Louis Jucker is one strange motherfucker.
Isolated, bearded, and alone somewhere in Norway, Louis Jucker recorded this album. It’s a personal and private album filled with folk music that’s as experimental as it is intimate. At times it’s unnerving, like reading a stranger’s journal. It’s the music of over-caffeinated nights and swims next to those points of isolation and coffee where you believe everything around you holds a certain warm significance. This is the kind of sonic drunk where you get emotional as fuck. Sure, you know you’re impaired, or under some kind of strange influence, but the moment still feels incredibly important. After a rough sleep, and a good clean mental step backward, the world will continue on in a rush like it always does. But a piece of you will look back and miss those peaceful, heartfelt, slow, and deliberate moments of inebriation. This what this album collects, which is especially surprising when you learn that Louis has also made some of the hardest, grimiest, loudest, angriest, brash, fuck-your-face-iest, and praise Satan kinda rock and roll with his band Coilguns.
Who knew a dude that could scream so harshly could also make such pleasant folk music? All these songs were written by Louis and performed on acoustic instruments. No matter what Louis does, one thing stays the same. Motherfucker likes his shit authentic. On this album he plays a church organ, an harmonium, a typewriter, a nylon guitar, and an upright piano, a grand piano, a whale bone (yes, you read that right), an iron stove, and a 7-chord zither. It was also all recorded on a 6-track portable recorder. By all accounts, this motherfucker should be called Cody and travel the countryside with his golden lab selling kombucha out of the back of his restored Chevy. (You can’t feed your dog, restore a truck, and make a record from the profits of your homemade “Booch” Cody! It’s just not fucking realistic!). But that’s not Louis.
From what I can tell the dude loves beards, recording lo-fi, has an architecture degree, an accent from Neuchâtel du Haut, and hates being pinned down as a certain type. This elusive motherfucker follows his own stream. He goes from making fantastically sick and grimy metal to making experimental folk. He’s kinda hard to track. In either case, Louis’s goal feels the same. He removes the superfluous blubbery around music to create rooted and authentic art. If Louis was a chef, he’d be the kind of guy that would serve you a single potato. A naked, undressed, boring, old potato. But he would break it down to its very essence, refine it, distill it, and refine it some more for good measure. What comes out in the end is such clear, clean, and crisp folk music that’s you’ll get drunk off it.