Singer-songwriter Nick Rattigan of Current Joys writes songs inspired by films he watches and ponders about. At just 28-years-old, Rattigan’s seventh LP Voyager is as ambitious as the name suggests, packed with cinematic movements painted by those visions.
As noted in his artist bio, “To listen to a Current Joys song is to be immersed fully in Rattigan’s world.” This is true, as there’s patience existing within repetition, which is what drives many of the tracks. Propped with orchestral arrangements and vestiges of the band’s lo-fi roots, Voyager sounds like Craft Spells with a heavier rock ‘n’ roll edge married with whisperings of Teen Daze.
The album boasts a handful of tracks over a 4-minute mark; however, none seem dragged out, even when many hold out a simple beat. There’s something precious in the smallness of Rattigan’s voice, like a delicacy at a French restaurant; you know it’s good because you take time and concentration to produce so little of it. His quiet shouts itch like they’re meant to be screamed. Yet he muffles softly with control. Rattigan harbors an energy of nearly wanting to let it all out, but the anticipation anchors everything down.
Voyager (a title accurate to the album’s selections) carries a bit of everything. In “Amateur” and “Money Making Machine,” instruments build upon each other and loop together. A traditional trope of Rattigan’s earlier work, looping lived in albums Wild Heart or Me Oh My Mirror.
“Calypso” sounds like canonical 2010’s indie party pop and a fun anomaly from the rest of the album. “Voyager pt. 1,” a beautiful, sprawling piano and violin composition mimics a beginning (or end) or a movie without a clear resolution.
“American Honey” attracts a thirst of never quite getting enough. It’s light, but holds witness to an all-consuming urgency at the same time, like drinking cups of water after a salty meal.
Three years ago, I saw Current Joys for the first and only time at Market Hotel, the warehouse-turned venue in Brooklyn. There was ample space for people to crowdsurf. It was Valentine’s Day and a room packed plump as a purple hue hung over couples kissing and clanging drinks, unaware. A real-life green screen on stage was the JMZ train line moving behind a huge glass window. As each train roared by that night, it almost felt like that throwaway noise was part of Rattigan’s performance.
It’s hard to imagine choosing to live next to a subway station and Market Hotel. Rent costs probably the same, if not more. It’s a preference for sure, but the bizarre glamour of living in New York City is hugging a noise and making something useful out of it.
Voyager is out now on the label Secretly Canadian.