Feature: NOHA Decodes ‘The Furies’
How does ‘The Furies’ reflect your musical journey and growth as an artist?
Although ‘The Furies’ is my second album, it feels more like the debut. Scenes from a Breakdown was like an acoustic demo for myself, really. I came away from it feeling proud of the basic accomplishment but more than a little disappointed that I’d low-balled myself. I played it safe due to my own insecurities, as though audiences could only handle a watered-down version of NOHA. It’s alright for what it is, but I knew these songs deserved a bigger and brighter canvas. I wanted to give myself permission to experiment and make mistakes in the pursuit of something extraordinary.
This was my first time getting behind the controls. I taught myself how to record, mix, and master my own music. I am responsible for every last note you hear on the album, for better or worse. But I don’t feel an ounce of the disappointment or self-doubt that lingered after ‘Breakdown’ because I finally stopped caring about pleasing everyone. COVID-19 shutting the world down helped because there weren’t any gigs to worry about. I didn’t have an audience to project all my fears onto; I was the only crowd left, so I thought I might as well write some music he’d want to listen to. ‘The Furies’ is the end result and I couldn’t be prouder.
What has been one of your most favorite memories along the path to making ‘The Furies?’
There was a naive purity in how I made ‘The Furies.’ I swear by “fuck around and find out” except I’ve appropriated the mantra as something motivational. I love psychedelic guitars and analog synthesizers, so why not combine them? The decision to incorporate synth only came about after I’d unsuccessfully tried to wrangle a backing band for about the nineteenth time—because I share Spinal Tap’s issue with drummers. I had an important gig coming up, so I took inspiration from Sleaford Mods, I downloaded Korg Gadget 2 for the Switch and had less than a week to create synth backing tracks for all my best songs up until then. Mixing together the sensibilities of Berlin Bowie and the third Oasis album was an act of sheer blind faith to salvage one fucking pub gig.
I had no idea if it was going to work. Literally, I let alone if the audience would go for it. They loved it! All the other bands seemed to believe there was a method to the madness. Whatever this new sound was, even in its raw and unpolished state, it was hitting a nerve. I started hearing fancy words like “transcendent” about my music. It was a leap from monochrome into technicolor. The path toward ‘The Furies’ rolled out that night. It was the creative breakthrough I’d been rooting for—only took 20 years of writing and performing, but it was worth the wait.
Can you share any memorable experiences or stories from performing ‘The Furies’ live?
Two years later, and just a couple of weeks before sending the album off for distribution, I played my first festival gig: opening Muñoz Stock in Long Island was a massive moment, being able to perform the album highlights in their semi-final form. Being a one-man band in an ocean of pop-punk militias was a bit daunting. I knew the album worked but I’d long struggled with live performances. The fact that you’re doing everything by yourself is either a selling point or the primary drawback. Had I gotten it all wrong? Am I the Tommy Wiseau of neopsychedelic post-punk synthpop?
At the end of the set, the sound guy told me it reminded him of David Lynch. Fantastic! Better than Wiseau then. Amanda Mac, the majestic Bad Mary singer who appeared on an old track called “Mrs. Burroughs” — a dry run for “Delilah Dreams of Violence” — said she was transported to a beach somewhere on the moon. I couldn’t dream of a better pull quote: thank you, Amanda! The marriage of words and music can pry open portals to our imaginations we never knew existed. I want to conjure spirits and transport the listeners out of the dive bar and into supersonic psychodrama tapestry. By the way, I’m reliably informed that shrooming at my shows only enhances this effect: a little pro-tip for any of the crazy kids who might be reading.
Was there a pivotal moment in your life when you decided to follow your path as a musician?
Filmmaker was always the goal. I never thought much of my musical ability until recently; I knew I was adept at poetry and could spin a good lyric but it took a long time to warm to my voice, let alone any musical skill. I only picked up a guitar about 10 years ago because I found myself living with a couple of virtuoso guitar players and felt left out. Most of my early songwriting was done at a time when music was a distraction and film was the passion. It was only after I finally quit drinking in late 2017 that I threw myself into the music. I needed an outlet but I couldn’t bear the thought of writing another script. Then I noticed that people found my songwriting a lot more impressive than my screenwriting. Suddenly, people kept asking when I’d start dropping albums. I reached out to my good friend and longtime producer/collaborator Christian Titus who agreed to produce Scenes from a Breakdown and I never looked back. Christian also mastered ‘The Furies’ and has kept me from giving up hundreds of times. I never would’ve finished ‘The Furies’ without him; more than that, he made it shimmer. I owe him everything.
It turns out I’m still a filmmaker. ‘The Furies’ is pure cinema—I just haven’t included any visuals. Each song on the album could be its own scene. The opening track “2021” is a stark raving soliloquy, a character twisting alone against the uncaring winds in a couple of uninterrupted master shots (“Unwrap the sunshine, save me!”); “Kino Baby” is a tender and intimate love scene, a confession of absolute vulnerability; “Know Your Strength” is a workout montage that gets darker and stranger as it continues; “Delilah Dreams of Violence” is a breakdown as psychological surrealist horror; “The Temple,” our closer, is the psychedelic final reel, with our character driving into an uncertain future with jaded optimism (“Maybe it’s good to be king.”)
What is your songwriting process like? How do you usually start crafting a new song?
I defer to the Godlike Genuis of Scott Walker here, who said that “the lyric will always guide you to what to do with the music. Get the lyric right, everything else will follow.”
It’s an instinctive process. If I’m lucky, the songbirds have a clear path ahead and a new banger will emerge clearly and easily. More often than not, the songs develop over time. Usually, a phrase or a scene will suggest itself. Then, it’s the patient matter of listening for the direction of the songbirds. They can surprise you! “Duchess Days” was like that. Writing the lyrics, I imagined it having more of a shoegaze vibe, particularly the line “teach me to dance so I’ll learn how to love you.” I thought it would sound sweeter if mumbled over heavy reverb. Once I’d finished the lyrics, it was clear that this was a desperate cry for love. It needed a more operatic touch. Because I was trying to broaden my horizons beyond guitar music, I started pilfering musical ideas from some of my favorite composers. There’s a lot of Yann Tiersen, Ennio Morricone, Philip Glass, and Michael Nyman in the album—especially Nyman, as only Neil Hannon rips off Nyman more than I do. I nearly gave up on “KGB Bar” because I’d saddled the words with a melody that didn’t serve the lyrics well. It’s a sinister tune about a codependent, imperialistic relationship inspired by my addiction to 90 Day Fiancée at the time On a whim one night, I swapped out the old chords in favor of this riff I’d stolen from him. All of a sudden, it blossomed. It’s one of my favorites now. In my acoustic performances, I’ll open “KGB Bar” with a variation on the original Nyman theme as a tribute to him.
It’s rare that the music comes first. I have a few homeless riffs looking for the right lyrics to color in; “The Temple,” the only song written pre-pandemic, was like that. “Bloodmoon” was another; a lot of people dig that one. It’s a groovy little number inspired by distracting myself in quarantine with hue light effects and Adam Curtis documentaries. I nearly called it “Hypernormal” in his honor; the album is loaded with references to his incredible work. “Know Your Strength” is the exception: it’s the only song that started life as a beat. Whereas everything but “The Temple” was written in quarantine, reflecting the state of my outer and inner worlds circa 2020-2021, “Strength” came about late in the production process. I needed something to bridge the emotional gap between the sweetness of “Kino Baby” and the madness of “Delilah Dreams of Violence.” By now, the themes of this emotional concept album were beginning to crystallize, but it needed something to unify and drive them home to the listener. That’s why it’s the most pointed and satirical of ‘The Furies.’ I’m taking a step back and laughing in my own face, really. Plus, all men — yes, all of them. Ken would love it…I assume so, anyway, I haven’t seen it yet.
“Delilah” is my favorite track off ‘The Furies.’ In a way, it best exemplifies my process. I was watching a documentary about the Britney Spears conservatorship; she’s waving the umbrella and crying out, “Don’t touch me! Everybody is always touching me!” It broke my heart and made me wish the umbrella had been a shotgun instead, as though Quentin Tarantino were guest directing her universe. At that moment, a new song came to me. Because I had no desire to write “Britney Dreams of Violence,” I made up Delilah—another pop superstar whose name is meant to evoke conflicting thoughts of the Old Testament and Tom Jones. The lyrics were written quickly, and I knew exactly how it was going to be structured. I could hear the relentless, pulsating crescendo of Delilah’s breakdown from the minute I set the chords down to paper. But it’s the Philip Glass organ part that transforms it into something spectacular.
But I’m hoping to learn a lot more about my songwriting process on the next album. I’ll report back.