PHOTOGRAPHY Saskia Kovandzich
Breathe in, breathe out. It’s finally time to relax for British songstress Marika Hackman after releasing her latest album Big Sigh this past January. After a pandemic, an acute case of writer’s block, and a lot of introspective research, its title sure seems more than fitting, encapsulating the sense of tired relief felt after untangling an intricate web of anxiety, lust, and vulnerability.
“There is definitely hope in there too, or acceptance, which I think is partly hope, weirdly,” says Marika, who skillfully managed to breathe life into the harshest emotions by portraying them through complex melodies, bleak lyrics and visceral metaphors.
In Big Sigh, she confronts these feelings head-on, offering a poignant reflection on the journey towards self-acceptance and romantic fulfilment. “Now, finally at the age of 32, I feel like I’ve done all my learning now, and it’s actually fine,” the songstress shares, embracing a newfound sense of peace and understanding.
As she embarks on this new chapter of her musical career, Marika finds herself embracing a sense of creative confidence she never knew she possessed. Playing every instrument on the album save for the brass and strings, she exercised the production skills she acquired throughout years of working with other producers and collaborators.
To celebrate the release and her creative and personal evolution, Marika has bought a rare 124-year-old nylon string guitar, which she assures me will be the background of her next record.
Keeping it raw
Unlike her previous album Any Human Friends, in which she inhabits the role of a newly single queer person, celebrating that status in a fun, sexy and excited mode, Big Sigh reaches a new level of introspection, emotional rawness, and vulnerability for Marika.
As she searched for her usual inspiration through books and external stimulation, she quickly realised that this project deserved a piercing look inward and the strenuous pursuit of proper honesty. “I think previously, I’ve almost hidden behind characters, or intellectualised emotions, or wrote in a certain style to be unpredictable,” she explains. “With this one, it was so much about getting the songs written that I think it became the first super bare and raw album.”
This sense of primitive emotional honesty is clearly palpable in “No Caffeine”, which the artist proclaims as “The Anxiety Anthem.” Throughout the track, she repeats a list of panic attack remedies and flawlessly captures that spiralling feeling through a relentless, horror movie-like piano motif. “It’s taking the piss out of the heaviness of having anxiety every fucking day, which is so draining, so tiring, and shits all over life,” she continues. “It’s me taking back a little bit of control, making a bit of a joke out of it.”
The collision of childhood and adulthood
After turning 30, settling down with a partner and a pup, and living through an overall “less chaotic” time in her life, Marika’s perception of herself and her experiences has evolved. “Maybe it feels less like a journey,” she reflects. “I think that’s a really interesting thing to start realising about yourself, because half the time – 90% of the time, actually – I still feel like a teenager.”
The record is built off of the juxtaposition of opposing themes and the discomfort of the space in between them, like the expanse between childhood and adulthood, young naivety and mature awareness. In ‘Hanging’, organic sentiments and gentle pastoral lyrics convey a sense of ingenuousness, tinted with sadness, yet also exude a feeling of freedom.
“I wanted to capture that sonically by using organic instruments and beautiful string parts for that side of the record,” Marika explains. Crushing industrial sounds, booming synths, and a vast sense of sound dynamics transitioning from quiet intimacy to expansive landscapes are the epitome of the thematic duality of Big Sigh. “That to me is really encapsulating how different those two worlds are, and how uncomfortable that middle ground is, and not a very nice place to be suspended in,” she notes.
I think previously, I’ve almost hidden behind characters, or intellectualised emotions, or wrote in a certain style to be unpredictable. With this [album], it was so much about getting the songs written that I think it became the first super bare and raw album.
The end of yearning
Marika is more than familiar with the eases and the strains that mark queer relationships and their dissolution, and is convinced that given their distinctive feelings of intense longing and attachment, they require a lot more effort than conventional, heterosexual relationships. “I think it’s an amazing thing, but sometimes maybe, it’s time to just let go,” she points out. “Trying to work that out while it’s all very painful is also kind of masochistic.”
Having hidden her sexual preferences until she was 19, Marika ponders on the quintessentially queer experience of yearning, which is a common way for gay people to experience their first romantic interests while their identities are repressed. “I felt like everyone else around me was having their formative romantic experiences while I was hiding myself and having crushes on people secretly,” she recounts. “Then when you get into actual relationships, there’s a much higher sense of terror because you’re not used to it. We haven’t learned how to have it in reality, only in secret.”
Nevertheless, with the reckoning brought by this album, a newfound sense of adulthood, and the safety of a healthy relationship, Marika feels as if she’s done enough yearning and learning, although she’s still wondering about certain aspects of that journey.
As a result, the way she reflects on love and sex in Big Sigh is thoughtful and profound. In ‘Slime’, she echoes the tumultuous whirlwind of embarking on a new relationship, and evoking the initial sparks of passion and closeness, with heat and desire existing amidst the looming presence of social dynamics and potential fallout.
Detonated desolation
In a moment of revelation, Marika discovered the perfect visual metaphor for her album amidst artist Brian McHenry’s pencil drawings on Instagram. She realised that the raw vulnerability inherent in pencil sketches mirrored the essence of her music – easily erasable yet profoundly expressive, akin to a draft before its final form.
Opting for simplicity, she chose landscapes of trolleys and mountains to encapsulate a sense of vastness and desolation, finding beauty in the clash of industrial elements with the raw expanse of nature. “I like when you take something that’s perceived as being quite ugly, and industrial, but you put it into this landscape, and there’s actually something very vulnerable and lonely about it. It’s not refined, but it’s perfect,” This synthesis of seemingly disparate elements resonated deeply with her vision for the album, reflecting its emotive depth and unadorned authenticity.
I felt like everyone else around me was having their formative romantic experiences while I was hiding myself and having crushes on people secretly.
Newfound creative confidence
Now aware of her impressive reservoir of music production skills, Marika continues her journey into self-discovery and acceptance tapping into a newfound sense of creative confidence and faith in her technical abilities. “I suddenly realised I’d actually been doing a lot of this this whole time and I’ve just seen it as being creative,” she satisfiedly tells me.
The songstress saw herself as a sponge in the first two thirds of her career, perfecting her artistic skills, and absorbing technical knowledge from collaborator Charlie Andrew and partner Polly, who performs as Art School Girlfriend. “Going in, I had the confidence to put in a lot of that legwork before we even got to the studio, but also there was a confidence coming out of the studio to turn around and recognise that I actually did a lot more of this than I thought I was going to.”
Pushing a boundary for herself, the instrumental opening track ‘The Ground’ is what she’s most proud of: “Mainly for allowing it to be what it is and having the trust in that and not trying to turn it into something it’s not. Doing instrumentals, playing with string arrangements and productions, I can’t hide behind my voice or my lyrics.”
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