Issue 113 / April-May 2021

“I think
songwriting
is a way of
mythologising
yourself”
FURRY HUG
Confronting social anxieties
with breezy indie and rustling
folk tales.
FURRY HUG is a monster. Well, a Yaksha, a type of
nature-spirit. “I stole the name from an old Buddhist tale,”
says Jack Mee. “As soon as I saw it written down, I thought,
‘That’s the name for me’.” It became the perfect moniker
for what he describes as “playfully confused” music,
something which conveys a warm sensation of strangeness
mirrored in his first release, the On The Line EP.
Black holes, ladybird dots, imaginary friends and
social notions help make up the imagery of the EP’s
songs. Cacophonous swirls of solid rhythms and charmed
melodies peppered with additions of tuned percussion,
kazoo and saxophones.
Stocking a sonic curiosity shop is part of his process.
“It’s a little chaotic to be honest, he admits. “I’m not
very methodical with writing. I’m always working on
something, although I’m often planting more seeds than
seeing anything come to fruition.”
This restlessness surfaces throughout the EP: the
whiling beat of People Skills ticking away the time he has
to befriend the “one in seven billion”, the snare snapping
half a beat early on Ladybird as he ponders “how I missed
the boat” and the stuttering handclaps that crackle before
the closing vocal bursts of Panic Mode. Unconstrained in
his approach, Jack creates surprising and textural mood
boards; small details emerge with repeated listens like
finally seeing hidden mascarons in architecture.
Lockdown lent the necessary space to collate his first
release, the artist admits. “It was about time I released
something. I’ve been lucky enough to keep my job as
a support worker, since the pubs have been shut, I’ve
saved money that’s helped go towards the EP and some
recording equipment.” Working and releasing alone
allows him the autonomy to create these instrumental
playscapes in as much time as feels necessary. “Some of
my songs are written really quickly. Others take months,
or years to fully grow,” he says, using the time to instil
them with whatever theme or idea he likes.
Take Elwood’s Friend, a musical homage to Harvey, a
1950s James Stewart movie itself adapted from the 1944
Mary Chase play of the same name. “I love the film,” he
says, “[the idea] grew into a vague song about how ‘sane’
people address mental illness, which is what I think the
film pokes fun at.” The film’s titular character is a pooka
from Celtic folklore and the companion of the song’s titular
character. This second allusion to things fantastical and the
reworking of an old narrative reveals a wider fascination.
“I think songwriting is a way of mythologising yourself, or
someone or something else,” he explains. “Myths travel
through songs, especially in folk music. There’s something
mysterious about how myths help shape our lives and I
think music is good way of exploring that.”
Having been “raised on Bowie”, the notion of selfmythologising
doesn’t seem so strange. “He’s always
been a fatherly figure to me, musically.” And after
spending “a lot of time watching the Blues Brothers as a
kid”, his break came at the Preston Guild Hall, performing
at a tribute gig. “I was about eight or nine, in the full suit
and shades, and they pulled me on stage to sing with
them,” he recalls
Such encouragements led to playing drums since
the age of 11, a vocation which has shaped much he’s
done musically since. Manifesting in the percussive
consonants of “got to get me some” opening the EP, the
plinking xylophone that brightens every beat it bobs over
and collaborations with others, (drumming for Bye Louis
and Dilettante, based in Manchester) Jack is an artist
whose approach to rhythm feels apt for the beat besotted
customs of current music. Not surprising when he relates
“music is lifeblood for me, a sense of purpose. If I haven’t
written anything in a while, or learnt something new, it
affects my self-esteem. I’d be lost without it.”
Despite enjoying tackling his first release almost
singlehandedly, “recording the majority of [songs] in my
bedroom”, there’s readiness to relax and breathe. “I’ve
probably spent too much time living with my own music
and become too familiar with it. It’s kept me sane, but I’m
ready to go to gigs again and experience other people’s
work,” he confesses.
He’ll still be collecting new ideas, though. “I’ve toyed
with the idea of releasing demos, like a mixtape. You see
it in hip hop; artists release a mixtape to promote a future
‘official’ release, but as far as I know you don’t often see it
in indie or alt rock or whatever genre Furry Hug fits into.”
Stories of myth are difficult to pin down, their
histories often fragmented and obscured. I don’t know
when the next big chapter of the Furry Hug tales will
appear, but when it does, I’m certain it will be worth
passing on. !
Words: Samuel Lasley
Photography: Rob May
On The Line is out now via Haunted Jacuzzi.
soundcloud.com/furryhug
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