Introducing himself through a spillage of humming sing-song, all alone, McMorrow allows this eventual dramatization time; time to breathe, time for a moment’s pondering, as he dips his feet into the cold crystal of his particular turmoil. Built in the isolation of an Irish beach house, “If I Had A Boat” is a surfeit of coveting change and thirst.
“I’m pointed north, hoping for the shore.”
As with the most approachable of contemporary folk music, it nestles in the ear as if heard before, and is entirely simplistic in its foundation, yet drenched in allaying melodies, rising from its quiet box of seclusion to a far-reaching moment of aural splendor. “Burn slow, burning up the back wall … Weeds grow through the lilies and the vine.” [Purr-chass.]