Alvvays and Forever: Molly Rankin interviewed

Some years you barely notice the onset of winter. The drab, grey wetness of a disappointing summer merely continues its slow fade into lower temperatures and greyer skies. Suddenly, before you even have a chance to register the change, Big Coat Weather strikes. You find The Skinny silently bemoaning these altered conditions as our shivering fingers dial Alvvays singer Molly Rankin’s number, only to find that the Canadian noisepoppers seem to be experiencing the changing seasons rather differently. “We’re in Los Angeles,” Rankin explains from the band’s tour van, “and it’s very warm – like tropical weather!” Bemused, we remark that such end-of-year calescence represents something of an alien concept on this side of the pond. “I know, I feel the same way. We were in Atlanta two weeks ago and I was wearing my coat on stage. And we get a lot more snow in Toronto [the band’s adopted city] than you guys, I imagine – it’s a hard winter.”

Still, it’s entirely appropriate that Molly’s band should be where the rays are. When their self-titled debut dropped in July, it seemed tailor-made to the summer months; all fuzzed-out melody and delirious pop haze. The musical equivalent of a beautifully sun-blurred horizon, in fact. Around that time, the majestic choruses of Archie, Marry Me started to make waves across both press and blogosphere alike, and the band swiftly became one of the summer’s fondest names to drop. By the time of their Autumn tour supporting Brooklyn janglists Real Estate, they’d amassed quite an adoring fanbase, which the 26-year-old admits was something of a surprise.

“Everything in the UK has been really good for us, for whatever reason. Maybe it’s our 'literary pop', or something? But it’s been really cool. A lot of the time when you’re the opening band, you’re sort of along for the ride – people are just discovering you. But on our UK tour, people knew who we were. That’s a nice feeling – that you’re not just deadweight.”

“The more travelling we do, the more exciting this all becomes for us" – Molly Rankin

And how has the band adapted to the routine of life on the road? “We’re usually just running around with all of our gear, hopping on trains and stuff, but it’s pretty fun. We’re able to appreciate that we’re young and travelling, and we should enjoy it rather than get stressed out about it.”

Indeed, so enamoured do the band seem to be of the touring lifestyle that they manage to squeeze some more leisurely pursuits into their schedule. “We had a really nice time in Ireland: we had a day where we could rent a car and go up the coast. Barcelona too – that was like a little vacation. We got a little apartment and the boys got bikes, and we went to the beach… pretty spoiled. Such a nice place.”

This doesn’t quite sound like the spirit-sapping experience of indie rock as we knew it – certainly, it’s somewhat removed from the exhausted tour psychosis that so comprehensively divided, say, Dinosaur Jr. But then this isn’t the 80s and Alvvays aren’t trudging around the punk circuit, trying to bend hardcore kids’ ears to more melodic sounds. When comparisons do crop up, they usually refer to the fragile grace of indiepoppers like Camera Obscura, rendering Rankin puzzled but flattered. “I think that we’re into a little bit more scrappy stuff,” she muses. “Camera Obscura’s production is so pristine and epic and full, whereas everything with us is pretty sparse, and there’s a lot of tape hiss on everything. We’re a little bit skronkier, but I mean, it’s a really nice reference.”

If the two bands share anything at all, it’s the way they pit their natural melodic geniality against a lyrical tendency towards the melancholically droll, which Rankin admits is an automatic facet of her songwriting. “I’m pretty mopey, but a lot of the lyrics are meant to be taken light-heartedly; I was just striking a balance between funny and sad for the most part. But I don’t really write any autobiographical stuff. It’s all made-up trash," she chuckles.

So are there any songwriters that she aspires towards? “Stephin Merritt – I love 69 Love Songs and Holiday, and how ornate everything is. It’s just so overwhelming.” The Magnetic Fields’ curmudgeonly leader is similarly unmoved to write from an autobiographical standpoint, we remark, and Molly laughs again. “I know! But I wouldn’t say that’s rubbed off on me at all. I just like his perspective of the solitary character, at all times being very pathetic but able to see the beauty in things. He’s never victimised, which I really like; it’s never like ‘you’ve done me wrong,’ it’s more like ‘here I am, how did I get here?’”

Perceptive. Still, it’s only natural that someone so steeped in musical tradition should pay such close attention to the minutiae of her favourite songs – Rankin's father John Morris was part of Canada’s remarkably successful country siblings The Rankin Family before his tragic death in 2000, but she notably opted to avoid playing on the family name for her own ventures. Following a well-received but low-key solo EP in 2010, she eventually joined forces with guitarist Alec O’Hanley to write the material that would eventually make up Alvvays’ aforementioned full-length. Forming a band rather than continuing to go it alone suggests she favours a certain anonymity.

“The Canadian music scene is very small,” she says by way of explanation, “so people can draw a lot of conclusions before hearing what things actually are. It wasn’t like I wanted to escape; I felt really good about my own solo EP. I just thought [a band] might be fun to try.” Regardless, it’s helped her deflect the weight of expectation that comes with being part of a well-known musical bloodline. “It’s given me a bit of a blank slate, which I didn’t realise that I necessarily wanted, but now that it exists, I’m pretty excited about it. I’m dodging a lot of enquiries and connotations.”

With the addition of keyboardist Kerri MacLellan, bassist Brian Murphy and drummer Phil MacIsaac, the fledgling quintet moved to their current home town from the Maritime provinces of Nova Scotia and Prince Edward Island, collectively forging their sound along the way. Our questions about influences are met with understated declarations of love for Scotland’s revered indie giants of yore – particularly Orange Juice and Teenage Fanclub – but Molly seems reticent to discuss her own music in particularly great depth (“I don’t know how I could reasonably, objectively describe it”). This hesitancy contrasts neatly with an anecdote from the Real Estate tour, where she enthuses energetically about performing songs written by others: “We did a bunch of karaoke one night… I think I did a Carly Rae Jepsen song. Karaoke is such a mortifying experience, but once you leave all your insecurities behind, it’s probably the most fun thing you could ever do.”

It would appear that fun remains the band’s overall aim, rather than the nebulous clichés of world domination or artistic enlightenment: “The more travelling we do, the more exciting this all becomes for us. If we can just continue to do that, I think we’ll be totally happy.” So there you have it. A band of modest ambition, but a remarkable knack for irresistible pop. They’ll radiate all the warmth we need this winter.