Today London-based, Lewes-raised newcomer Laucan (pronounced Lor-can) is thrilled to share brand new track “Up Tomorrow”, taken from his debut EP of the same name that will see release on March 10th through label Sunday Best. Listen to the track here.
“Up Tomorrow” sees 27-year-old Laurence Galpin (Laucan) harness quietly powerful emotion through immersive soundscapes and Justin Vernon-esque falsetto, something that he reflects came about after the breakup of a former band.
“I didn’t want anyone hearing my songs through the door of my room,” recalls Galpin.
Thankfully, his newfound readiness to be heard doesn’t come at any cost to his distinct voice on Up Tomorrow. Between its impressionist lyrical images, spectral folk beauty and enveloping sound frames, Up Tomorrow is a gorgeous, glowing introduction to a singer who found something distinctive in his attic-based isolation.
“Sunlight pours through the doorway, picks out patterns on the floor,” sings Galpin on the title-track, his falsetto taking wing over a rich bedding of reverb-soaked guitars, synth atmospherics and tender percussion. With Andrew Phillips of Ninja Tune’s post-rock duo Grasscut as his collaborator, Galpin composes with a cinematic auteur’s sense of shading and world building and a flair for sound art that evokes a real sense of environment. “Where I Should Be” is a lushly gorgeous study in atmosphere. A forthright side to Galpin’s voice shows on “DLMA”, before “Tectonic Plates” showcases his vocals at their most exquisitely delicate.
This is richly tended music, made by a man who took the slow, careful route to get there. If you hear a British psychedelic folk influence at work, Galpin’s background bears it out. He grew up in Lewes, in the South Downs: “Famed for its Wicker Man-esque bonfire celebrations,” Galpin notes. At 16, he formed a short-lived band that imploded, he recalls, “while stitching together a 40-minute continuous prog/math rock monstrosity”. After moving to London, Galpin felt out of phase with the competitive and fast paced nature of the city, and looked to the past for influence.
Submerged in what he calls “folk music of increasing obscurity”, Galpin began writing songs such as “DLMA” (Don’t Love Me Anymore), a track steeped in the kind of anxiety of expression that often haunts artists who refuse to follow trends, preferring to create their own worlds. “Eventually,” he says, “I decided that either I release them or I just give up writing music.” We’re all the better for the choice Galpin made and are eagerly listening for what is next.