As I begin to meet more and more people through the advancement in my education, I’ve started to learn just how unique my childhood was.
It wasn’t that I spent prolonged hours of the day outside—that aspect defined many of my peers in a similar age range. It was the vast expanse of my social life.
On a normal day, rain or shine, our cul-de-sac was overflowing with the pitter-patter of almost thirty excited pairs of feet. With ages ranging from 16-year-olds learning their way behind a wheel to toddlers desperate to be as cool as the older crowd, no one was ever left out of an opportunity to have fun.
The most defining years of being a kid stemmed from the experiences these people gave me within the confines of our neighborhood. What I fail to picture clearly in a never-ending stream of sickly nostalgia for that era is always brought to life through an alternate method: music.
Each summer of my childhood was documented in a group camera folder shared between the houses down our street; each summer remains condensed into the most significant moments on a rotation of DVDs. Pictures from our backyard projector movie nights, the most ruthless games of Survivor, and the police interrupting our night of Ghosts in the Graveyard present the most picturesque background to the music chosen specifically for each summer.
I’ve now concluded that these memories are where I contracted my love for folk music, as songs of this genre would be played over the moments the cameras captured.
The Lumineers, Cat Stevens, and Mumford & Sons became an integral part of my youth, so when I heard the final band was releasing a new album after a long absence, I was overcome with a wave of sentimentality and was eagerly anticipating its arrival.
Their newest collection, titled Rushmere, is the band’s first release as an ensemble in six years and reasonably kicks off with the song they initially wrote when they converged again: “Malibu.” Opening with the familiar syncopated guitar pattern immediately brought me back into that nostalgic stillness. The almost dreamy atmosphere this track creates aided in reminding me of Marcus Mumford’s spectacular leading vocal range. Similar to the rest of the album, the extended moral of comfort and peace in a newfound faith originates in this song, making this a perfect introduction.
As “Malibu” closes with a more positive feel, “Caroline” keeps that mood flowing while covering a more somber topic. Staying true to the Mumford & Sons well-known stomp-and-holler ambiance that mirrors a majority of their albums, this song accomplishes that quality that the band’s fans have longed for all these years. Though the lyrics express the emotions of dealing with a breakup, Mumford defines the event in a more upbeat light as if he’s being set free from the experience by describing the lesser qualities of his partner.
The album’s title track, “Rushmere,” guides each listener back to the band’s roots. Bearing the name of a local pond in the hometown of each member provides a bright, reminiscent sense of the benefits of beginning their music group. Not only was it probably a healing experience for those involved in its creation, being given the opportunity to make something tangible that holds the memories of their start as an ensemble, but the song features a heavy banjo line—something that I’ve been anticipating hearing in a new album.
It’s here that a transition in the tracklist occurs. Staying consistent with the title, “Monochrome” flags the emergence of something more serene than the previous songs. While the words provide details into personal complexities that come with any relationship and the black-and-white inevitability of letting go, there’s almost a sense of comfort. The mournful atmosphere that comes with the end of something is flawlessly juxtaposed with the warm guitar lines and the lullaby quality of the chorus.
After my heart rate slowed in the peace “Monochrome” supplied, it shot to the sky at the start of “Truth.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mumford & Sons release a song with a similar vibe; they explore substantial elements of the rock genre to emphasize the meaning of establishing yourself on the painful trail to learning honesty in any situation, but finding a healthier way of facing such adversity. This remains one of my favorite songs on the album simply because of how relevant it seems to be with the political climate today. The last rendition of the chorus, “‘Cause there’s a fire in the almost places / Leaves us nowhere else to go / Don’t leave the liars in the almost places” serves as a parallel to our current society as everyone seems to be trying to find hope and forgiveness in the way things are headed.
Although this is an album personal to those who wrote it, I can’t help but find quite a few connections to the complex duality of the American situation; “Where It Belongs” stays strong with those repeated morals through the theme of grappling with emotions of a lost relationship due to painful actions and words. I’m not a huge fan of how each line of the verses follows the exact same harmonic cadence, but the track does bring up essential lessons on the topic of letting go and living freely without the judgment of others.
Continuing with the matter of moving forward through the unwanted opinions of others, “Anchor” proves to be an exceptionally raw song, not only in terms of the intellectual lyrics but also in the lack of musical backing. Being mostly piano, guitar, and accompanying vocals, it has a very personal feel. It visits the struggle of releasing the past to move forward and find a present self through an extended metaphor of being tied down by the expectations of everyone else.
The one song that is the closest reflection of older Mumford & Sons songs is “Surrender,” which comes towards the end of the album. Beginning with a slower and softer rhythm that develops into a more intricate ending about enduring a personal transformation in order to find a higher form of being.
Although “Surrender” resembles a similar rulebook that seemed to direct the songs in the previous albums, my favorite track of this collection is “Blood On The Page.” Mumford presents his higher vocal range that suits Madison Cunningham’s voice in the most ideal way. I’m not familiar with Cunningham’s work in the industry, but with her stellar production in this singular song, I promised myself to familiarize myself with her art. The lone guitar and intimate lyrics that reference the importance of staying true to yourself in the face of societal change create an intense, emotional, cathartic release of true visions towards the further meaning of the song.
The conclusion of the album occurs in the tranquil fashion of “Carry On.” This song signifies the leveling out of this collection of songs as it describes finding peace through the misfortunes the world throws out. With a more depressing attitude than the previous tracks’ atmospheres, its radiance creates almost the perfect storybook ending to this record and perfectly sums up the ebb and flow of its run.
Initially, I was upset with the fact that Mumford & Sons have slightly tuned into an alternate genre similar to pop. Instead of being greeted immediately by their transitional raw and folk-heavy recordings, Rushmere proves the importance of the morals they attempt to communicate through its music, even if the production is a little different.
