"I have faith that human beings are really trying their best to be good." (An Interview With Elijah Mann)

For Half Mystic’s final interview of 2019, it seems fitting to welcome home an old member of the family. Elijah Mann’s song “Porcelain” was featured in Half Mystic Journal’s Issue II: Saudade in 2016, and his latest EP release The Flooding Season is a stunning continuation of his artistic bid for breath. Dear songbirds, please give the warmest of welcomes to Elijah Mann, an artist whose work drenches us in mirrored horizon, full of names and longing.

HM: The Flooding Season is your second EP. How has your musical process changed since 2016’s To Fall Apart?

EM: Much like To Fall Apart, the songs in The Flooding Season were written within years of each other, the oldest being from 2015. While making my first EP, I was in college and therefore writing much more regularly. I really had a lot more discipline than I do now, and would tirelessly edit songs into perfection. The newer songs off of this album arrived after serious dry spells but hardly required any editing. Personally, I would love to get back into a strict writing schedule, but the songs that came out of those sudden “sparks” do feel incredibly urgent, which I love. This is also the first time I’ve written songs with an album in mind, instead of collecting already-finished songs and trying to tie them together with a thesis.

The Flooding Season also has a new version of the song “High Anxiety”, which originally appeared on To Fall Apart. How did you go about approaching and modifying an older song?

Back when I recorded the original version of “High Anxiety”, I really had no idea what I was doing in terms of production. My reach exceeded my grasp, and I was asking my producer and my band to give me something I couldn’t quite put into words myself. I’ve learned a lot about production techniques and guitar tone since then. With this album, I had a better understanding of what I wanted out of the song, and I was also working with two phenomenal producers who understood two different areas of music production that would be crucial to “High Anxiety”’s success.

Phlip Coggins and I recorded the original tracks in the studio at 4 A.M. at the end of the last day at the studio. We had just recorded some heavy emotional stuff, so we decided to blow off some steam and get really weird with this one. I recorded my vocals in a closet, the guitars were playing out of two amps that each had tremolo going at different speeds, and Phlip mic’d a room and just walked around slowly jingling small bells. For another track, he played a snare drum with his ringed fingers (the man wears so many rings). When it came time to mix, Elliott von Wendt played with electronic production, sampling a recording of me screaming high notes, fluctuating samples of white and pink noise, throwing in phone recordings of crumpling paper, and just so many other wild things. It made the natural and digital worlds of this song clash in an incredibly anxious way.

Each song on this album holds echoes of a haunted past. How do you go about creating such depth in both your lyrics and music?

Honesty, urgency, and prosody. I have a bad habit of shooting down my own ideas before they can grow into anything—but that has allowed me to only focus on the songs that feel like they’re dying to get onto the page. If I’m not excited about or scared of a song I’m writing, I will lose interest. I also tend to write the music and the lyrics all at once, so I can be sure the melody and instrumentals match the emotion of the lyrics.

The Flooding Season combines folk and pop traditions into a blend of soft and high energy songs. What inspires you to mix these genres?

I grew up in musical theatre, and AC/DC and Led Zeppelin were my first favorite bands. (Clearly, I have a proclivity toward the dramatic.) Then I went through a hard rock phase where I didn’t like any slow songs. Eventually I grew out of that, and found a deep appreciation for folk songs and pop ballads (most recently 80s pop)—but that love for heavy-hitting, cinematic gut-punches never really went away. All I realized is that drama can also be found in the saddest songs I can think of, and the quiet can be just as, if not more, cathartic. It definitely takes some restraint on my behalf to not just explode on every song and make everything larger than life.

During the album’s creation you were traveling across the country. How has this travel changed you? How has it changed your music?

Traveling has made me go through a lot of “phases” in my music, which I don’t think is necessarily due to my location, but more to the people who inspire me. While living in LA, I was obsessed with the documentary Austin to Boston, so everything I was writing held a hint of Ben Howard and Bear’s Den. This was also when I got really into Pinegrove, partially because my friend and future tourmate Hailie Hay was also diving deep into their work. Texas definitely got me more into Americana, but most of the music I made was inspired by what was playing at the coffee shop where I worked. A lot of Phoebe Bridgers and a lot of 80s pop. You hear my Texan influences in The Flooding Season. And funnily enough, I’ve found that since I stopped moving around so much, the music I listen to has also been more stable.

What draws you to the water that you reference throughout The Flooding Season?

Water is equal parts soothing and terrifying, so it’s a fitting metaphor for how the past few years of my life have felt. On one side, there’s a tumultuous danger that keeps me on my toes—but on the other there’s serenity, hypnotic sound and movement. The sound of rain has always been relaxing to me, despite how scary it can also feel. There’s just so much to be inspired by.

Movement is an undeniably important part of the album. What songs are on your road trip playlist?

The name of the game is variety. Take it from my tourmates, who were forced to listen to “Good Kisser” by Lake Street Dive multiple times a day—you have to mix it up! I’m also a large proponent of full albums while on the road—early morning drives are usually the time for 22, A Million and Dark Bird Is Home, maybe some Alexi Murdoch or Phoebe Bridgers. Once the sun is up, I’ll go more upbeat with some Betty Who or Janelle Monae. Nostalgia is always great, too—I am still a fan of Coldplay’s full Viva La Vida album. And let’s not forget the “Yacht Rock” and “80s Pop” playlists on Spotify. True gems.

What emotional journeys do you hope The Flooding Season conveys? Where do you hope the waves bring listeners?

I try not to tell my listeners how to feel about my music, but I do hope to give them a sense of equilibrium, despite any craziness they may be going through in their real lives.

“Noah” invokes questions of faith and desperation. What does faith mean to you? What do you have faith in?

Despite the slightly pessimistic view of the world that this song conveys, I truly have faith in other people. Religious faith is something that I wish spoke to me more than it does, but at the end of the day, I have faith that human beings are really trying their best to be good. I’d like to believe that everything in the universe happens to correct imbalances in itself. But more than anything, I just believe that it’s our job to take care of each other, and that there’s at least a little bit of compassion and empathy in all of us that—hopefully—will keep things from spiraling too far out of control.

After the rain has come and gone, where do you hope to be?

For the first time in years, I’m exactly where I want to be after the storm.

Bio: Elijah Mann, a Brooklyn-based “alt-folk” singer, has spent the last seven years perfecting the art of writing songs and wowing crowds across the country with his gripping stage presence and powerful vocals. A “recovering theatre kid”, Elijah got his start as a musician by street performing in Boston. Since then, he’s gone on to release two EPs and two singles, and mounted his first national tour with California songwriter Hailie Hay of the band Forrest. His most recent release, The Flooding Season, blends his love of folk rock with his love of heavily-produced “nostalgia pop” to create “a gift of solace, storytelling, careful artistry; a shelter after many times of crying in the rain on the long walks home.” Elijah’s heart can be bought with a good cortado and a quality hug.