Life-affirming collection from Sufjan Stevens cohort.
It’s incredibly distressing, but there have been some heartbreaking news stories recently of musicians experiencing life-changing ailments and the ensuing pain and anguish they experience trying to recover. This is what happened to Jesse Malin recently when he suffered a spinal stroke, and his music has been a vital part of his ongoing treatment and hopeful recovery.
Angelo De Augustine had a similar dreadful health surprise when he collapsed in 2022 after having an undiagnosed illness. This meant that he wasn’t able to do any of the abilities we all take for granted: walking, talking, seeing, hearing, playing music, and singing. “I got all these strange sensations and knew something was very wrong,” says the 33-year-old singer-songwriter. “Then I lost control of my body.” He was rushed to hospital and then went through days of exhaustive tests. “I was conscious most of the time, unfortunately,” he says drily, “but I don’t remember a whole lot about it other than I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t see well, and I couldn’t really move.”
Over the next few years, he gradually managed to get the vital treatment he needed, and eventually he became well enough to do what he wanted to do most: play music and record a new album. On this collection, he has written it, recorded it, produced it and mixed it at his recording studio, A Secret Place. These songs are gentle, reflective, incredibly moving and inspiring, as he deals with the awful toll his illness took on him. It’s by no means maudlin or asking for our pity. More, it’s a chance for the listener to go on a magnificent musical journey inside the mind of a master musician.
We open with Empty Shell which carefully begins with acoustic strumming before Augustine’s fragile vocals begin, augmented by some gorgeous strings. The song opens with the question: “Where do you run when your life’s on the line?”
He was so ill around the making of this album that although he had previously played all instruments and engineered his previous albums, he simply wasn’t able to do this for his latest release. So he asked for help in the capable hands of Kevin Morby, strings arranger Oliver Hill, harpist Leng Bian, producer Thomas Bartlett (AKA Doveman) on piano and his mother, who is credited as a percussionist. LA musician/producer Jonathan Wilson provided drums.
Spirit of the Unknown is a haunting song about Augustine’s hope that he can connect to God’s healing. The Cure is the collaboration with Jonathan Wilson and is another profoundly moving song, reflecting on how chronic illness can often mirror the cycle of addiction. It’s a beautiful tune with a mildly jaunty feel to it. Recent single Mirror Mirror has very unusual sounds on it: train whistles, electric guitars, off-kilter, blown-out drums and a zither-like object known as a bowed psaltery. “Usually when I make music, I’ll sit down with one instrument and write the song”, says Augustine. “In Mirror Mirror, I didn’t stick to this principle and was messing around with the tape machine’s varispeed function, seeing what would happen if I slowed down what I’d recorded on the bowed psaltery, creating an unusual droning noise. The song came from experimenting with layering sound in a very free way and watching as the structure of a song revealed itself.”
The quality is kept really high throughout the album, and whilst the mood and tone don’t vary a great deal, they don’t have to. It’s simply gorgeous. This is a stunning album, a dream-like collection of languid yet vibrant songs, where Augustine aims to provide hope to others in times of deep despair and suffering. “One of the most helpful things that kept me going was the people in my life telling me that everything was ultimately going to be okay. I hope these songs end up having the same kind of effect on people out in the world, and help them know that miracles are possible.”
There is a short ten-minute promo film that’s been released to support the album, and whilst it’s slight, it’s a lovely introduction to the record and well worth a look.
