Vio/Miré

I don't know what makes me the most melancholic, the songs or the songwriter. Brendan Glasson has got such a, ouch, sensitivity that you wonder how such treasures have managed to find their way to your ears without disappearing into the ether. To the point I could become almost believe in the existence of careful divinity somewhere above.


But no, from small links, to fragile faith, from shared feelings to just hazard and chance, his songs, like small boats on a stormy ocean have finally come alongside this side of my digital computer speakers and are now part of my most cherished music selection forever.

Is it an artwork for this album, a label, or is it too much to ask? I don't care of what people could say, here, in front of my word processor, I feel proud, I feel good, pretending, Brendan Glasson will be as precious this year, for me and for others as well, as Elliott Smith was fifteen years ago.

Except, I do believe he is more special, more underground, less easy to find, so far, less easy to approach. In fact, like the best and most disarming Elliott Smith album was in fact an obscure record written by someone else, aka "Orchard Street Sounds" by Minnetonka, it is too disarming and extremely moving to feel how much Vio/Miré is self- or just in-consciously preserving the treasures he writes and record, releasing CDRs or existing through mp3s shared or playing in living room instead of venues.

One minute inside the long and final "Worth Retelling" and the whole chillwave scene of these days seems useless and failing about what music should always been about, the unsaid, the suggested, the depth, the frustration, the little things from which grace finally arises.

Musically, Brendan Glasson sounds like he could be the cousin or the nephew of Mike talons' Talon and I'm sure Trouble Books would be glad to adopt him as one more contributor of their family.

I think I should write this review with tears and say nothing. Oh well, I can't explain, I feel totally empty listening to "January 2009". It is one of these very few and rare records, you can say about "it's different", not groundbreaking or utterly impressive, but you'll just admit to yourself you'll want to spend some time alone with this record, for the simple, and maybe somewhat selfish, pleasure of being sad and melancholic. But don't think it is a totally depressive album, instead, it is mostly joyful, the way Julie Doiron can be playful. In fact he could be the cousin or nephew of Julie Doiron too.

And "January 2009" doesn't sound like a lost backward-looking bedroom folk/pop album reminiscent of this forgotten lo-fi scene of the nineties, because, in fact, if most of his songwriting is indeed somewhat traditionally & intimately indie, you've got these subtle touches telling you, he is up to date with the most interesting part of the ambient scene of these days, and it wouldn't be a surprise to get a full ambient instrumental record coming from him some day. An instrumental song like "Writing in the dark" seems neglectfully forgotten between two others and it takes a few times listening to the full album before noticing how much this is totally unbelievable, hitting the same string Federico Durand struck with "Mi Pequeño Mundo De Papel".

Honestly, how can someone survive when "Shrinking Coasts" and "Appleseeds" are playing just one after the other. Two gems, two hits, two songs that make you put knees on the ground and listen religiously, humming to the melody, even when you thought such melodies were so passé, these days. You were wrong.

Recorded in Reykjavik at a friend's home studio (Alex Somers, from Parachutes and Jónsi & Alex) which is honestly probably the best environment for such a record, "January 2009" is for every second, from the first one to the last one, the very own production of Brendan Glasson. It is so shivering, beyond reasons.

One of the more comforting records I've heard recently to be honest. - Derives

Like watching the endless sky, filled with drifting clouds, “March 2007”, the latest album from Vio/Mire will take you to a place where time no longer exists, the ambient soundscapes filled with longing and sadness. Featuring aching strings, some lovely guitar-picking, downbeat lyrics and expansive electronic washes, the whole album is a haze of delicate beauty that is both soothing and thoughtful in its approach. Along with the two albums above, this is released on Leisure Class Records, a label that are obviously doing something right, all three albums oozing class and housed in fine hand-crafted sleeves that make them items worthy of your time. - Terrascope Online

Even if this is a CDR, what is enjoyable about Leisure Class is their packaging aesthetic: it's all palpable, hands-on, human crafted, and folk to the touch, though this is not hand- sewn like Cassette Concret. If you have a heart waiting in vain for the next ambient folk deluxe rendering, then this may your passage to the patient, gently overflowing, subdued world of dream catalogs. Think of Her Space Holiday without gadgetry, material culled from Kranky Records (Labradford), and simple visits to the borders of consciousness via soft-mitten pianos, strings of various sorts, quirky indie vocals, and folk etudes. "Warm your feet by sticking them under my legs," Brandan Glasson begs a lover, and although his voice is by no means warm to the touch, there is a geeky tenderness that begs for attention. "Appleseeds" is a denser song, layered and undulating, rolling through the cerebrum like a shimmering stream. I think he says "hide the moon in the drawer of your nightstand" which, even if this paraphrase is off by miles, is an uncanny image, almost Garcia Lorca in its delicate rapture. "Say something nice to me in a language I don't understand," he follows up with, suggesting that there is something beautiful and comforting about the unknown that is known, a comfort zone that lives inside the signifying mood and wool of language, something that is not exotic but universal. Musically, it doesn't really provide much profound sensory baskets, but Glasson's word play is, well, not inventive, but coy without being cloying.

The sound of water inundates, spilling through the fabric of "Purple House, November," as a woman's voice melds and melts into this dim, yellowy Polaroid tone poem taken from the dark side of the seasons. It feels a bit rushing, as if being propelled towards come climax that never materializes, just a burst of being that is not feverish as much as it is bristling with energy posed at fingertips darting through milkweed. "Wood Splitting" does comes close to a front porch tapping of worn shoes, but the art delivery freeze frames an aesthetic that is far more Sebadoh basement tape than blues bar crawdaddy. Broken pitched voices carry the weight of cracked time, which flakes and falls into easy hums. Looking inward and back, this is the music for the days of hazy shades of consciousness, a cinema of nerves being slowly pasteurized. - Left of the Dial Magazine

Vio/Miré is the solo project of Brendan Glasson from Providence, Rhode Island. He is a tour member of the Icelandic band Parachutes. Apparently “March 2007” is already his third album after two limited self-releases. His music is a successful mix between ambient and more traditional song-writing with acoustic guitar and cello.


The songs are sad and slow but always pleasant, never too harsh, with always a nice melodic vibe,. His focus seems about composing melancholic lullabies around his finger-picked acoustic guitar and his whispered intimate vocals. The result is always highly sensitive and lovely, often moving. What makes this album different and valuable is all his work around atmospheres, textures and structures, with the use of reverb, field recordings and synth layers of sounds, all the reflexions hidden behind this process.

On an interview on Minorprogression.com, Brendan was giving this long reply about what were his major influences, and as it explains perfectly why his music is so rich, intense and subtle, and important and meaningful, it's better to cite his reply : “I would cite Charles Ives. Specifically I am drawn to his ideas about combining sounds, indeed combining entire sonic universes, to create textures of richness and ambiguity. Part of an ensemble might play one sort of musical material while, across the stage, the rest of the ensemble plays completely different material, in a different key, meter, and mood, at the same time. I am also attracted to Cezanne’s efforts to create a similar sort of indefiniteness in his paintings, where a single line might represent, for example, both the branch of a tree in the background and the arm of a woman in the foreground. In Providence, being without a vehicle as I am, I have taken to walking all over town. With an active ear I find myself in a constant state of aural transition on these walks. The music coming out of the McDonald’s on the corner raises in volume and becomes more specific in location as I approach. As I pass and cross the street it is overwhelmed by the sound of the traffic, first blending, then fading, then vanishing. A murmur in my left ear becomes conversant groups of people sitting outside of the cafe as I walk still further. Entering the cafe is too overwhelming to describe with this level of sensitivity. I’m interested in exploring these sorts of ideas in my music, though I typically restrain myself to only the briefest moments, where one song overlaps and overtakes another, or where one musical passage is interrupted and overcome by a harmonically unrelated one. More than specific bands or kind of music, I find myself most driven and inspired by ideas. And I do not purport to express these ideas on my recordings. Rather, these are the sorts of things that keep me most interested in and excited about music.”

While listening to this record, I think of other american bands like Trouble Books, Six Twilights / A Weather, Talons'. Like them, he explores a broader range of music instead of just entering the folk indie genre. His experimentations around ambient, soundscapes forms have the same level of achievement and depth than his folk melodies, and the interactions between the different styles is what makes his music pertinent.

Dividing the project in two, half of the songs are guitar/vocals and the other half is of instrumental soundscapes, would diminish the interest and instead it is in fact this combination that augurs for promising developments, maybe even an integration of both. “March 2007” is a very intriguing records and there resides the biggest success of Brendan Glasson, a melancholic tension and dissatisfaction, which push him forward. - Derives

Vio Mire AKA Bendon Glasson floored me. Where the fuck have I been? Vio Mire's folk lush pop beckons attention and exposure. His tenor vocal range whispers, hushes, lulls and then fully opens to relay his written stories in song that hold deep resonance. They ebb and flow between cliff hanging whispers and timing.

Brendon played the classical guitar while his touring mates on keys and bass did back up vocals. The guitar added warmth to the intimate acoustic set.

Unfortunately only the few and in the know have heard of him. Music that is so deeply beautiful is rare, I only wish I found him sooner - Obsession Collection

Do places you go create songs in your head? I’m not asking if songs you listen to on your i-pod while you’re tuning yourself out all day seem to cinematically line up with your existence as you wander your city and stare at the street, but whether sometimes as you wander, the place surrounding you suddenly takes on a kind of rhythm and you begin to make up a song that you have never heard before? This song somehow seeming so appropriate to the environment of it’s spontaneous composer (that’s you friend) that it makes you smile out rightly to yourself until you run out of rhymes or almost get hit by a van or something? I ask you, oh cherished blog readers, because it happens to me every fucking day. I make songs about everything: Girls on the subway, homeless people on the street, guys with gel in their hair, girls with high heels and designer bags with dogs in them, the glass of closed storefronts, the tv screens on bus stops and taxi cabs, EVERYTHING! But living in New York leads to lots of songs about crazy things. Everything is big, explosive, loud, blatant, with one thing stepping in the way of another until I’ve forgotten what the hell I’m even talking about in the first place. The songs in Brendan Glasson of Vio/Mire’s head come from somewhere else entirely
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Vio/Mire’s music is some of the purest, focused and instantly beautiful folkish (acoustic and sampled instruments and sounds) acts that I’ve come upon in quite a while. The first time that I sat down and listened to his newest album simply titled “January 2009? for the month of it’s release I’m assuming, I sat still for its entirety, trying to take in every word and new sound as they gracefully announced themselves. In fact, it’s so good that I’m totally confused as to why I’m the only person I know geeking out about it. I understand that it’s only available via his shows and the his small label’s website, but doesn’t word of mouth add up to anything anymore? Do we have to see things spelled out for us on the internet, proclaimed by digital demigods, whose mass quantity is so vast that it renders their words meaningless? Well if so, consider this your proclamation:
Here Ye Hear Ye: The entirety of the power that is invested in me (minorprogression.com) and I myself do hereby announce that you should be listening to this album. This applies to everyone of every age race gender or half gender. Children should be listening to it from old 80's boom boxes as they jump through rainbow hydrants in the street. Old ladies should listen to it from a speaker in their street facing apartment that plays into her ear as she sits within her stoop doorway and fans herself. And you, oh eager audiophiles should order one of Vio/Mires albums, so that as you walk down the street this summer, brand new headphones gleaming in the sunshine and refusing to let your head spin your own dying city’s songs, you can at least enjoy (as your stoned and sullen face pouts) some of the best sounds someone else’s head could conjure.
To convince you with this excellent interview with Brenden is worth your reading, I’ll first give you a comparison, even though it pains me to do so. There are some moments and elements in Vio/Mire’s sound that now and then reminds me of Sufjan Stevens. Not in a Jesus way, or in an over-cute conceptual way, but in an acoustical folk-baroque kind of way. There are other moments where I’m reminded of the Bon Iver album from a year or so ago, but these comparisons have more to do with it’s atmospheric and often angelic hushed quality. These suggestions add into each other, with both things continually moving in ways that keep Vio/Mire sounding like themselves and this expertly played balancing act is what excited me about them from the get go.
So now, after I fucked up and missed him play a show in Williamsburg last night, is at long freaking last,
a beautiful interview with Brenden, who has been so nice and patient about this whole thing going up that it makes me want to cry.

MP: How long have you been making music?
V/M: Since I was 7 or 8.
MP: What kind of training have you had?
V/M: I took piano lessons and had to learn a song that sounded like a trumpet call in the morning. Bum ba da dum dum.
MP: What different incarnations have you had as other bands or in other bands?
V/M: I mostly play as Vio/Miré but I also play in the Icelandic band Parachutes. I played in the American Hornets with Josh Carrigan and Mark Warren, who just toured together as Kegs of Acid. Talented boys a phenomenal band name.
MP: How many/what instruments can you play and what programs do you use for recording?
V/M: I can kind of half-play most of the instruments lying around my apartment. I had a piano in the stairwell of my old apartment and recently was finally able to gather enough friends to move it into my new place. You know you have five good friends if you can get a piano moved across town.
My friend just gave me the newest version of Logic and I’ve been working with it a lot. I made music with Max/MSP pretty regularly for a couple of years. But a few weeks ago my ancient computer finally died, so I’ve been making recordings on a quarter-inch tape machine that I found in an old school. It’s real dusty and I think the motor is broken, so everything comes out pretty warbly and crackly.
MP: Where do you live and where have you lived?
V/M: I live in Providence, Rhode Island, where I was born and grew up. In 2005 I spent some time in Bolivia working on a record. I got the guitar that I use now at a little shop in Cochabamba.
MP: How have those places and the place you live now effected the music that you make?
V/M: Living in South America made it clear to me that spending time in (relative) isolation to write and record was a really effective way for me to work, so this past fall I went to Iceland for a few months to do something similar. The record that I have out now is the product of that time.
MP: What do you value about the community or scene in your area? Do you wish that some things would change/stay the same?
Providence is a community of old friends and I’ve known some of the people that I work with for my whole life. It is a hardworking and prolific community, and I appreciate the interest and encouragement that new friends I’ve made have given to anyone who is working hard at something that they believe in. I only wish that the winter were shorter.
MP: What roles do community and scene play in relation to you as a musician?
V/M: Community is of immense importance to me as a musician and as a community member. I’ve been reading a lot about Franz Schubert, and have been taken with the “Schubertiaden” that he and his friends used to hold, where his pieces would be performed by him and whoever was at hand. He often wrote specifically for friends of his, and it was only through the support of his community that he was able to get any of his work published at all. If he couldn’t publish anything, his friends (who perhaps had sold a painting or published a story) supported him financially. If he did, he supported his struggling friends. The sacrifices that one needs to make to pursue a career in the arts brings one closer to others making similar sacrifices, and a success for one becomes a success for all.
MP: What scenes happening in the world are you interested in and why?
V/M: I am generally frustrated with the partitioning of music into scenes. I feel exhilarated by the Wordless Music series in New York, which instead of alienating certain listeners in the way that music scenes tend to, seeks to unite audiences across genres. It does so by pairing, for example, indie rock bands with contemporary classical composers.
MP: I know that Leisure Class Records is rather small, how is it being on a true independent label in this internet age?
V/M: Leisure Class Records was started by a friend of mine who, as an excuse to travel across the country to visit a girl with whom he was in love, offered to book and manage a tour for V/M and Liz Isenberg, a mutual friend and performer. The success of the tour inspired him to start the record label with another friend, and Leisure Class released a Vio/Miré record in 2007. Working with this label founded and run by friends, while occasionally stumbling towards disorder, has been overwhelmingly positive and brings us back to the strength and value of community.
MP:Do you find your identity linked to your label?
V/M: I can only speak from my experience of being involved with Leisure Class from the earliest stages of its creation. Rather than the record label creating or defining the identity of the artists, the artists have largely created the identity of the label. Had Ben and Dallas (the founders) signed three different bands to Leisure Class when they created it, they would have had a completely different record label on their hands. Of course, they didn’t do that, and it would be inaccurate for me to suggest that they were not careful or particular about who they chose to work with and create the sound of their label.
MP: How does the art venue or House show compare to the the Bar or Club show?
The art venue or house show are always preferable to me over the bar or the club. Generally, if someone goes to a house to see a concert they are interested in the concert. That is not always the case in a bar.
MP: Are you apart of any sort of music collective and are collaborating with anyone?
V/M: I wouldn’t exactly say I am a part of a music collective, but I am always working on a project of some sort with another person. In the past year I’ve been involved with a few recording projects outside of Vio/Miré. I worked as a producer and engineer on Annikki Dawn’s first record, the most recent Golden Ghost record, and the forthcoming Liz Isenberg album.
MP: Do you have any major influences?
V/M: I would cite Charles Ives. Specifically I am drawn to his ideas about combining sounds, indeed combining entire sonic universes, to create textures of richness and ambiguity. Part of an ensemble might play one sort of musical material while, across the stage, the rest of the ensemble plays completely different material, in a different key, meter, and mood, at the same time. I am also attracted to Cezanne’s efforts to create a similar sort of indefiniteness in his paintings, where a single line might represent, for example, both the branch of a tree in the background and the arm of a woman in the foreground. In Providence, being without a vehicle as I am, I have taken to walking all over town. With an active ear I find myself in a constant state of aural transition on these walks. The music coming out of the McDonald’s on the corner raises in volume and becomes more specific in location as I approach. As I pass and cross the street it is overwhelmed by the sound of the traffic, first blending, then fading, then vanishing. A murmur in my left ear becomes conversant groups of people sitting outside of the cafe as I walk still further. Entering the cafe is too overwhelming to describe with this level of sensitivity.
I’m interested in exploring these sorts of ideas in my music, though I typically restrain myself to only the briefest moments, where one song overlaps and overtakes another, or where one musical passage is interrupted and overcome by a harmonically unrelated one.
More than specific bands or kind of music, I find myself most driven and inspired by ideas. And I do not purport to express these ideas on my recordings. Rather, these are the sorts of things that keep me most interested in and excited about music.
5. Do you have any personal, political, spiritual, emotional or other views you specifically try to get across with your music? How do you plan translate those ideas to your audience, and how do you feel about their responses so far?
Lyrically I’m interested in addressing the small things that make up our small existences. Lately I’ve also been excited about the flexibility that writing can afford reality. In the lawless universe within a song one can speak to the dead, or impulsively build oneself a boat and sail it across the sea.
6. Playing music in a folk idiom is a difficult thing to do with so many people playing acoustic guitars and trying to make effective/interesting music. You keep things fresh and interesting throughout all of your newest album. How much of a role does genre play when you are writing songs? How much do you let the songs lead the way or the type of song you’re trying to write lead the way? When do you know it’s time to change things up/try out something new?
I try to write different kinds of songs all the time and they always seem to fail in expressing the things that I want them to, while the songs that fit into the folk idiom are the only ones I ever feel are successful. I’m not sure why that is. I think that it is always time to try something new. I get most excited about performances and recordings when there is some new element introduced.
MP: Where have you been on tour that you would like to visit again? Where have you not been that you’d still like to visit?
V/M: I always like to go back to the Tower 2012 in Cleveland. I had a really good show in Minneapolis when I was touring with Parachutes, and they fed us a good healthy meal, which is hard to come by on the road. I’ve always wanted to tour in Mexico.
MP: What are the differences you face when playing a show in RI vs. a show on the road? Do you prefer a home atmosphere or a changing one?
V/M: Playing in a new town always makes songs feel fresh and exciting because, when you are at this level of obscurity, you can usually assume that most people at the show are seeing you for the first time. Things that might feel stale at home are given new life every night when you’re traveling. At home, though, there is a sort of a give and receive that I really haven’t experienced in any other towns, where I feel as if I am sharing the event with everyone present, rather than being the event myself.
MP: What’s the easiest way to buy your music?
V/M: The easiest way to buy my music is to come see a show or to contact me directly. I stay away from paypal and things like that though, so it’s rather delightfully inconvenient for everyone involved.
The End - minorprogression.com

It’s a very rare occurrence to stumble upon an artist whom you find to be both refreshing yet somehow like an old friend, in the stories they share and the emotions they stir up. Watching Rhode Island’s Brendan Glasson play under the moniker Vio/Miré on Wednesday night; supporting David Thomas Broughton; was just one of those occasions. Having never heard of him before I was astounded by the intensity and sincerity of his performance that had something of the tender and exposed emotional air of Conor Oberst about it.

Over the weekend he supported Vadoinmessico at Carnivale’s Mind the Gap launch night. The new night at the Aldgate venue aims to ”provide opportunities for young people and professionals by way of creative mentoring” while improving the prospects and opportunities of the young East London community, allowing and encouraging them to get involved with live music events. I was lucky enough to catch up with Brendan before his second UK performance for a bit more of a chat:

“I played in a band with my best friend the day I got my guitar…I had no idea what I was doing” Glasson jokes of his musical beginnings, “and then I started writing the Vio/Miré songs five years ago”, with the first album and collection of songs from that project being recorded in late 2005. The project has been growing in various guises since its birth and with a collection of recordings so lyrically impressive his live performances work with both the fuller instrumentation of their recordings, and just as successfully solo with a nylon string, or electric guitar.

Vio/Miré’s work is a moving picture postcard of striking landscapes matched with a style of storytelling evoking an ambivalent loneliness and hope, recordings of lo-fi bedroom folk stitched together with segments of ambient sound art. Bedroom folk I guess is as good a description as any: Glasson’s recording process is just that, “it’s weird to even call them albums because I just record them at home in my bedroom”. For January 2009, his latest, he recorded it at friend Alex Sommer’s home in Reykjavik after the pair toured with Icelandic band Parachutes. “Alex [of Parachutes] offered to let me record it at his home studio. He also has lots of super instruments, [pump organ, piano], and the guys from Parachutes play nice instruments so it was really good to work with them on a different project”.

For a performer whose lyrics and their halted delivery kept listeners at Broughton’s show, and again at Carnivale, hanging on every word it is interesting to note that for Glasson lyrics come later, though by no means secondary to the melody: “Only very recently have I started writing the lyrics first, I always do it the other way round. The songs for the record that I’m working on now I’ve been writing the lyrics first, maybe because I’m travelling without a guitar”. Lyrics are about “a kind of extension of reality” he tells me, and the liberties an artist can take in finding inspiration in a multitude of sources: the personal, imagined and renewed, and it seems Vio/Miré isn’t short of such material. His lyrics are deftly constructed windows into a world of personal stories, “beyond possible” stories, and stories in which he hopes to “illustrate an emotional or intellectual thought”.

In addition he borrows a lot, as the best artists do, recycling ideas of his own and those of the literary greats, where he finds prose containing “so many gems it would be a shame not to want to employ them, putting their [observations] into a new context”. From the almost fairytale like “Everywhere You Had Been” to the similarly titled ”A Place Where You Had Been” the lyrics flit between worlds entirely imagined; where ghosts talk to our singer from beneath a frozen lake, back to the real world and the universal and lonely desperation in awaiting a phone call “expectantly, life depleting continually, but gaining substance quite equally”.

With this artist it feels there is little chance of him becoming pigeon-holed by genre: “I can imagine making a record that was entirely soundscape and being really happy with it, and at the same time being happy with an album of ten folk songs.” Likewise with an ever-changing line-up of musicians contributing live and on record they too allow for a constantly developing sound. Speaking on January 2009: “I try to use the resources I have available at the time. If I know someone who plays trombone I think ‘there’s got to be some chance to use the trombone!’”.

The collection of songs he is currently penning he is hoping to record at a “friend’s parents house in Cape Cod. It’s 150 years old which is quite old for the US“. Glasson has found travelling elsewhere in order to record to be a more productive approach as ”there aren’t the social distractions there are at home…it’s nice to spend the time solely on making a record“. If the self-released February 2006, written and recorded in Bolivia, and January 2009, are anything to go by he’s got a good thing going with this little recording tradition.

In this internet age where music downloads have become the new word of mouth, assisting in our access to the obscure and unheard-of it is somewhat astonishing that Vio/Miré has been tucked away so tightly. While the recordings are generally made into around only 100 or so copies “so [Brendan] can give them to [his] friends“ downloads here prove that they are of no hindrance, instead aiding accessibility to music long after the extinction of their physical form. “Sometimes I think it’d be nice to be on a real record label that could make lots of copies…but I noticed a couple of years ago someone had uploaded one of my discs on a torrent site, that made me really happy because there were only 125 copies of that album, I never made any more.”

There is something altogether humbling about Vio/Miré’s passionate production of music, how he prefers “working on a much smaller scale, playing in a living room” to a small crowd, and heading back home to Providence in between tours to “find some odd job [he] can do for a short amount of time to make enough money to go on tour again.” He suggested house painting when he heads home, the kind of job he usually does with friends, in the sun, listening to music. - Folk Radio UK