The London three-piece make their debut in style with an assertive offering, balancing intricacy with disorder.
Words: Benjamin Smith
Mary and the Junkyard have been wowing gig crowds and festivals alike for little over a year, mostly at The Windmill, their chosen home. Like many, we have been excitedly anticipating their recorded debut, which comes today in the form of 'Tuesday.' Across five minutes, the trio confidently experiment with space and mood, the track a beguiling introduction to one of London's most exciting new bands.
The opening section establishes sparse guitar, leaving room for singer/guitarist Clari Freeman Taylor's delicate vocals to unravel, with her confessional whispers and rasps begging with ambiguous meaning. As it runs on, however, the track oscillates unpredictably: there are open expanses upon which the vocals dance, countered by sections introduced with wavering drones which create a boundary, enclosing the other instruments as they rush in to fill space alongside the echoes which stalk Taylor's more insistent words.
Obvious as well is the intimacy of interplay that occurs between members of the band. The bassline alone seems deceptively simple, yet its combination with the knotty guitar builds a propulsive groove, pushing with urgency alongside double-time drums that further thrust the song forwards.
In some cases, tentative vocals and chaotic instrumentals can be a sign of a band not quite sure of themselves, however Mary in the Junkyard capably incorporate these. This is a show of confidence; of placing lyrical vulnerability unhidden and unburdened at the forefront, and of embracing the messiness and discord of three members working undoubtedly together but not quite perfectly in sync.
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