ORA COGAN - Photo by Journey Mayreoff

Rather than shy away from the unconscionable, Ora Cogan embraced her vulnerabilities by peering deep into the recesses of her heart and soul. By doing so she wrestled with her inner turmoil, corralled it into a place of understanding, and fashioned it into her seventh studio album, Formless, which were it not for a global shutdown, may simply never have come into being.

Growing up amongst the native islands of Canada’s Pacific Coast with its rugged landscapes, rain-soaked soils, and isolated communities, provided more than just a backdrop to Ora Cogan’s youth and formative years. Nurtured by its mystical and wild surroundings, the area leeched an indelible imprint into Cogan’s soul. Immersed within the environment, it imbued a natural interconnectedness into her DNA. The beautiful location served as a beacon, a lure whose shining light drew many creatives, and different walks of life to its rocky shores. Its elemental forces impacted upon Cogan and added to the creative influences she was exposed to. Raised by a photojournalist and a musician on the islands, her childhood home played host to a steady stream of artists as the abode doubled as a professional recording studio. Absorbing a myriad of influences growing up, ranging from Ladino and Rumbetico to American country blues and outsider art, it all culminated in providing Cogan with a kaleidoscope of sound that contributed to the forging of her own sound and artistry.

Her brand is unique, and having the opportunity to discover just how she conjures up her craft is an exploratory prospect greeted with wondrous fascination. Elaborating on how the external influences of island life shaped the material she went on to produce, Cogan wryly explains. “I grew up in a moody place with fog and rain and seals. That’s all pretty goth. The sea is goth. The trees are goth. So I’m really just doing what I was told. Staring back at the seals. Staring into the void. I really should have just been in a doom metal band but life isn’t always fair. Sometimes the answer isn’t what you want. It’s psychedelic folk.” A genre that Cogan has been championing for some time now and one that she has triumphantly mastered.

Pairing sentiments with sound is the blessing and curse every artist goes through when trying to articulate the intangible and ephemeral. Attempting to harness illusive constructs, capture them, and convert them into a solid sonic state is no easy feat. So, understanding Cogan’s approach, particularly her approach when in the phase of musical construction, is enlightening. Enquiring as to whether there are certain instruments, fx, or signature pieces she employs to meld the two worlds together, Cogan offers some deep insights into her methodology that have been road-tested from a very early age. “I started writing soundtracks to life in my head when I was a kid. I’m a pretty sensitive human so usually the problem is feeling too much and needing to let it out somehow. Sound is a good way. When I’m in construction mode I’m listening to the landscapes inside. There are infinite possibilities, infinite structure, and skill and technique to explore, and exploration and curiosity are the sparks but there’s usually something that pulls you in a particular direction if you let it.” Going on to explain further, Cogan outlines the way she tackles the processes of writing and laying down sound. “Starting off with a repeating pattern or learning a new scale or trying out a new approach to writing and then adding or taking away elements of the pattern, augmenting or pushing things subtly in different ways. I’ll study different styles or techniques but when it’s time to write I try to leave the critic at the door and follow my intuition. The good energy and style of this record also has something to do with my amazing collaborators and community. There were songs that started as jams with bandmates, the album name (Formless) was made up by friend and local poet, Maggie Stevens. The music videos took on a life of their own with everyone in town getting involved. It takes a village.” This is a reminder that island life creates a localised, self-sufficient, and collective resourcefulness that doesn’t always occur in densely populated and individually disconnected cities.

There was a lot of internal processing on Formless, which is to say, a great deal of consideration went into each track courtesy of having an exceptional and unprecedented amount of time on her hands as a result of Covid 19 and the global pandemic. Due to the events surrounding the worldwide shutdown and being plunged into a desolate space that no one had ever really experienced before, a ponderous time ensued for Cogan. An unimaginable time in which personal issues, self-reflection, and contemplative thoughts were considered on levels that had previously never been encountered. Subsequently, for Cogan, it dug up an array of emotions that needed to be sifted through and reconciled as she explains. “There was so much unearthing. It was like funhouse mirrors of the heart. Lots of long emotionally complex dog walks. As someone said to me once; When you are alone, the world opens up to you. The world opened up and then everything hurt and felt wrong for a while. I went towards the pain, reflecting on things I'd rather squirm away from, but it all ended up in a pretty cute and loving place. It's amazing that this album exists at all because I was a complete mess while writing it. I still feel the mental fog trying to describe it to you now.” Something that the listening public can be truly fortunate for. Showing that there are many examples of positive outcomes and a consequential silver lining that occurred due to the pandemic. As Cogan mentions, her inner world opened up as the outer world was closed itself off, and the introversion that resulted from long bouts of lockdown and questioning life’s meaning and one’s place within it had the unexpected capacity to throw a bright light into some very dark corners.

Delving a little deeper still, Cogan shares some of the topics she was attempting to address and the concepts explored throughout the record. “The topics are, like everything about this record are all mess, all bits of refracted light spinning into each other. I was writing about what I was reckoning with. A real deal fractured relationship with all sorts of things in life, about failure to love or communicate well. I was feeling like a marionette or like a paper version of myself trying to find a sense of humor about the fails. I was writing about the cult of personality. How we can fall into these silos of confirmation bias, fall into loops. I was thinking of how I've done this. How easy it is to just parrot information, deferring to big personalities on screen who are self-appointed arbiters of truth or relevance. Watching how divisiveness and ignorance are cultivated when people stop thinking for themselves. I also wrote about personal stuff. Grief and heartbreak but also going down memory lane. About being a straggly teen, skulking around in parks, and sleeping in the woods with a boot knife under my pillow. Writing about trying to find the light in harrowing times.” An extensive and broad scope of experiences from wide-ranging periods in life as only uninhibited free thought and soul searching can afford. It is the substance that makes for great listening for fans, but also provides a cathartic release for an artist considering the outpouring of emotion that goes into creating such bodies of work.

Apt then, that the recording industry saying ‘misery sticks to tape’ can be applied to what Cogan experienced and ultimately captured on wax. “Misery is pretty sticky. As is joy. I was miserable and trying to find joy.” A balance that can be hard to strike and harder still to enshrine sonically, yet that is exactly what Cogan and co-producer David Parry did when recording the album at Vancouver Island’s Risque Disque studio as she recalls. “When we were working together in the studio it was not too overthought. I think David and I often share an appreciation of breathability in music. I always want to do as much as possible to try to understand and be true to the ethos of a song. David writes brilliant lines and has a wildly good ear. He’s got his own magic he brings to the table.” Complementary in more ways than one, Cogan’s appreciation of Parry’s deft touch extended far beyond the studio setting as she details when thinking about some of the challenges she experienced at the time of recording Formless, as well as some of the pleasant surprises she encountered throughout the process. “I couldn’t see what I was doing. I’d write and feel like what was coming out was deranged and clear at the same time. There were a couple songs where we recorded all the music before I had lyrics. That felt vulnerable and embarrassing. I just knew it was going to work out. I had an intuition that the spirit was strong, but the mind was foggy. It would catch up and everything would be ok. A hard thing was just how vulnerable I felt. I recorded the vocals a gazillion times. Everyone I was working with were pretty kind and encouraging considering how untethered and exploratory the construction was bless them.”

With such an eclectic array of sounds, instrumentation, and exquisite musicianship on Formless, the record is an embarrassment of riches. From the intricate layering and Balinese sounds on ‘Holy Hells’, post-punk ‘Feel Life’, the alt-country of Cowgirl, through to the disintegrating horns on ‘Ways Of Losing’, and tender guitar on ‘Is Anything Wrong’, the album is on the verge of bursting at the seams with its high degree of sonic variation and the number of staggeringly talented contributors. Understanding how much of what went into these tracks were fixed and known commodities before recording, and how much of what went into the nine tracks was a fluid and organic evolution that unfolded in the studio, is as Cogan says, part instinct and part collaborative. “I think the spirit was there and the influences were there, and I know what feels right. That there were certain feelings I really wanted to capture but how it came together had everything to do with intuition and chemistry. I had the balls to reach out to some artists I deeply admire, and they all said yes. All the musicians involved rip pretty hard. Liam Gibson, who did keys on the album, is on his way to a doctorate in music in Montreal. David Proctor has done some wildly incredible work as a guitarist with Crack Cloud and Finn Smith who played drums is a youngin’ who just graduated from jazz school and is fairly new on the scene so omg keep an eye out for that guy cause he’s pure brilliance. We had some wildly amazing guests involved too. Y La Bamba is maybe one of the greatest singers alive. Cormac from Lankum is a beast and also just an incredibly kind human. I’ve admired JP Carter (trumpet) for years. Russell Kotcher plays in the chamber orchestra of New York. I met him when he played on my album, Crickets and of course Tom Deis jumped in and did all sorts of great work on this album. He co-produced Crickets with me. I think he's a genius.” And with such a depth of talent at her disposal it is no small wonder that the record took on the shape it did. Despite the album sharing the characteristic style and signature sound fans have become accustomed to, there are perceptible differences that distinguish Formless from that of her previous works. As Cogan honestly surmises when considering the album as a conduit between her past work and that of the new. “I’ve always been pulled in a few different directions at the same time with sound. My roommate would get home from work and listen to JJ Cale. I was listening to a lot of The Cramps, Marika Papagika and Edith Piaf. It was the perfect storm of influences I suppose cause I used to write depressing songs but now I write depressing songs you can dance to.” With tongue firmly in cheek, it is evident how the influence of those Cogan surrounds herself with ultimately bring out the best in her. Especially so when thinking about words of wisdom and personal interactions she has catalogued over the years and how each has altered the way she approaches her craft. “I think more than specific words of wisdom, what comes to mind is those kinds of relationships themselves, with other artists, where you’re in years-long, rich conversation about why you do things, how you do things, and what the possibilities are. Talking about art can be really annoying and silly, it can also be incredible. I think about my friend Briony Penn. She’s a naturalist, artist, author. She's been a close friend for many years, and she has a brilliant mind. I always walk away learning something new or thinking about things in a more interesting way.” It is only fitting then to ask Cogan what exactly Formless says about her life right now and where she sees it carrying her into the future.

And as it turns out, it is a place that has an origin and now has come full circle as Cogan humbly declares when deciphering where she has been and where she is going. “Where every existential crisis has left me; really grateful to be here and really attune to how important community and connection to the natural world is. I know it’s a hard time for a lot of people and I genuinely hope this music is good in some way for anyone listening to it. Writing music and playing live music is getting more and more interesting.”

Last of all, it is something on a philosophical note, that is perhaps the most profound and eloquently simple statement from Cogan regarding what music gives her that nothing else does. “Music is a ritual in which you can transform pain. Music is the best form of communication I’ve found. Music gets all these humans in a room together who might otherwise be alienated from each other. I think we need that. I know I do.” A wonderfully specific but widely relatable statement that unites Cogan to the wider world and the wider world to her. Signifying how a lifetime of music, growing up in a small community, and the confluence of the two, provide purpose, expressionism, and connectedness.