break of silence in the chorus where most of the instruments drop out. The vocals are strong and clear and become a manifesto. “Distance has a way of breaking new ground.” I love listening to the alternating 2-note sequence changing shape throughout the song. It offers a lineage to FPF’s earlier sound. A bright marimba joins at the halfway mark to add a beautiful theme. A shimmering ending represents ultimate acceptance of who you’ve become … yet it also doesn’t resolve on the correct note to end the song. It feels like a dangling question at the end of life: Have I made it?
Cold. My favorite track on the album. The lyrics describe a crumbling relationship, spiraling towards its demise. The music follows suit: the song is based on gentle guitar fingerpicking, interrupted by harried mechanical interludes. It’s a disquieting back-and-forth that suggests moments of rage and rest, whose sum leads a couple further down the path to ruin. This track is a sonic masterpiece, with gorgeous scraping percussion, twinkling pads and deep bass like a breath. Heather’s vocals drift in on a breeze. Two minutes in, the song gets more insistent with a funk guitar riff. Every element is given its own space in the mix — notice the live hi-hat compressed to a lower range. I could hear this track playing over a film’s end titles. Best lyric of the album winner is here: “The way that we were, is a stone in our past that we throw. And the future is glass.”
Columbo. Morningside’s surprise ending. FPF’s songs are ever-earnest, so it’s a funny departure for them to cite 70s TV drama as a device to wrap a song around. The theme is exposing the truths we hide from others … and ourselves. A shuffle beat and bouncing electronic bassline make the tune instantly fun. John’s usually-precise doubletracked vocals are less “together” than usual, perhaps revealing cracks in a double life. The verses drop to a dramatic one-measure rest, then build to thrumming bass, guitar feedback and a straight-up rock drumming chorus … also not the FPF we know. The song concept is brilliant and the material so off-the-wall for this band — it makes me smile each time. Oh, one more thing: who knew Faded Paper Figures had a sense of humor?
