Canadian-born songwriter and guitarist Jamie Hilsden may use the moniker of Large for releasing music, but his music isn’t the kind that is similarly gargantuan. It’s contained, friendly, approachable; it’s not music for stadiums, but rather a soundtrack to a sunny drive or a bleary weekend afternoon. With his band, Hilsden evokes Belle & Sebastian, the Beach Boys, Father John Misty, and a mass of mid-2000s indie bands. Guitar chime with riffs that feel like they’ve been waiting for you to find them at your own pace while Hilsden’s voice sits in that perfect middle ground, an affable tone that dishes out gentle life advice next to quietly wry takedowns of the surrounding hurried world.
Large’s debut album, Marine Life, is a record that’s as easygoing as it is an SEO lost cause. As a first outing it’s remarkably assured, moving between bristling guitar workouts and softer excursions with a congenial ease. It’s not surprising for a seasoned musician like Hilsden: he has years of touring under his belt, both as the frontman of Man Alive and as a guitarist with Useless I.D.. The way he works with his band on Marine Life is that of someone comfortable taking the spotlight, throwing it to others, and making sure it shines on everyone playing. Instrumental workout “Manta Ray” is just as much about the surf rock-leaning guitar riffs as it is the nimble and infectious drumming, while on the spirited “Caterpillar” they all lock in for a garage band rock out.
Marine Life’s best moments come when Hilsden offers up hooks and reserved wisdom in unexpected places. “One Day Son” seems to take inspiration from a scene in The Lion King before listing off a series of scents and flavours in a manner not entirely removed from Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start The Fire”. “Falling in the Woods” uses the age-old philosophical question alluded to in the title and muses over living the moment. “I sing a lot better when I’m not recording / And I smile a lot bigger when the camera’s off,” Hilsden observes. “It’s a short, short life in a weird, weird world,” he offers, finding depth without the risk of overwhelming anyone.
Hilsden is very much the quiet man letting the world rush by and not trying to catch up. On the sunset-soaked opener “Standards and Practices” he takes the backseat as others bicker and get nowhere (“It starts as a tease / Ends up as a no / Counts as a draw”), while on “Worth Repeating” he speaks to carving out your own path in life (“Nothing’s worth repeating more than once”). There’s still recognition and acknowledgement that life can throw curveballs (the mellow bummer anthem “Bumpy Ride”) and that it speeds by in a flash (“Caterpillar”), but Hilsden is never downtrodden. There’s a perkiness he captures, an everyday zeal for life as he finds joy in details and the moment.
Ultimately Marine Life is just a really pleasing album to take in. That may not seem like the deepest critical analysis one can offer, but honestly, it’s enough here. It’s a record that doesn’t demand too much, is quietly generous with its rewards for repeated listens, and is more than likely to leave you with a smile on your face or a little skip in your step. It shows that there’s value in the smaller gestures and not everything needs to be as big as your name. You could do well to follow the example: live large by living like Large.
