Farmer (FRMR) is a songwriter, poet, and verser from Desertmartin, Northern Ireland. Formerly, Sons Of Caliber, he has supported artists such as Nathaniel Rateliff, The Staves, and Gemma Hayes, and has played many of NI’s most prominent local venues and beloved festivals including Glasgowbury, Open House, and Stendhal.
His new record Amelanchier, due for release this summer, is a post-folk murmuration idling along electronic borders and exploring the aquiferous terrain of paraphonic tone.
Taken from Amelanchier, watch his video for the song Inver, and read his story behind the song.
Story Behind the Song: Inver by FRMR
- “Three preparations of a good man’s house: ale, a bath, a large fire.”
One of the oldest forms of poetry in Ireland is the triad; this ninth century obsession with thinking in threes.
Often referred to as the ‘proverbs of Ireland,’ the triads (around 256 in total) were these short, evocative truisms, that covered a wide variety of colloquial topics, such as nature, custom, law, geography and essentially the human condition.
And whilst some of them are deeply thought-provoking and others a little more humorously observational; one which has always has stood out to me, portrays a more geographical remark:
- “The three rivers of Ireland, the Boyne, the Shannon, the Bann.”
I have often felt that the people on this Island have this inherently instilled fixation with moving water, with springs, holy wells. An almost spiritual connection or faction that runs deep within the culture and the psyche of the language.
Rivers featured a great deal throughout my childhood; from early morning escapades in search of tadpoles – to fishing with a hook and a pocket full of worms. My brother and I would walk the shallow stream that idled it’s way through our father’s farmland until the water got too deep and spilt over the tops of our wellies. Our mother would stand at the top of the yard at dinner time and shout our names until we appeared on the path home.
As a lyricist, there is this personal preoccupation firmly embedded into the contours of my work; centred around the concept of ‘place.’
Growing up on a farm and working the dirt, was the most generous education I ever could have asked for.
And so as a writer, I can rarely complain of metaphorical poverty, for my subconscious addiction to the nuance of nature fills almost my every breath.
The river ‘Inver’ (which flows near my home) was the inspiration for the name of this track. Inver is this rocky watercourse, engulfed with trees, that cuts through a deep valley and bleeds all the way out to Larne lough. Rivers truly fascinate me, and I’ve spent many a stark winter’s night with my head buried in the pages of old maps tracing the origins of brooks and streamlets.
Fast-moving water does not seek permission, it rushes and roars relentlessly beyond the pale, until it finds its resting place.
And this has forever been the sonic intention of my music; to rapidly accost the listener from the bank’s of banality and deposit them downstream before the senses have fully kicked in.
This song is weaved with a few varying strands; parts of it are from an old poem in the Psalms, there’s a lot of movement, traction and motion in there of course. But primarily there is a symbolic longing for a readjustment of the human identity, coupled with a voluntary unravelling of my own genetic pain. It’s a deep song with a heavy sub that bears up the lyrics throughout the entirety of the track.
But a river’s never just a river — sometimes it’s an artery or a frenetic dance on the margins of the forest. It’s a song about freedom. Inver is the first single from my forthcoming record ‘Amelanchier.’ A folk-tronic hybrid that contains five songs and five musically scored spoken word pieces.
For I am beyond fascinated with the medium of verse — in its many incarnations. It allows for such subjective diversity in both metaphor and delivery. So amalgamating these variants together has been an organic escalation.
Verses are these prolific containers that can retain the heaviest of emotions and the weightiest of pains, yet in turn, they can almost become these infantile articles used to portray humour and wit.
And this is why I love the art form.
Also, listen to Andrew’s Podcast, Folk & Lore here on Spotify
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