Roddy Woomble is a storied name in Scottish music. As the frontman of Idlewild, he’s helped steer them from punk-inclined noiseniks through to stately, folk-hewn indie rock, meandering past mainstream acclaim in the process.
His own solo catalogue, however, is also well worth investigating. A literate, emotive voice, his most recent work has been in an electronic setting, utilising some fine collaborators in the process.
Out now, new album ‘Sometimes during the night we fell off the map’ is a resetting of the dials, re-immersing him in the more acoustic, contemplative sound of his early solo records.
It’s a record replete with highlights – recorded in a 19th century church on the Isle of Mull, the album at times takes on the atmosphere of a Faroese barroom, with a guest appearance Roddy’s son, Uist.
A beautifully absorbing experience, Roddy Woomble kindly took time out to answer our questions on its making.
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There’s a palpable sense of contemplation to the lyrics on your new album, where do you think that aspect comes from?
I’m always just trying my best, to make up songs, melodies, and write words that represent me at this time – ‘I wanted to speak the beautiful language of my time’ said Baudelaire wisely, and I think essentially that’s what most songwriters are trying to do – to make an artistic indentation onto the time they’re living through.
The material was seemingly written during winter, do you feel that adds to the sense of introspection throughout the record?
The majority of the album was written from Nov 2023 – Feb 2024. There was a Christmas tree up for a good portion of the songwriting, so yes I think the record definitely has a wintery feel to it. There’s an intimacy there, slightly melancholy maybe, reflective, but hopeful.
How do you delineate between an Idlewild song, for example, and a solo song? Where does one point of identity end, and another begin?
Idlewild is very much a band dynamic, the five of us working on rock songs together – Which is why it’s so infrequent now since no one lives anywhere near each other. But whenever we do get together it’s always a lovely, rewarding experience still.
On my own it’s much more relaxed and easier to co-ordinate as I’m coming up with the basic chords, lyrics, melodies and then developing them with musician friends who come and visit me, or I go and visit them. Because of this there is a more varied musical palette to my solo work – I love acoustic music, electronic music, jazz, and I suppose my voice and melodies suit a variety of genres.
You work alongside Sorren Maclean on this record, what makes your partnership with him so effective?
Sorren is one of life’s great souls. Just a wonderful man and supremely talented musician, arranger and producer. I met him when he was 19 and he was also like that then. We work very well together, coming up with song ideas quickly and developing them or dismissing them quickly too. Most people I collaborate with live nowhere near me, but Sorren lives only a mile away (by boat), so that’s also handy.
It’s tempting to see this as a reaction to the more electronic-inclined ‘Almost Nothing’ – is that the case? Do you react against your previous work, or is artistic evolution a little more nuanced than that might suggest?
I suppose maybe I do, as I never want to make the same record twice – but quite subconsciously. I’m not sitting analysing my previous records – I basically make the music that fits my mood at the moment – the moment I’m in – which is constantly changing, so I try and reflect that with lyrics and melodies and my friends help me with the music.
The album was recorded in a former church on the Isle of Mull – quite a romantic setting, all told! What made you pick that as a base?
We wrote most of the songs in my living room (I live on the Isle of Iona, which is one mile off the southern coast of Mull) and the initial idea was to record them there too, with just a few microphones – in a ‘Basement tapes’ style. Sorren had been using the old Baptist church in nearby Bunessan to record in previously and had a lot of his gear set up there though, so we did a weekend session in March and ended up recording about six songs, which sounded lovely – so we decided to record the rest of the album in the church. It’s a lovely space, cold, but atmospheric, and the old wooden walls make music sound good.
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The record sounds very natural and organic, at times as though you’re in the room with you all. Was that your intention from the outset?
Yes it was, after making two albums and an EP of mostly remotely recorded electronic music I was keen to make a record that felt imitate, warm, familiar, and live – the sound of musicians playing together in a room, or a church in this case.
‘Break up the sun’ was a fine single, could you tell us a little about that song?
I read this quote by Unamuno – ‘love is consolation in desolation’ – what a statement! I guess the song is somewhat about this idea – everything might be meaningless, but so what – there are still wonderful things all around us to focus on.
‘Still Painting A Picture Of You’ is pleasingly woozy – where did that song come from?
It’s has a barroom feel and some authentic barroom vibes – the song was recorded live in the church – I’m playing the bass drum, hi hat, acoustic guitar and singing it – one man band style, and we left lots of the ambient chat in. Sorren had been in the Faroes Islands the week before, and he’d recorded some sounds in a bar he was drinking in, so that’s also got mixed in to mingle with with the Mull vibes. It’s a song about creativity, and the endless search for something new within that.
Your son Uist is on the record – that must have been a proud moment! What was that session like?
Of course, but Uist and I play a lot together at home, for fun, lots of covers and some original material, so it felt very natural to record together – he’s a very good musician who comes up with cool parts. I don’t think I’m an embarrassing dad, well I hope not, We’re just playing some music together.
What do you think distinguishes this record from the rest of your solo catalogue?
It’s got a quietness about it, it’s not in a rush, or desperate to impress. Maybe because it was made with not many people around, stormy weather outside, in my late 40’s. It feels like a pause along the way somewhere, so hopefully listeners of all ages can find something here to connect to, because we all need a pause once in a while.
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‘Sometime During The Night We Fell Off The Map’ is out now on Assai Records.
Words: Robin Murray
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