Anchor the Sun, Lilly J and… I don’t know
Remember that pandemic, huh? Who could forget it… the worst collective event of the third millennium, globally speaking, so far. Leaving aside, with the utmost respect, the tragedy of those who lost their lives and those who were physically, psychologically, or financially challenged, I was one of the lucky ones who simply had to get bored and wait for months, isolated — all alone — and stuck at home. Lady Luck was extremely kind to me: my only punishment was endless weekends to fill, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so much free time in my life so, besides attempting to learn how to cook some traditional Indian dish and other similar delicacies, as I’ve always been tremendously open to discover and listen to new sound waves of any kind, in those months I probably tripled or quadrupled those quantities. I had no limits, all the time in the world. Among the dozens of discoveries, a song literally entered my life with devastating kindness, a song discovered by dusting off my collection, driven by a clear desire to let myself be carried away by emotions. Anchor The Sun was the name of the band, and the song was titled “I Don’t Know”. Among something like at least twenty new songs a day, for months… a guitar intro written after years of library research, the hand playing it for a long yet the right amount of time, pleasantly complex, perfect and unstable. A series of gentle shivers, a rhythmic pattern made of some devilry, gently taking control of all the folds and turns of your nerves. The voice putting your feelings under the spotlight, as she is taking a look inside. The delicate, non-trivial, visionary yet intimate lyrics. The background vocals, precise and dosed with a colourful eyedropper. This is “I Don’t Know”, while Anchor The Sun is Lilly J’s project, a Brazilian artist in London, and with her life subsequently divided between the British capital and Edinburgh, the other capital, the Fringe one, a bit up there on the map. I contacted her during the pandemic to sincerely thank her for that miraculous song, “I Don’t Know,” and she, amidst several thanks and counter-thanks, explained to me how that song was written almost in extremis, but paradoxically becoming her initial flagship. I then had the opportunity to meet her during one of her acoustic performances in South London, not far from London Bridge (sometimes I should go back and take a look to the north… I’m aware of that, but you know… South London is the area now). Honestly, she seemed happier to see me than I was happy to meet her. Friendly, genuine, smiling and — guitar on — so natural and precise. The rest of the Anchor The Sun project has produced a long series of interesting singles. Especially initially, Bruno Prado on bass and Michael Nash on drums knew how to enrich Lilly’s work as if they were natural outgrowths of her artistic thoughts. Effective, smooth, and important, yet never stealing the scene. Precious musicians doing good to the world of music.
The importance of composition: this is evident in any track you choose from the Anchor The Sun shelf (whose name represents the dualism of human existence, combining the sky and light with the bottom of the ocean, darkness). Let’s play the track titled “Going Through The Motions”, from 2021. Here too, there is a clear melodic intention, but also a strong desire to carefully harmonise, and it’s no surprise that the song, just like “I Don’t Know,” pulses with important accents, meaningful kicks of the bass drum, snare strokes, and bass giving a sincere, spontaneous tension. Lilly J seems to be one of those personalities in music where anything she does becomes, in one way or another, something interesting. Her world extends into storytelling and videomaking, although if it were up to me, I’d chain her to writing songs upon songs, recording them, and have her go back to writing again and again. We kept in touch, and our communication continued in the following months; she told me about her roots in diverse music, from Brazilian to classical music, to her love for Pink Floyd, thanks to a family founded on constant music listening, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Upon my request, Lilly suggested to pay attention to “Sunbeam”, which seems to be the song she is most proud of: a guitar arpeggio always played with wisdom, no concessions on the vocal line writing, never a predictable passage, yet everything sounds so easy, without edges. The voices in the background, appear, disappear. She told me about how the song was born while exploring the Highlands, stopping to admire the sunlight filtering through the clouds in the scenic valley of Applecross, Scotland. All way too easy to turn into music when you have such a natural talent like hers.
(adapted/translated from the original Italian article on SpazioRock.it)
