mary in the junkyard comfort the lonely on Role Model Hermit

The new record is eccentric: vocalist and lyricist Clari Freeman-Taylor imagines herself as a dog, a butterfly mid-transformation, a centuries-old seaside hermit, all while walking away from the mundane party, the gym, the streets of London. Underneath its puzzling and detached shell, however, is a fiery inner world, much larger than the body that contains it.

On the surface, Role Model Hermit is sonically withdrawn. mary in the junkyard are a minimalist skeleton crew ambitious enough to seek out the unconventional, yet keen enough not to pile on for the sake of piling on. “New Muscles”, for instance, achieves its peculiar coolness by cutting the guitar out altogether. The bass pounds against the gentle bends of a low-pitched cello and viola, the clicky drums, and Freeman-Taylor’s vocals, which find themselves somewhere between a bashful whispered confession and an animalistic snarl, vowing to get the upper hand on others once her body expands to its full potential. “Blood” is brilliantly patched together: not much is needed to complement the ferocity of Freeman-Taylor’s lyrics that dig their knuckles deeper into the dirty pit of love aside from the textured, metallic fingerpicking of the core guitar hook, literal gasps for air, a sunken bass line, and a gradual tempo change on the swelling post-chorus.

Furthermore, the London trio play to their classical upbringing strengths, allowing lush and atmospheric strings arrangements to transform their art rock jams into something even icier. “Crash Landing” swells with sorrow, building the strings section until they weave with vocalist Freeman-Taylor’s isolated, breathy sighs, all before it patters out into an art-rock frenzy. The meditative “Mantra III” crackles the horsehair of the bow against the cellos and violas as the guitar and drum fight against each other’s rhythm in their own search for a cycle. As the hymn “Thou Shalt Sprout” simmers gently into the ascendant finale of “Mouse”, the record ends with a moody, misty-eyed reunion of the violin and its old friend, the electric guitar.

But the band’s vivid imagination throughout challenges the whole notion of solitude, particularly in Freeman-Taylor’s stellar, poetic lyrics. There are moments of extreme retreat – a literal embodiment of the titular hermit. One can imagine the singer-songwriter feverishly yet scribbling “Mantra III” while hunched in a solitary corner, manifesting some dream that needs no explanation in her private diary. The melting of the grunge rock band, coupled with the weeps and screams of rage in “Seek And Destroy”, bulldozes her façade of composure as a fit of social anxiety ruins a potential night out. Yet, like a recluse, the record’s most vulnerable moments of companionship come in unconventional ways: through a dog that eats the narrator’s flesh and sits by her side (“Peter The Dog”), glowing eyes stalking her through the bushes and comforting her at her most desolate (“Welcome Break”), a woman who has yet to actually know her (“Myrtle”). Although the once-familiar friend can become unrecognizable and cold with time, the animals that scamper in front of one’s shoe prove no one is ever alone.

The diary of the Role Model Hermit refuses to explain its protagonist straightforwardly; it’s boring to recount the routine of going out, staying in, passing the hours. Yet, every feeling that lights up the narrator’s brain is pronounced so clearly and candidly. While mary in the junkyard keep some secrets close to their heart, they still flash their eyes at us, allowing their unique and empathetic understanding of the world – that humans are just creatures with fears, hopes, and yearns for companionship – to shine through.