How Working With OVO and Letting Loose Led To James Vincent McMorrow's Best Record Yet

How Working With OVO and Letting Loose Led To James Vincent McMorrow's Best Record Yet

Image via Sarah Doyle
Image via Sarah Doyle

Image via Sarah Doyle

In the past, James Vincent McMorrow preferred control. And for good reason—the Irish songwriter’s signature brand of falsetto and meticulous arrangements have earned him critical accolades and a devoted following in recent years. But this time, it’s different. McMorrow wanted to transform, claiming that while making his past records, “I’ve walked to the edge of where I’ve wanted to be, I’ve gotten scared, and I’ve walked back to a safe distance.”

2014’s Post Tropical was the first metamorphosis: it was during that album cycle that he decided to stop drinking alcohol, giving up a crutch that had helped the introvert cross the globe on tour. The music itself was a nimble pivot away from the indie-folk roots that had defined his sound up to that point—Post Tropical wades into deep water, and contains songs that are almost overwhelming in their emotional depth, from the album opener “Cavalier” to the heart-stopping “Red Dust.”

Now comes time for McMorrow’s third act, and he has metamorphosed once again, thanks in no small part to four months in L.A. and the production team of Ninenteen85 (of dvsn & OVO), Two Inch Punch, and Frank Dukes.

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Collaborating with an OVO affiliate is a bit of a culmination for McMorrow—he’s admired their work for some time. The influence finally came full circle this year: McMorrow’s vocals are sampled on Drake’s “Hype,” and he co-wrote dvsn’s “Angela.” You can hear it in his own music, too—songs like “A Thousand Times” and “Evil” could easily fit on a dvsn album, were it not for McMorrow’s instantly recognizable voice. Had it been marketed through Drake’s imprint, however, We Move would be one of their best releases—it’s an album full of big hooks, gorgeous melodies, and a vocal confidence that may take the seasoned JVM fan by surprise.

McMorrow sounds freed on this new record, giving all of his voice rather than a whispered part. “In the past,” he says over the phone, “I think I’ve added levels of seriousness to it very early… not that it ruins the process or anything, but it’s definitely taken an element of fun and spontaneity out of it. Whereas this time it was like, ‘Let’s try and control our ideas, but keep it as loose as possible.’”

That process of letting go really took shape on the album’s addictive single “Rising Water,” after McMorrow brought it to Nineteen85.

“I spent months just putting together this really elaborate, big, interesting arrangement that I was so sure [of],” McMorrow says. “I was like, ‘I’m living out my best dreams, I’m in the pocket and I’ve got this really interesting song,’ and I felt so excited about it.

“And when [Nineteen85] heard it, he said, ‘Yeah, that’s fucking awesome, we need to make that song,’ but the first thing he did in the studio was maybe use 10% of what I did. If that had happened to me two, three years ago, I would have been out of that studio so fast. He totally negated everything that I believe to be true about songwriting and about that song and about arrangements. But he just looked at me and was like, ‘We don’t need any of that. It doesn’t lessen the song to me that it’s gone. And if it doesn’t lessen the song to you, then we don’t need it.”


Let’s try and control our ideas, but keep it as loose as possible.

That sort of honesty was refreshing, and wholly unexpected. “My world up to that point was being in studios with the types of guys whose approach is, ‘We make shit, we write new songs, and we don’t fuck around,’” McMorrow explains. “For [the producers] to let me know that this is worthy of all of their time and all of their attention is invaluable.

“Up until this album, my idea for making a record was write an arrangement, write a core structure for a song, think of a melody, and then record that melody and find words that fit in it, that fit the natural shape. That’s sort of been my go-to way of making music. I’m a big believer in the shape of a word, and how it can influence how an arrangement goes.”

But it wasn’t just producers who were being honest with McMorrow. Self-appraisal is central to the album’s creation, and pulling back the veil was a process. McMorrow has never been tabloid fodder or gone to label jail. His approach to music could be described as methodical and withdrawn, but that doesn’t mean he is blind to the industry’s changes. “A lot of deals that people signed four or five years ago… were based on CD sales. [Artists] are getting percentages of percentages of this Spotify title album money, based on kind of crummy deals. I was I guess lucky in a way, because I was never a hype artist, I never signed a 360 deal.”

Image via Sarah Doyle

Image via Sarah Doyle

Lyrical songwriting represents another broken barrier for McMorrow on We Move. He admits to previously leaning on sound and melody more than words, often writing lyrics he describes as “esoteric” and “shrouded.” “There’s probably a good population of the music-listening public that likes to not know what a song is saying,” McMorrow says. “But with this album, I felt really strongly that when people hear it, they should hear exactly what I’m saying. It wouldn’t allow me to hide behind things. It wouldn’t allow me to get away with something.”

It’s an interesting development for someone who, in conversation, speaks in fully-formed ideas. “The idea of happiness and sadness and the idea that everything is so black and white—I don’t believe that,” McMorrow says. “When you hear people’s opinions, they’re so hard and fast. Like, ‘You believe in that thing? You can’t believe in that thing.’ Well, that’s crazy.

“I’m part of a generation of Twitter users that are like, ‘Yeah, this is what I believe.’ But then I go and just do whatever the fuck I want. I don’t necessarily live hard and fast for the rules that I write for myself. And I felt that was quite hypocritical on my part.”

The philosophy extends to world events. In the midst of Trump and the aftermath of Brexit, McMorrow is only certain of uncertainty. “I don’t think that anybody necessarily knows what the hell is going to happen,” he says. “I’ve been around [the U.K.] a couple times recently and noticed a palpable change—a couple of friends of mine have been let go from jobs. There’s definitely an immediate, knee-jerk reaction because nobody knows. We live in this post-truth, constantly fearful world where as soon as something like that happens, and nobody actually expected it to happen, the first thing that a lot of people do is say, ‘Okay, we’re either going to change your salaries or we’re going to have to let you go because we don’t know what’s going to happen.’”

Personally and musically speaking, however, McMorrow is in a great place. Which wasn’t always the case, as the album reveals.

“‘Rising Water’ is about a particular window of time maybe two or three years ago when I wasn’t necessarily being the best human being I could be,” he says. “I wasn’t really thinking about life the way that I should have been thinking. It’s just about the idea of suddenly finding yourself in this vortex of music… everybody’s there to keep you happy and keep you on track.

“You get stuck in this weird cycle of perpetual movement, perpetual working. I think my relationship definitely suffered at that point, and ‘Rising Water’ was about that thing, that juxtaposition of feeling equally alive and equally close to something ending, or a death of something.”


I felt really strongly that when people hear this album, they should hear exactly what I’m saying.

The explanation sounds similar to his decision to stop drinking a few years ago. Alcohol hadn’t yet become debilitating, McMorrow remembers, but it was getting in the way of the music. “I never thought, ‘Holy shit, I’m going to ride myself off the rails.’ It’s just that life was no fun for me anymore, so I decided to change and see if life was more fun. And it was. I wasn’t playing shows the way I wanted to play them. The touring lifestyle is unhealthy by its very nature, and I wasn’t trying very hard to make it healthy for myself.”

It’s funny to hear him use that word, “healthy,” because that’s just what We Move sounds like. His voice is strong throughout, the arrangements airtight—there’s not a note wasted. That’s especially true of the first half, but even when McMorrow slips back into more familiar territory, like when he’s chanting “don’t let fear control you” during the piano ballad and album closer “Lost Angles,” there’s refreshing lack of parts trying to grab your attention. Subtlety is everything on this album, and it hits ten times as hard as the alternative.


James Vincent McMorrow’s We Move will be released on September 2.

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