A Day In The Life: Sinai Vessel
We've been long-time fans of Sinai Vessel, the recording project of Asheville, North Carolina's Caleb Cordes. Since the release of 2017's Brokenlegged LP, Cordes has quietly assembled a collection of songs as warm and playful as they are heavy-hearted. There's a raw sense of emotion that ripples throughout his work, whether that's clear-eyed in the melodies or hidden deep somewhere within his lyrics - and that's something remains on his excellent forthcoming album, I SING, released next Friday via the ever-reliable Keeled Scales label.
We already covered 'Best Witness' here on 3/6/5, and Sinai Vessel have since shared another track from the record in the form of the more stripped-back 'Laughing', a sad summer anthem full of faded memories and gorgeous pedal steel, courtesy of JODI's Nick Levine.
It might well be his band's most impressive moment to-date, so we thought it a good time to invite Caleb to share his time and influences with us, via our A Day In The Life feature - so check it out below right now.
What's the first song or album you reach for in the quiet of the morning...
I'll begin by saying that, for me, answering these questions involves a good deal of aspirational imagination. Though I believe in the virtues of maintaining a steady rhythm to my days, I presently have less of one than ever – the host of things I do for a living and tasks I've to complete as a totally do-it-yourself artist have more or less exploded my life in the past year, and adjacent days rarely ever look the same. To be clear, I'll be answering backwards – thinking about the songs that have kept me company in recent times and plugging them into the time of day wherever they best feel fit.
For the morning, I'm torn between 'Just Might Run' by Idaho or 'Listening to Karl' by R McCarthy. I'm a sleepy guy, so I need my mornings to be as gentle and light on vocabulary as can be managed – and both of these beautiful songs deliver. The common element between these two are that they're both openly demo recordings. They're beautifully polished and as finished-sounding as anything else, but there's something improvisatory about them – it feels like they're much closer to the fuzzy, brain-folded nascent state of an idea than they do the condition of having made the necessary sacrifices to bring ideas into being. That's special – and is a nice quality to have as a companion at the beginning of a heretofore unknown, open day.
What's the one song you play to wake you up and embrace the day ahead...
Up until fall of last year, I'd worked for a while as a server at a barbeque restaurant that's about a three minute commute from my house by car. For a lunch shift, I loved getting the day started by listening to a song on this brief journey, but my selection was usually contingent on it being pretty short. Eliza Niemi's 'Tea on a Plate' did this for me often – by the time it gets fully going, it's almost over, and I was typically parking in kind. It's a perfect song – the record of Eliza's that it's from is full of them, and they arrive in wildly varying shapes, sizes, and uses. That feels less common these days – that an artist indulges themselves in all the reaches of their interests and trusts that personality and voice – rather than over-hemming your vision in – will allow for cohesion. It's a hopeful reference point and a deep favorite from the past few years.
What's your favourite song or album to drive to/accompany you on a road trip...
Last summer, on the way home from a post-tour trip to Montreal, I decided to take Phoenix's non-Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix discography for a spin. After falling hard for that record in high school I'd dipped in here and there, but had never really given another LP of theirs a full front-to-back time of day. I began with It's Never Been Like That – the record that directly precedes Wolfgang, and the one where it feels like the essence of Phoenix really started to come into being. It's fucking wonderful, and the one-two of 'Long Distance Call' into 'One Time Too Many' really knocked the wind out of me. The latter track was habit-forming, we had a long drive, and I couldn't stop. As soon as my partner at the time would fall asleep, I'd set this on repeat. I'm still obsessed a year later.
What's a song or album that sounds best just as the sun begins to go down...
I can't remember when I discovered 'Any Day' by The Sea and Cake, but it's been with me for a long time. It's a tune that instantly makes me feel positive. I recently told a friend that I often feel frustrated that I can't live inside certain songs – this is one that makes me feel that way. The late afternoon dusk is easily my favorite time of day – a time that positive energy feels easy to come by. Having this one on in the living room while you're starting to chop a dinner recipe's vegetables, sideways golden light through all the windows... oh man. Nothing better for me.
What's your favourite song or album to dance to when the dark of night has arrived...
Because I've typically worked hourly jobs at night, it's often not until late in the evening that I really feel like I have unencumbered personal time. I've recently taken advantage of this by spending a great deal of time driving aimless laps around Asheville, and 'Childhood McDonald's' by Shabason & Krgovich has been a regular soundtrack. I really could pick anything from their record At Scaramouche – it's music that's made for private dancing, and is a real balm after a frazzling day. There's tons of textures that float in for a brief moment and pass, all set atop really pleasurable and rhythmic foundations. It's music that feels – appropriately, for this time of day – like sinking into a hot bath.
And finally. what's the last song you play in the late-night quiet, when the day is over...
I'm often at my most clear in the wee hours, and it's a nice time to check in with myself, set intentions, what-have-you. 'Started Again' by This Is The Kit has been a constant encouragement in that time, and I've often driven around town with it on repeat as well. There's something about certain songs that feels physical for me – my limbs can directly emulate what it'd feel like to play a drum fill or a certain melody on guitar, and it makes me ache to write something that places me in a similar space. It's a centering source of hope – a tune I'm really thankful exists.
I SING is out July 26 via Keeled Scales
Listen and pre-order here: http://lnk.to/sv-ising
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