Bruno Major’s long-anticipated second album To Let A Good Thing Die was finally released this past June and has become one of my favourites of the year so far. The album’s 10 tracks weave together as if crafting a tapestry, each one contributing its part of Major’s story.
“It’s a musical description of my thoughts and feelings,” he says. “It’s nothing more or less than that. It’s not been made to go on a radio station; it’s not been made to please anyone, or do anything other than be what it was always meant to be, which is an honest reflection of who I am at this period in time. If you like the album, you’d probably like me, and if you don’t like the album, you probably won’t like me.” Well, chances are you will like the album, and you will like Bruno Major.
Known largely as a soul singer, his musical home is in jazz –- a regular at the local back alley jazz joints of London. It’s these roots in intimate music experiences that explain why his objective as an artist has never been to fill stadiums of crowds: “I don’t think there’s one area or industry that is less appreciated than jazz," he once explained. "A lot of my musical heroes, I’ve been to see play at jazz clubs with thirty people in them – and these are the guys who I worship the ground they walk on… As far as I’m concerned, the fact that anyone listens to my music is far above and beyond what I hoped and dreamed for.” He’s the kind of artist who’s never prioritized fame or success over staying true to himself and his art: “I think the lesson to learn is that you shouldn’t ever aspire to anything on a commercial level, because if you do, then you’re creating art for a commercial reason, and it is essentially not art anymore.”
His drive to create music independently of commercial pressure came early on in his career when he was dropped by his L.A. record label without ever releasing an album, which forced him to return to his U.K. home and decide a new path. With little confidence and little money, he opted for a job at a local theater company writing music scores for Shakespeare plays.
Now with hindsight, he can see how that experience got him back on his feet: “I think being surrounded by the greatest words that have ever been written, arguably, really influenced me and unlocked me in some weird way.” His theater company role also ended up defining a core element of his songwriting: a priority on lyrics. “The words are the most important thing to me: they’re all just poems, and I decorate them with music.”
He independently released his debut record A Song For Every Moon in 2017 --- the compilation of a year-long project during which he dedicated himself to writing a new song every month. The album gained worldwide momentum largely through word of mouth, and Major’s career took off.
Three years later he’s stayed true to his artistic independence, releasing To Let A Good Thing Die without the help of a label. Thinking back at the pivotal points of his career so far, he says with certainty: “I can’t imagine that I would be able to do any of the stuff that I’m doing if I was on a label. Freedom is essential, and I’m really grateful for it.”
To Let A Good Thing Die comes across as a perfect sequel to his debut. Rather than being held back by these times of lockdown, the album is perfectly suited for them – made to be listened to at home, cozy and relaxed with a cup of tea in hand.
Both personal and universal, the songs are filled with stories of love, heartache, youth and other existential daydreams. At times, Major dives into the emotional messiness; at others, he changes perspective to look at the grand scheme of it all.
His opener Old Soul kicks us off in the nitty gritty of a post-breakup wallow, with the singer slowly trying to get through the days.
Regent’s Park tells the same story but from a more detached point-of-view, reminiscing on the final impact of the relationship. To contrast the song’s heavy theme, the composition is light and playful with an interesting back story of its own: the piano score comes from the opening scene of 101 Dalmatians, in which Roger plays piano in the background while smoking his pipe. Major loved it as an instrumental piece, so he went with it and composed a lyric for the melody, eventually splitting the publishing rights with Disney. As I listen to this song I can imagine him strolling through Regent’s Park on a rainy afternoon, reflecting on his memories with a lighthearted sigh – “Nobody told me how expensive you would be / I lost more than money, dear, you knocked the swagger out of me."
For a good part of the album, Major leaves the heartache and revels instead in the giddier side of love and romance. My favourite example is The Most Beautiful Thing, which has a timelessly sweet sound. Co-written by Finneas O’Connell (brother of Billie Eilish), the song dreamily contemplates the notion of ‘soulmates’, even though it’s not one Major ascribes to: “I think there’s something more beautiful about two people meeting through circumstance and compatibility, who then work at their relationship and form a bond based on mutual experiences over time. I think that’s more beautiful than some kind of cupid arrow being sent from the heavens.” Nonetheless, the soulmate idea makes for a beautiful tune.
There are a few other such love-letters on the album, including Nothing (the simplest song of the bunch) and She Chose Me, his stripped-back cover of Randy Newman’s original. Most suited for a late night record player is Old Fashioned, his tender tribute to chivalry being alive and well.
Adopting a more existential frame-of-mind is I’ll Sleep When I’m Older, a poem about “the beauty of the fleeting nature of life.” He sings about being a young person filled with dreams and hungry for experiences, “trying to get as much shit done as possible while also being horribly aware of his own mortality and the ticking clock" (was how he once put it). There are so many memorable lyrics – among my favourites: “See the cosmos unfolding and know I’m a part” / “Should it come back to haunt me, it ends all the same.” As Major’s croon celestially floats off into the chorus I always get the feeling of looking up at the stars. (Maybe a bit too dramatic?)
This continuous shift in perspective, from being absorbed in a personal experience to reflecting on life’s overarching tapestry, keeps the album’s energy moving, and his closing title track seems to be a perfect bridge between the two. He captures all of the raw emotion that comes with letting go of a loved one, but with a final wave of peace and acceptance (“You can’t summon love up in your heart if it isn’t there at all”). It's a perfect sending-off with a genuine sense of closure.
Major has said that the closing song also marks the conclusion of the creative arc that he’s been on since his debut. He’s ready to turn the page on this chapter of his artistic life: “It’s like one big breath, and it’s now ended.” Though his next project remains unplanned, he knows it will be a new beginning: “I’m going to need to go somewhere very different. I feel like it’s necessary.”
In the meantime, To Let A Good Thing Die makes for perfect lockdown company these days, especially as the weather gets colder. Brew some tea, cozy up, and happy listening!
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