Guillermo CastroGiven the all-encompassing nature of the pandemic, it’s not surprising that local music over the past 15 months has seen a widespread emergence of new solo and side projects. Whether in isolation or among peers, artists are driven to create and will make use of whatever tools or means are at their disposal. With most musicians unable to practice or collaborate with their bandmates, many began experimenting with new sounds and probing the possibilities of their own voice. In the case of Chandler Kelley, the long lockdown led to the shadowy, narcotic dance music he explores as Canopy Joc.
Canopy Joc – Storm the Gates of Heaven
Best known for his mercurial work in dreamy indie-pop trio Shampoo and, more recently, the sleek synth-pop outfit True Blossom, Kelley has long occupied a spot among Atlanta’s most luxuriant and versatile songwriters. With Canopy Joc, those protean instincts stretch into more nebulous, yet no less dynamic alleyways. Much as True Blossom’s glossy, elastic compositions hint at a litany of genres and musical eras, so too does his solo debut embrace a wide array of influences. From Radiohead’s rippling sonics to trip-hop’s late-night claustrophobia to Fever Ray’s ethereal mood music, Storm the Gates of Heaven is a record forged from a myriad of musical touchpoints.
It’s also an album steeped in personal anger and pain regarding social inequity, although Kelley is careful to downplay how much listeners should read into his lyrics. “I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I think ‘social inequality’ means downwardly mobile white kids with white-collar parents,” he explains. “I’m writing about my own one life, and I suspect some people will be able to relate, but if I was writing about I N E Q U A L I T Y in A M E R I C A, the lyrics would be really different.”
That focus on the personal, however, is what provides the eight-song effort with much of its power. Opening with the slinky grooves of “Debt of Love” and ending in the rumbling bass and alt-R&B shimmer of “Up in the East,” Storm the Gates of Heaven dazzles and bewitches at every turn. And yet, it’s perhaps best understood as a document of an artist working within the confines of the self, largely for the first time. Its ambitious arrangements are the product of Kelley following his many whims; the vocals, processed into a deep hypnotic haze, are the result of searching for and finding inspiration in the unconventional sound (for pop music, anyway) of his own voice. Are there parallels to be drawn between the album and the mélange of pop music Kelley has crafted for his bands in the past? Certainly. But the record succeeds in large part because it feels strikingly singular—a mesmerizing private detour with no particular end destination in sight.
Ahead of its release tomorrow, stream Storm the Gates of Heaven in full below, and make sure to read on as Kelley graciously answers my questions regarding the origins of the project, its ties to the pandemic, and what we can expect in the future from Canopy Joc.
When did you first start writing as Canopy Joc? What motivated you to start the project?
Summer of 2020. It was a Covid project, which I’m sure surprises no one. Obviously, I couldn’t practice with my band, and I wanted to make music. That was the main motivation.
Did you have a particular aesthetic in mind or a set of influences you wanted to pursue when you were conceiving the project?
I didn’t really conceive the project. I wrote some songs that went together and then it stuck. But at this point, there’s definitely a set of influences I keep returning to—Radiohead, the Congos, that swampy mixing aesthetic of rap hits from the late ‘90s, trip-hop, [Yo La Tengo’s] And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out, Fever Ray, Acid Mt. Fuji.
It’s impossible to avoid the shadow of the pandemic. Can you talk a little about your experience over the past year and how it impacted the making of this album?
Early on in lockdown I had a serious pinched nerve kind of injury and was in a ton of pain. [I] couldn’t walk, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even really think. After it finally subsided later in the summer, I was filled with this deep sense of relief and a lot of pent-up creative energy, and obviously, I had a ton of time on my hands, so I started writing a lot for my other band, True Blossom. Then I came up with this song that wasn’t a good fit for True Blossom and also could be sung convincingly in my natural vocal range, which is quite deep and unfit for most pop music. I made a demo and liked it a lot, and then tried to write a few more tunes in that style, and it snowballed into this whole project. Beyond that though, I’m not sure how much the pandemic affected the album, like, thematically. I have a cushy software job I can do from home so I had a very easy and blessed time compared to many folks. It was kind of a Mary Shelley pandemic for me, just riding out the plague in a castle, vibing with Lord Byron, and writing Frankenstein.
From a creative standpoint, what’s the primary difference between writing for Canopy Joc and writing for True Blossom, or is the process largely the same?
The process is basically the same, though I know right away if a song is a Canopy Joc song or a Blossom song just from the vibe. But I can get weirder with Canopy Joc arrangements because there’s no band. “Teen-Age” is almost entirely three sounds: one four-note synth arpeggio line, a mellotron, and what sounds like someone slapping a big jug of water. But I wrote it on acoustic guitar; it’s not nearly as bizarre a song as the arrangement makes it sound. And I record as I’m writing with Canopy Joc, I guess that’s different.
In a lot of these songs, the vocals are heavily affected, which for me, provides a sense of distance and perhaps a kind of dreamy detachment. Was that your intent?
The intent was to make my voice sound good. Baritone vocals are difficult to mix into pop music, and I’m not a very accomplished singer in the first place. Pitching them up an octave and mixing that in often helps. But I think I just perceive processed vocals as less artificial or distanced than some people do. I remember when Kid A came out and it was this big fucking scandal, “Why did he do that to his voice, which was already so beautiful,” that kind of thing. T-Pain, the Knife, it’s like that’s all people can hear, it blots out everything else about the music for them. Apparently, when “One More Time” came out, even that was a micro-scandal because Romanthony was this revered singer. I listen to the vocals in Canopy Joc songs and I’m just like, “Yep, there’s my voice.”
You’ve previously said many of these songs were written out of a sense of anger and frustration for your friends in terms of things like income disparity, social inequity, etc. Can you elaborate on that in terms of the ways it influenced your songwriting?
I don’t want to overstate this. I struggled a little in my twenties after the financial crisis, and I saw most of my peers get stuck in menial service industry jobs, or just become addicts. And at the same time, the story was that my generation was somehow exceptionally pampered and spoiled and entitled. I’m sure most people reading this know just what I’m talking about, and it’s okay to be angry about it, and many of my songs are about that. But I don’t want to give anyone the impression that I think “social inequality” means downwardly mobile white kids with white-collar parents. I’m writing about my own one life, and I suspect some people will be able to relate, but if I was writing about I N E Q U A L I T Y in A M E R I C A, the lyrics would be really different.
What can you tell us about the album title? Is it an allusion to that sense of struggle?
I can’t remember where I first saw that phrase, but it’s some sort of evangelical or Pentecostal buzzphrase that I think just means praying a lot? Somewhat similar to the idea of a “prayer warrior.” And it’s funny to imagine it being literal—staging a coup against God, guillotining Him, installing like Grumpy Cat or something on His throne. But yeah your sense is basically correct, it’s a metaphor and is half-serious at least. The phrase is one of the things I mumble in the intro to “Debt of Love,” which is a song about burning down a rich person’s house. The connection is obvious.
Moving forward, how do you see Canopy Joc progressing? Can we expect live performances any time soon?
Yes, there’s now a live band and we’ve had a few practices already. There will be live shows. And I plan to keep writing and recording more stuff too.
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Instagram: @canopyjoc