by Caroline Nieto (@caroline.nieto)
After a self-described “autumnal heartache,” Gabriela McBride fled her New York City dorm room to go upstate. On the ride, the first semblances of a song sparked, and throughout her freshman year of college, “The Garrison” took form. The song is her debut single as a solo artist, following the 2023 release of her band Saint Seether’s first EP. Where this last project channels 90’s grunge, “The Garrison” is stripped down in bare honesty. McBride recorded the song with Mike Viola at his studio, Barebones, in Los Angeles. In an uncut take on tape, just her voice and guitar, McBride evokes the sound of an early Elliott Smith or Cat Power—perfectly imperfect.
She begins the song on a train, gazing at the endless expanse of trees from her window. McBride admires the change in scenery, calling it “the best face-to-face I’ve had in a while.” The song recalls an unrequited longing that left her “tortured, harping on everything,” as she sings in the first verse. She describes the mental cabin fever that chipped away at her sense of self. When she sings, “the air tastes like me, and like apples and like leaves,” she places herself on the same plane as her environment, a grander scale of existence. McBride shakes off the illusive “you” she sings to, a figure of complication with “seasons that I can’t seem to foresee.” From then on, the song expands in a quiet catharsis. A strummed guitar comes in over the arpeggiated one, an earthiness coming from a rubber bridge. Background vocals drift behind the main melody, singing like a soft breeze. McBride’s voice is warm and clear, constantly in transit.
“The Garrison” portrays how relationships can wilt and grow, live and die. The song is McBride's self reclamation, her ode to the places that have made her. Like nature, it’s both universal and strikingly personal. It’s a reminder that within the sweep of change, the world is still there.