Mumford & Sons – Rushmere

Folk Rock

66%

 

Rushmere, above all else, feels like a retreat to the safe and familiar. While those words can be taken to mean a lack of new ideas, a lazy re-treading of old ground, that’s not what I mean here. That’s not the vibe I get from this record. I mean it on a more primal, fundamental level. Familiar in the way some furry critter will nestle in its burrow to wait out a storm. In the way a bird will fly halfway across the world because some compulsion deep within urges it to return. The animal in us needs the respite of the familiar in order to heal and grow, and come back stronger.

It’s been a long seven years since the band’s last album – during which time they rightfully parted ways with former member Winston Marshall, and frontman Marcus Mumford released a deeply personal solo record which began the difficult task of unpacking childhood trauma. With all that baggage in tow, stripping things back to their foundations and rebuilding from the ground up seems the order of the day here, and the result is by far their most tender and subdued outing to date. A good half of the (admittedly brief) run time consists of soft folk arrangements that put a greater emphasis on the band’s harmonies. ‘Monochrome’ has a chill and dreamy atmosphere, while ‘Where It Belongs’ brings a lot of breakup ballad energy to the table. The light, lilting slowdance of ‘Blood on the Page’ sets itself apart thanks to Madison Cunningham’s backing vocals, while closing track ‘Carry On’ has a campfire chorus that feels like the perfect communal wind-down song to end a concert on. 

That’s not to say Rushmere isn’t without the odd upbeat number to add a touch of vim. The title track could have been plucked straight off of Babel or Sigh No More with its rollicking banjo-led chorus, the old school rock’n’roller ‘Caroline’ is a real free and easy highlight, and the bluesy southern rocker ‘Truth’ has a surprisingly infectious groove to it. Sat somewhere in the inbetween we find the album’s two slow burners – ‘Malibu’ and ‘Surrender’ – which start out as soft, unassuming folk numbers, but work their way towards a cathartic climax. The latter especially feels like it will take on new life in a live setting. 

Sadly the pacing of the record is a bit of a mess, with most of the upbeat numbers on the A side and much of the quiet tenderness on the B side. The result is that all of the momentum built up in the first half just fizzles out, leaving you with a slow, drawn out coast to the finish line. In another timeline I can totally see the band swapping out a couple of the upbeat numbers in favour of fully committing to this being a more subdued and expressive outing. Likewise just one or two more big crowd pleasing songs could have put Rushmere in contention with their first two records. As it stands though, the record feels like it’s too sat on the fence about what it wants to be. Even just a simple shift in sequencing, mixing the quiet and upbeat numbers more evenly, would truly have done wonders. 

I don’t see this new album being able to sway any detractors of the band into their corner. Nor do I think people in two mind about them have any reason to gravitate to this particular outing over much of their past work. This is an album for fans. In particular, it’s an album for them to curl up in a blanket with, like a furry critter in its burrow. It’s a comforting hug with someone after you’ve both had a long day. Rushmere aims to offer something warm and familiar on that fundamental level, and while I think Mumford & Sons could have explored that feeling a little deeper, there’s no denying that it’s there.