Unpicking The Process: Marika Hackman Interviewed

Marika Hackman has always been obsessed with the craft. A songwriter who takes her time over every single statement, her work to date is imbued with autobiographical detail, a profound way with melody, and a sense that each note counts.

New album ‘Big Sigh’ takes this a step further. Marika co-produces the record, and plays virtually every single instrument – with the exception of guest choirs and brass – herself. A tour de force of her understated musicality, it might just be her best album yet – honest, challenging, and totally absorbing, the end results more than justify the long days (and nights) spent in the studio.

Out now, Clash caught up with Marika Hackman shortly after her excellent in-store at London’s Rough Trade East to find out more.

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The new album is out now – congrats! How do you feel?

Good! But it’s actually always a weird feeling, releasing an album… the closest thing I can compare it to is Christmas. It’s on the horizon, you’re anticipating it for a while, and everything is big and hectic but when the time comes… you’re kind of knackered! (laughs) It’s so strange… there’s such a big build up and then afterwards it’s like: OK, that’s out now. It happened! In a way, the best thing about it is that opening that door actually shuts a different door for you, which enables you to move on to the next thing for you.

You’ve said this is the hardest record you’ve ever made – how so?

It was more on an emotional front. I struggled to write it… which is incredibly stressful. You have no control over it. The writing process is so enigmatic anyway,; like, you can’t apply logic or work ethic or anything like that. Sometimes you can sit down and try and try and try and somehow it just might not happen… which is terrifying.

That said, I had an innate trust that it would happen in the end. I feel that finding the stamina was the hardest part and being able to actually pull it over the finish line, because it just seemed to kind of take a while. And I’m not used to that. But I learned something from it.

You record virtually every instrument on here yourself, which is a huge thing to undertake. What made you approach the record like that?

There is a sense of immediacy to doing it like that, with it all coming out of me. But it’s also… kind of the easy option! (laughs) I guess to some people it would seem like the more difficult one… but maybe it’s the control freak in me. It’s actually something I’ve done throughout my career, but definitely, stepping into a more confident production role was really exciting. I’ve been building up to this for a while, but in terms of calling a spade a spade and actually doing it… that was age and confidence, really.

You definitely call a spade a spade on this record – it’s hugely honest. Did you feel like it was going to be as personal as this from the outset?

I had no real preconceptions of this record in terms of what it was going to be – which is very different to my other records. If I felt like I had personal things bubbling up then it would have been a much easier record to write. Weirdly, I think that having to dig a bit deeper to find inspiration has made it a more honest record. It was hard to be that reflective. And also, I’m reflecting on stuff that happened years ago… a lot of it isn’t fresh. In terms of bearing my soul – it’s easier for me if it feels difficult or painful. Strong images, evocative images, that makes it more satisfying for me. I want to feel something when I’m singing. That’s what I’m aiming for.

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‘No Caffeine’ feels like a real moment in your live sets already, what sparked that song into being?

It took fucking ages that one! It was a real slow-burner. The demo versions of that are so wildly different. I had the chord progression, and I really liked it. I got fragments of the melody. I had one lyric straight away. But one day I decided to scrap the whole thing, put the tempo up, get that driving drumbeat… I wanted it to sound relentless. And when that took shape, that directed where the lyrics should go. It felt like an anxious track, so it became an anxiety attack to-do list. It’s about my warped relationship with anxiety. 

It’s a record of contrast – some of the arrangements are big, lush affairs, but some are really stripped down. How did you decide what was necessary? Did the songs lead you there?

Yeah! Much like the writing process, it varies. It feels very instinctive. Sometimes you need to try a few different outfits on a track. It’s just trying different things. I knew, when I had the bulk of songs written, that I wanted an album of contrast. I think contrast creates space, and a context for things to sit within. So we’ve got moments where there’s a bubble of piano, but then also moments with sweeping strings. It’s the same as the cover art, really – the background and the foreground. It was all about finding space to hang these painful emotional vignettes.

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Closing song ‘The Yellow Mile’ is a hugely understated way to end the record, but very profound – it feels very cathartic.

I wrote that in one afternoon. It was the last song written for the record, and it felt like the final piece of the puzzle. Hence why it’s the last song on the album. It was cathartic, in a way, because it was so easy to write. It was this validation of: oh OK, I can actually still do my job. Sometimes music is easy! It was painful but there’s something sweet about that song as well. There’s a pleasant acceptance to it. There’s a glimmer of light to it, even though the lyric is really heavy.

There’s a huge amount of detail in this record, how did it feel to finally sign it off? Is there a sense of finally being able to put those emotions to one side?

It was strange with this record. Normally I don’t sit in on the mastering, but this time I did and… I had a panic attack. We were listening back to it and… I don’t know why it happened. Maybe it was listening back to all those painful things in their fully formed iterations. Or maybe it was a sense of release. But I felt very strange that day. And I didn’t go back to the record for a while. It was too much a part of me. I wasn’t looking at it objectively. 

That’s the thing with writing painful music… it helps because you have something external that you can look at objectively, and it feels almost like you’re pulling it out of yourself. And then you can kind of put it on the shelf, whereas this one still felt like it was so wrapped up in me.

That’s what’s been really nice about actually releasing it, and talking about it with people and hearing it fresh again. I feel like I finally achieved that thing where I can look at it as like a body of work that I created and feel proud of and connect with it in a different way.

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‘Big Sigh’ is out now.

Words: Robin Murray
Photo Credit: Steve Gullick