by Khagan Aslanov (@virgilcrude)
An online search of ‘Best Harpists’ will quickly give you a shortlist of the usual suspects and some dark horses (provided you listen to harp music enough to have usual suspects to begin with). A short distance down that list, rubbing shoulders with Alphonse Hasselmans, Carlos Salzedo, Alice Coltrane and Harpo Marx, you’ll see Mary Lattimore’s name. The North Carolina-born, California-based experimental composer would probably humbly reject being placed in such hallowed company. But for those of us in the know, the avant-gardist’s place in that list is not only well-earned, but represents something much more.
As experimental music began its transition from the underground into a semblance of general acceptance, it has not been spared from common pitfalls of leaving the brink. Simulacrum has permeated the field, and it has become an inlet of least resistance in experimental music for artists to settle for making something that is utterly formless, or aimlessly atonal and confrontational, shaping elaborate replicas with charisma to spare, but without much soul. What has always distinguished Lattimore from the bulk of her peers is that she was always and continues to be unafraid to write music that, beneath all of its avant-garde amelioration, is just plainly beautiful.
To plenty of music fans, perhaps the first moment of coming across Lattimore’s name was in the liner notes of Thurston Moore’s 2011 LP Demolished Thoughts, her captivating reverberated playing swaddling Moore’s voice on devotional highlight “Blood Never Lies.”
The daughter of a symphony harpist in Asheville, North Carolina, Lattimore decided early on that the purist, hyper-precise playing and lifetime commitment to classical ensembles was not something that she wanted to chase. Instead, she moved to Philadelphia, found a circle of compatriots keen to see what uncharted structures their instruments could conjure, and began building a varied CV as a guesting musician. But it was the ensuing tour with Moore supporting his album that was the crucial step in Lattimore’s ascension.
We sat down with Lattimore just hours before her enthralling improvisational performance at Sled Island Music Festival in Calgary to talk about her symphonic beginnings, her breakaway tour with Thurston Moore, her love of the Cure, and the hard-earned path to finding independent footing in her field.
Mary Lattimore by Rachael Cassells
Mary Lattimore: “At some point, Thurston (Moore) decided to make an album without a harp in it. I was feeling quite adrift. It was then that I began figuring out that I wanted to and liked playing solo.”
In 2014, Lattimore won a Pew Fellowship. She used the grant to travel through the American South, the experiences and visual she encountered along the way laying the foundation for her 2016 effort, At the Dam. With the rest of the money, she bought the harp that would become her go-to instrument when touring Europe.
“I was working all these jobs, for not much money. The fellowship gave me freedom to explore, to take my harp on the road. I had already decided to move to California. I drove and wrote songs along the way, had a residency in Joshua Tree, housesat for my friends in Marfa, Texas. It was freeing, if only for a minute, to not be so concerned about money. It was the first time I felt that.”
From there, Lattimore has been on a tireless streak of writing, recording and touring, her sui generis approach to the harp emerging with full force. The catalogue she has constructed throughout the past decade has been a singular display of fervour and a virtuosic knack for luring out colossal levels of poignancy out of her instrument, as cerebrally agile as it is viscerally emotional. In addition to her flourishing as a solo composer, Lattimore has collaborated with some of the boldest experimental and indie artists of today, with one of her most recent cameos coming on Lonnie Holley’s shattering testament to the human spirit, Tonky.
When asked how she picks her partners in crime, Lattimore says that there is a notable difference between collaborations and contributions that are purely transactional and ones that are done in the name of fonder and more deeply felt pursuits. She stresses that while there is certain beauty in being a small textural aspect in a larger whole, coming together with another artist for a more consummate communion is an entirely different, and often more soulful interaction.
“A big part of collaborating for me is whether I actually like the person involved. You’re digging in with this other person for days, weeks. It requires everyone involved to be giving and humble.”
That open-handed, generous approach is felt strongly throughout Lattimore’s rich body of work. On 2018’s Ghost Forests, she plaits with Meg Baird to create a profoundly heart-rending ambient procession, and on her starkly melancholic 2019 effort, New Rain Duets, she coaxes a strange and comely alloy of sound from an unlikely partner in crime, Mac McCaughan, best known as the ageless-voiced leader of indie rock veterans Superchunk.
At some point in our conversation, I ask Lattimore perhaps the most tokenized question in music interviews: “What music do you listen to?” Her response is simple:
“I like so much music by people who use their instruments in an interesting way. But my foundational favourites will always be Brian Eno, Sonic Youth and the Cure. The new Cure record is so beautiful. And it came just at the right time in this world. We needed it.”
At this point, Lattimore rattles of a list of her favourite Cure songs (“2 Late,” “Pictures of You,” “A Forest,” “All Cats are Grey”), and then, her eyes alight with possibility, fantasizes about making an album with Robert Smith fielding the vocals.
Throughout our talk, Lattimore cuts a radiant presence. Devoid of ostentation or impatience, she smiles easily, takes compliments uneasily, and appears completely in love with art of all forms. That authentic, humanistic streak forms the bedrock of her own artistic output.
This is pastoral music, yes, but not in the prosaic sense of some sterile serenity. Rather, Lattimore sculpts soundscapes that transmute the listener to a state that is as deeply disquieting as it is intensely curative - a place that strops the senses to their very living edges. It is music that is patient and palpable and hard-won, and in many ways, profoundly lonely. Like all great artists before, and all that will follow, Mary Lattimore invites you into her tireless seeking of a sustained aesthetical moment.