Unlocking the door to his own vivid utopia, the native Geordie pores on the rudiments of human relationships and our innate ability to transcend to the swaying rushes of the Elysian fields.
Paradisiacal notions come in many forms. From the contentment of sipping mojitos in your sun-kissed chateaux, to the emotional sentimentality of a family christmas. Yet accessing this euphoria is as elusive as a sunflower in the desert, and for many a state never achieved at all.
Like the canary coloured sleeves of his jacket, Ruairí Richman has spread himself flamboyantly across the chronicles of modern musical history, traversing the motley waters of psychedelia and into the camouflaged indie pop buffer between reality and fantasy. In almost alchemistic form, shimmeringly modern production melds into veteran songwriting, separated by a helix of intertwining perspectives. The main viewpoint being a wiretapped view of a fleeting romance, acting as the devilish subconscious attempting to lure one of the lovers into infidelity.
As the side plot ensues, the sparklingly nostalgic synth palette triggers a bout of synesthesia. Flashes of malachite, fuschia and violet burst from the depths of the chorus like a supernova, leaving you lost in a world that doesn’t exist, but longing for it to draw breath.
“I knew I wanted to get something bold and colourful, not just visuals but music you have to listen twice to. I love music where every time you listen to it, you hear something else in the song. Interesting music.”
Richman’s work is the progeny of a Blossoms x Tame Impala one night stand, but this is one hookup devoid of regret. It oozes with the notion of self-care despite the word ‘autopilot’ implying a lack of control. Drunk on the diversity of 90’s music culture, it finds itself under the influence of French electronica duo Air and American psychedelic rockers The Flaming Lips, producing a slush of futuristic and soulful subtleties.
Carrying a refreshingly care-free complexion, the aiglet at the end of Lemonade Shoelace is his melodious charm. This intrinsic ability to produce what many call ‘sticky music’ comes after just one single, with a top line that clings to the back of your head like the sugary remnants of a spilled 7up.
Though produced in a makeshift studio, there’s nothing temporary about this record or its creator, with the man himself declaring that “you can’t stop the flow”, so it’s safe to say we haven’t seen the last of the vibrant newcomer.