Emma Ruth Rundle, Circuit des Yeux, Mudhoney

July 28, 2023

This weekend, EMMA RUTH RUNDLE will play the final European shows on her Engine of Hell tour. This chapter of Emma’s performing life kicked off at Roadburn 2022, when she performed the Engine of Hell album in full for the first time - a performance that has recently been immortalised with a self-released live album. It was me who asked Emma to do that performance. I recall her hands flying up to cover her bashful face when I told her “of course, it will be on the main stage - where you belong”. Not to gloat, but I wasn’t wrong. She commanded the stage, held 3000 people enraptured for an hour and demonstrated what a powerful artist she has become. 

“Should I play the songs in order?” she asked me. “Yes?” I replied with a little bemusement in my voice - “why wouldn’t you?” The album is performed on both piano and guitar - switching between the two, taking it in turns to accompany Emma’s vocals. She was worried that moving between the two instruments on stage would disrupt the flow of the performance.  Not only did it turn out just fine, but the practical manoeuvres between songs were a segue for Emma to introduce her work and address her enthralled audience. The first of her albums to feature piano, Engine of Hell gave Emma the chance to revisit her first learned instrument, and in doing so evoked memories and experiences from her earlier life. 

It has been said that the only way out is through; there aren’t any short cuts through pain. Engine of Hell seems to be exactly this notion in action - facing up to the experiences that shaped you, for better or worse. If you’re already familiar with the album then you will know that much of its impact comes from its fragility and intimate admissions. In my opinion, the live iteration adds even more of these elements; vulnerability doesn’t have to mean weakness, a gentle touch or a whispered vocal does not mean there is a lack of intention.

I’m writing about it here because Engine of Hell - Live at Roadburn is a marker in time, a gently fluttering flag in the landscape of contemporary music that stakes a little claim to a bit of land that Emma will no doubt continue to build upon in years to come. She has earned the right to call herself an artist, a musician and, dare I say it, a visionary within the world of heavy music. With Engine of Hell, I believe Emma has disentangled herself from the expected course, and now she’s free.

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At Roadburn this year, Emma and I watched CIRCUIT DES YEUX - the longtime musical project of Haley Fohr. Haley’s voice is rich and compelling and in a live setting she is a whirlwind of potency and power (and she throws in a Bauhaus cover for good measure). The latest Circuit Des Yeux full length is titled -io and it came out in 2021; like so many albums of that time it is at least partially a product of its environment, having been constructed during the pandemic. But for the anguish and introspection that is contained within -io it is maximalist in its artistic scope; it fights back, it has teeth and claws. And it has big orchestration to match Haley’s big feelings.

But the song that I wanted to write about today doesn’t actually appear on that album, although from digging around online a bit, it seems that it was written during those same sessions. It’s called The Manatee (A Story of This World Pt III). It is whimsical. And through the course of my research I discovered that 1. It’s about an actual manatee, not a manatee as a metaphor, and 2. There is a bizarre and absolutely wonderful accompanying video. 

This song has just captured some part of my imagination more than most others I’ve encountered in the last 18 months; it has been included on just about every playlist I’ve made since I first heard it, regardless of mood or setting. I want more people to hear it and to perhaps also contemplate both manatees and the brilliance of Haley Fohr. If your interest is piqued, here’s a video with Haley talking about her art and how she moves through the world (bonus beautiful Lucinda Williams cover included).

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As I mentioned last week, I have been in bed with Covid, so my brain is not quite firing on all cylinders yet. I read On Connection by Kae Tempest whilst unwell and this passage about writing resonated with me:

There is no success in writing. There are only better degrees of failure. To write is to fail. An idea is a perfect thing. It comes to the writer in a breathless dream. The writer holds this idea in their mind, in their body; everything feeds it. They have spent their entire lifetime up until that point honing the skills to get this idea out of the ether and down through their useless hands, and on to the page. But it will never be right. There is no way that a writer cannot injure that idea as they wrestle with it. 

And if you consider that the same can be said about musicians, then my attempts to capture my emotions and responses to music that is, in turn, an attempt to capture the emotions and responses of its creators… well, by the time you get this newsletter maybe all you’re reading is a facsimile of a facsimile and what’s the point? And yet something in me still thinks it’s worth doing this, so here we are.

Sometimes when sick or at a low ebb it is all I want to lean into something comforting - and sometimes I want to lean into something both comforting and fluffy. And therefore I would like to share the video for MUDHONEY’s recent single, Little Dogs. It features - unsurprisingly - little dogs, and it is an instant balm.

Songs about drugs or songs about dogs? Get you a Mudhoney that does both.

Thank you again for being here.

~Becky

Image below shows my cat, Ruby, with a copy of the book On Connection by Kae Tempest