Phogg (Sweden) – “Mother’s Modern Son” (single)
- Andy
- 5 days ago
- 2 min read
It’s been far too long since we last wrote about Phogg, but they’ve returned this year with a series of singles, all typically unpredictable — the latest being “Mother’s Modern Son.” For a band we once described as a “curiosity box of warped psychedelia,” this new single feels like opening that same box in a dusty back room filled with lava lamps, melted candles, and at least one philosophical frog still pondering the meaning of fuzz pedals.
The song opens with a flowing, fluid piano line that immediately draws you in — graceful and reminiscent of many Nordic artists we’ve featured on these pages, but not normally associated with a psych rock band. But after a change of direction that hints at “normal” Phogg territory (whatever that might be), we’re offered something different: an elegant, stately chorus melody so understated you’ll only really notice it on the fourth or fifth listen — and then possibly become as utterly obsessed with it as I am. It’s complemented by a stunning solo trumpet that then lets the track build further in intensity as it closes.
The band tell us the song “came from nowhere,” though it’s clearly the kind of nowhere that requires both patience and a lot of late-night philosophising. The lyrical themes are deliberately ambiguous, perhaps circling loneliness, while the breathtaking trumpet contribution comes courtesy of Nicholas ‘One Take’ Barno - it should have taken at least 12, but he’d finished before the kettle had boiled.
I also can’t help thinking that whilst I’m often wrong about, erm… pretty much everything, I have a feeling this might sound particularly stunning live. Maybe in the way that Cardiacs, to name a random band, used to stun audiences with the staggeringly beautiful Stoneage Dinosaurs in the middle, or at the end, of a loud, intense set — albeit I appreciate that ‘Mother’s Modern Son’ is a very different track.
So this isn’t quite what I was expecting for sure, but I really love this song, and it’s very typically Phogg: inventive, emotional, and gloriously unpigeonholed. I’d love to see them play Manchester — a quiet Thursday in the Northern Quarter would be just fine, no fanfare, just a few dozen people leaving afterwards wondering what on earth just happened, in the best possible way. Maybe someone would swear they saw a small frog on the venue doorstep, staring into the Oldham Street drizzle and quietly wondering if fuzz pedals work better in the rain.