Hinterview #2: WHAT THE FOLK? with the Wilderness of Manitoba

When was the last time you heard someone describe a type of music as “rock,” “rap” or “country?” In most cases, these delirious characters are the sorts of people, in the words of Rowan Atkinson, “one emigrates to avoid.” Overly general descriptors are for big-budget record stores and radio formats; in short, they denote passive consumption.

Equally annoying are the overly complex explanations of genre (although I’m guilty of this folly myself). “Neo-classical art funk implosion” and “post-rapture ambient electronica” sound more like ice cream flavours than descriptors of sound. Genre distinctions seem to elude linguification more than most signified because, on the most basic level, music expresses that which words cannot.

These were the considerations on my mind when I stomped my way to the Delaware House to meet up with the Wilderness of Manitoba, for this, the second installment of the Hinterview. In the early summer they began harpooning the local folk scene with their beautifully tuneful, harmonically driving arrangements; now barely half of a year later, they have an EP, Hymns of Love and Spirits, and have toured Ontario and Quebec.

Talk about industrious! These guys make beavers look lazy. (Although any beaver I’ve ever seen has had some pretty serious love handles, but I digress...)

Consisting of Will Whitwham, Stefan Banjevic, Melissa Dalton, Scott Bouwmeester and Sean Lancaric, the Wilderness of Manitoba are an apt representation of what is being dubbed a 21st century folk revival. On the grander scale, bands like Grizzly Bear and Fleet Foxes occupy the forefront of the movement. While other local bands and artists inhabit a similar indie sphere, the Wilderness of Manitoba possess a self-awareness and an uninhibited approach to song writing that sets them apart from their peers.

I know what you’re thinking (read: clairvoyance). “Patrick, you insufferable jackass, folk music never went away. How can there be a revival?” I know, right? Throughout the 1980s and 90s, there were loads of folkies making records and touching fans everywhere. So why is this a revival, all of a sudden? What does it mean to be folk, a genre typically associated with acoustic instruments, plaid shirts and pastoral imagery, in our technologically dependent and urbanite society? I’m not sure I have the answer. That’s why I asked the Wilderness of Manitoba!

The general opinion, as summed up by Will, seems to be that “that label can be very confining.” Scott elaborates: “We’re really just making music to the best of our abilities in every sense. We’re recording with the technology we can afford ourselves. We’re writing songs and playing as many instruments as we can get our hands on and learn how to play. That, to me, is folk music.”

While that seems like a decent description to me, it also seems indicative of the dissolution of genre conventions in the music of our time. Folk ceases to be defined by old-timey beards and troubadorian leanings (though there isn’t a shortage of these things this band or the culture) and shifts to a definition more reflective of the conditions of the music’s creation. Or, more simply: Folk music changes along with the folks making it.

This isn’t a surface transformation, either. The Wilderness of Manitoba utilize the same social utilities as everyone else; when asked about their song writing process, Stefan revealed that e-mail and digital recording technology are useful tools for pitching songs to one another (though they do craft them face-to-face!) “I literally record something in my room, send it the next day and at work people have a listen. It might sit for about a week, but the next time we’ll get together someone will say ‘Hey, I heard that song you recorded, let’s try that out.’ That’s happened a few times.”

While it isn’t surprising that folk musicians function just like the rest of us, it is interesting that where basic communication technology mediates our social interaction, coupled with the accessibility of recording equipment, it can be ingrained in the creation of music that is romanticized for its association with a lost age.

I guess what all this leads to is a recognition of the never-ending steamroller of context. To play a banjo in 2009 means something entirely different than it meant in 1920, than it meant in 1820, and not just because of its retrospective reference point. It isn’t chosen because of limited technological options or the sonic tendencies of the now. It’s a specific choice to fill the space around Whitwham’s guitar lines with singing bowls and ambiance, much as it’s a choice to do four-part harmonies or incorporate dissonant cello and unconventional drumming.

Sean puts it nicely: “Players who explore sound are the best ones, in my opinion. You just need to be musically minded. It always has to be moving forward.” Melissa posits that “it’s more of a resurgence of that kind of thing because there were tons of psychedelic bands in the ‘60s that were doing exactly that… It’s just funny that it’s coming out in this specific genre, I guess, because it’s associated with more traditional sounds.”

I am in no way implying that there is anything wrong with traditional music. What I am probably beating you over the head with, at this point, is that in order to truly understand and connect with music to its fullest potential, be it folk or otherwise, you have to pay attention. Everything is always changing, even when it seems like it might be the same. It isn’t an oxymoron to say that The Wilderness of Manitoba are on the cutting-edge of folk music, because like any good band they make use of the past to decode the present and make way for the future. In short, they’re totally fucking legit and they deserve every bit of success and critical praise that comes their way. I look forward to their new record (which is untitled as of yet, but is in the works) and I leave you with a quote from the poem “Indian Spring,” taken from the inlay of Hymns of Love and Spirits.

“We seek and capture the moment
Before it destructs
Shattering
Into one thousand little pieces
That became
The stars of our memories
And live only for experience
And not for what
Has been experienced.”

–W.A. Whitwham

P.S.

• Check out the Wilderness of Manitoba on myspace here
  

• You can purchase “Hymns of Love and Spirits” on iTunes or at Soundscapes, Sonic Boom or Criminal Records in Toronto.

• Check them out at the Holy Oak on November the 21st at 9 o’clock. I’ll see you there.