Across Ambroxyde (released June 27), FELLY distances himself from the rapper/producer persona that surrounded his early career. The Connecticut-born musician ventured from Iceland to Greece, across the ranches of Texas to the remote deserts of California, to record his new record, separating both physically and mentally to find a sound that reflected his current artistry. The result is an increasingly self-actualized interpretation of FELLY, picking guitar pedals over drum machines and pulling from aughts-era alternative rock instead of classic hip-hop tropes.
FELLY says of the new album: “My whole approach to writing songs was a bit different with ‘High On You,’ and with all the other songs on the album. I intentionally made myself uncomfortable. I think I was too used to (or bored of) going into sessions, making a beat or putting vocals on a beat, and having a finished song. I still do love to do that, but for this record—and all the other ones on the album—I started with just me and an acoustic, and worked out the lyrics over time, knowing it would eventually be brought to a band and recorded.
“I’d have demos and references here and there, but mostly kept it in my head and heart until I was ready to record and show the band the idea. It’s more like how they used to do it back in the day, I’d imagine—when you’d have to record to tape and not have all the freedoms of the digital age. It’s not a better or worse approach, just something I’ve personally never done for an album—so it inevitably switched up my whole sound.
“I feel like if there was a box I’ve been put in from my past, it doesn’t exist anymore. At least for me and in my eyes, and that’s important to me. It just opens up the future of what could come. I’ve been making music and touring for almost a decade now, but still feel like I’m at a brand new starting point.”
We asked FELLY to walk us through every track on the record, and he was kind enough to oblige. Tune in, scroll through, and enjoy.
“Spinning Around”
I wrote “Spinning Around” while taking a solo mission to Joshua Tree for 10 days or so. I had, in the weeks before, just fully fell in love with someone new. A feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time at that point. It fucked me up, but in a good way. I had some time off and was like I’m just gonna go process everything and go write. She eventually joined me after a week or so of me being out there and I got to press play on this one. This girl knew nothing about me or my music from the past which I thought was really cool.
I’ve always looked up to love songs and admired music that’s sort of, on the nose directly to a girl. But it needed to be genuine. And I couldn’t make up my love for someone, or juice a love song just for the sake of it. I’ve certainly tried. But this one came quickly and felt fresh. I was writing on a guitar in the desert and waiting for my girl to come join me and hoping I’d have something that wasn’t complete shit to show her by the time she arrived.
We previewed this song at almost every stop on tour, working out the arrangement and all that. It felt so forward and like new life in comparison to what I’ve done. Then we re-recorded at Sonic Ranch studios in Texas with the full band, which brought it to a new level. These guy’s had played it with me many times on the road and some nights we’d get so locked in and so it had a lot to live up to. I think, on the final recording, we captured the essence pretty good. I gave my guitarist Dylan some hell getting the solo down – because recording to your friends in the studio is a lot different than recording to a crowd of people when you’re sweaty and lost in it. We’d do “shotgun takes” where we’d shotgun a beer and run into the studio and try a pass at it. We’d combine some of those takes with some more chill takes from earlier in the day. For example like, take the guitar recordings from a shotgun take where we’re digging in a bit more, pairing that with the drums we did at 10 AM, creating all sorts of cool juxtapositions. It was really cool to experiment with this. I’ve never made music like it before.
“Black Shoes”
“Black Shoes” was a song that was sitting in my audio notes for years, just waiting for some context. I had it written but didn’t know where it fit in my world. It worked so well for this album. We started this one in Los Angeles and then brought it to Iceland where it was finished. It’s always nice when something you think is dead pokes its head up and takes light. It’s a bit of an older song, subject-wise, that I wrote while feeling wrapped up in a situation that I didn’t feel like was me anymore. The black shoes thing—I think that more so represents the layers of protection people put up. Safety mechanisms, almost a front of toughness. Sometimes you can look past people’s safety mechanisms and know there is a scared child behind there, probably caught up in the same confusion as you.
“Shoes in a Glasshouse”
“Shoes in a Glasshouse” came from a jam in my studio in Los Angeles. I had taken a break from proper “sessions,” and the whole producer date-scene, because I felt it was starting to get forced and diluting to what I’ve kept special to me throughout my days of putting out music. Which is my sound. With “Shoes in a Glasshouse,” we jammed for 30 minutes and stumbled upon a solid minute of how the song should go—the groove, the vocal melody—and I remember listening back to the recording and just knowing that’s the song. In a 30 minute to an hour recording of us jamming, switching off instruments, and humming melodies, the moments that are special stick out—so I took that recording as a rough picture of what the song could be, and then I worked out the chords and lyric on guitar.
It’s inspired by this mood I felt last new years in New York City, wandering the streets with a crew of guys and girls. Everything felt a bit lonely, in a way, like a deeper craving existed. You’re in a massive city surrounded by people but you can see loneliness on their faces. “Oh what an awkward age, I want to know everything” is probably one my favorite lines I’ve written lately. It’s not prophetic or anything, but it feels really true to this weird part of my life I’m at—growing a bit older and the discomforts of that.
“High On You”
“High on You” probably came from driving through the Midwest so much of my life. From touring these past six years or so, I’ve gotten to see so much of the country and get a feel for the fabric of certain areas. I love America as a land—it’s so unique and distinct from state to state. When kids walk in the door for shows, I can feel everything they bring with them. I had started listening to a bunch of early 2000’s alternative music and a lot is bands from the Midwest. That area has a distinct sound, reminds me of fall—stuff like American Football, Bright eyes, Smashing Pumpkins, other great alt bands that tend to feel like Middle America. With “High on You,” I think I was fusing this nostalgic idea of America—the good and the bad. The chords and mood of it just had this somber vibe to it, and I was getting “Middle America, winter time, pills” from it. It probably something about my own inability to crack some of my own attachments, feeling stuck in the same patterns.
“Route 44”
“Route 44″ was a song I’d written on acoustic after sort of sitting with myself and realizing I’m in a new relationship and things are actually good. It’s not always like that. It’s a proper love song I’d say—there’s no way of getting around that or making it sound abstract. It’s a “you’re driving on a road with someone you love and you feel alright” song. I think it’s got something to do with faith in the greater plan. Your insignificance in it, and a surrender to just being quiet and enjoying the ride. Somewhere in my subconscious this might have been inspired by the Beatles song “I Feel Fine.” I’ve always loved the simplicity of that lyric “she’s in love with me and I feel fine.” Most songs have a complaint or two, I like that there’s none in that song.
“Emmy”
I became an uncle of eight this past year. Full unc mode. Emmy is my brother’s daughter—she’s beautiful and so cool. My brother sort of raised me after my dad died, and he’s a really strong dude but is also a bit of nostalgia/romantic type of guy—the type of guy who is always the last to leave the party and never wants to let good time end. I think I sort of wrote this song to him and his daughter about the transience of life and the indifference time has over us all. I just imagined Emmy growing up and becoming rebellious as most teen girls do, and leaving the house, and how I’d imagine that’s gonna kill him (laughs). I also started thinking about my mom and her getting older. So “Emmy,” the song, is just this vapid feeling of watching time pass and not being able to do anything about it. The first verse is to Em and the second one is about my mom, but the hook works for both.
“Wildfire”
“Wildfire” was one of the first songs we wrote while in Iceland—off-grid, starting this new record. It sort of became the “palette” for everything else on the album. It has a certain color to it—I tend to feel music with colors. It’s not synesthesia, but how I sort of relate to certain sounds. It was one of the first songs that sort of showed me early on that we were about to make some sounds I’ve never made before and the possibilities were wide open. It made me throw out any ideas of myself or what I should be doing.
I wrote it on guitar mostly but then watched it take new life in the studio with the unhinged chorus. We finished it up in Texas at Sonic Ranch with the band—it was the most fun thing to play together. We’d end every night with a couple passes through “Wildfire” and people would trade solos and really just beat the thing in. I think the song is meant to be played live and I’m surprised we were even able to make it into a studio version. I had some time between writing it and finishing it so got to try it out at a couple of shows. For people who hadn’t heard the song before it always went over really well. I always wanted it to be a single because I think it’s so identifying to this new world I’m building.
“Let me down easy”
This was another song I had written originally on acoustic. It went through a few different producers before ending up with the band at Sonic Ranch in Texas. Its early versions were so sweet, and almost corny. It was a song that had no edge or bite to it at all—but I knew lyrically and emotionally it had something to it. So I think we decided to lean fully into it having a bite and re-arranged it a bit to be a different color. We wanted to juxtapose the lyrics with a track that is a bit darker. This record is probably as far out as I’ve gone into the alt/rock world. We’ve just been playing so much Fontaines DC and Radiohead that my sweet only-acoustic songs just stopped sounding cool to me. We wanted something that hit you in the chest.
It’s a tune about self sabotage. When people talk about “falling in love” they often skip out on the word falling and fail to let you know that falling at any rate can feel a bit uncomfortable.
“Marigold”
“Marigold” was written in an A-Frame at Lake Arrowhead. I remember Luca, who produced the album, challenging me to have a fully written song on acoustic. I usually have tons, but at this time I didn’t have much to say or wasn’t ready to say certain things. I was messing around with piecing things together, trying verses on one song, switching to another, and not really having anything finished or tangible to just throw on the plate. So I took the morning and was a bit forward with myself like “I’m not gonna come downstairs ’til I have a song.” It ended up being “Marigold” and we cut a really cool demo there in the cabin and eventually it made its way to final sessions at Sonic Ranch in Texas, where I think it really took some new life.
The record is really “grown” compared to things I’ve put out. It’s me looking in the mirror and sort of dealing with things I maybe don’t want to see. There’s a certain ownership to it—all the problems (most of them) I have in life, I’ve created. And it’s a bit of surrender to giving up control and accepting love into your life.
“Song For the Crows”
This is probably my favorite song on the record. It’s about a premonition. When I was younger, my mom would always tell me about how the day before my dad was diagnosed with brain cancer, there were a bunch of crows on the lawn. She’s superstitious in her own ways, but I’ll always remember how weird that felt to hear as a child—that there’s an outside natural world that may know the future or be giving signs to the way things will inevitably go.
I wrote the song in the shoes of my dad who got this news that he’d be dying soon. It’s like, a “letter to death.” Death being the crows, the illness. I had to call my mom a few times while writing it just to refresh some of my blocked out memories of what that time of my life was like. It was really beautiful to revisit that for the purpose of finishing the song. It was almost like the universe needed me to fully feel that again before I could write it. There was no shortcut to making it. The verses break me and you can hear my voice crack in certain parts where lyrically and emotionally, the song just takes me to a really dark and heavy time. “Jayme breaks her smile, she’s just a baby child, if I could only live to see you walking down that aisle.” My mom, to this day, gets mad that my dad had ever told my sister, “All I want to do is live to see you get married.” He didn’t make it, and I think that put a really sad seed in my sister’s head when she did eventually get married—but I can feel where my dad was coming from and what he must have been going through.
The song takes me right back to the house we lived at in Connecticut and the winter when my dad was in and out of cancer treatments, coming home red-faced with a shaved head all stapled up, trying to be strong for us.
“Cool River”
I remember writing this song during Sundance Film Festival in Salt Lake City, Utah last year. Snow town. I wasn’t there for any particular reason other than to see friends and watch films. kind of existed on the outskirts of it. I drove up 11 hours through beautiful roads. I had these like, Robert Plant-esque high voice melodies in my head and was doing a ton of driving through the mountains just taking everything in, feeling a bit rouge. I took some time after Sundance to get a spot and write a bit before heading home and had most of it written in my head driving back. It was definitely inspired by all the Paul Simon I was listening to—hence the end “peace like a river” part. This is one I got to bring to the band in Texas feeling like “you’re going to love to play this.” Reminded me a bit of Rage Against the Machine—which I used to cut my teeth on growing up—but have never been able to venture into that world from usually making music on a laptop.
Recording “Cool River” was probably the most electric time I’ve ever had while make a song. we were going crazy. 10 guys down by the border in Texas, just ripping. I thought it sounded amazing and then I heard it on speakers a few days later we sounded horrible—for the record’s sake, you know? We were all confused on why it didn’t translate. I know what I heard in my head so when I left the studio with everything I had to dial it in. It’s cool in the music creation process that any skill you obtain becomes useful at some time or the other. Producing and sampling for so long, I was able to take a band recording and make it into something that felt tangible and not like a fully loose live recording, though it very much still is that.
