Sam Grassie, Spitzer Space Telescope, Myer U Clark (Broadside Hacks Recordings Showcase)

Sam Grassie, Spitzer Space Telescope, Myer U Clark A musical collective, independent live promoter and record label, Broadside Hacks have won widespread critical acclaim for bringing the folk tradition to new generations of audiences. In hindsight, it was always obvious that Sam Grassie would emerge as a trailblazer in the new British folk scene. Though cemented with the release of his dazzling and dark debut album Where Two Hawks Fly, that status has been long in the making. As a toddler, Grassie recalls, he’d sneak out of bed to eavesdrop on the family’s living room sessions. Once able to help carry gear he’d accompany his father’s ceilidh band on weekends. At eight years old he asked for a drumkit, but was given a guitar instead. His love of traditional music “started as far back as I can remember,” he says. “Some friends from St Roch’s Comhaltas would hide their instruments from school friends, but I’d never really shy away from it”. It didn’t take long for Spitzer Space Telescope to establish himself as the pacesetter in London’s erupting folk scene. From the intimate fervour of late-night sessions, to leaving audiences of thousands breathless in his wake at high-profile shows across the capital and beyond, his rise has been extraordinarily rapid. And yet – it also feels inevitable. Having spent the last decade travelling across America and Europe, instigating collectives, delving deep into traditions but unafraid to shake them up, he arrived in England last year armed with the charisma, the intensity, the experience, the power, the presence – and the straight-up songwriting chops – to push things to the next level. Then, he went on to do exactly that. “I feel at home when I hear disorientation in a song. It feels natural. Even a bit moving,” says Myer U Clark. It’ll come as no surprise to those who’ve had the joy of hearing the Bristol singer-songwriter’s new album Tinder Box. It’s a record of elegant and sophisticated off-kilter folk pop that constantly undercuts itself, nimble guitar leading the listener down melodic paths that appear inviting, but soon start winding their way in curious unexpected directions as it takes them deeper, buffeted by banjo, viola, cabasas, oboe, double bass and harmonium. It’s the kind of strange music Clark’s loved since encountering John Williams’ E.T. soundtrack as a child. “The chords are crazy,” he says. “I was obsessed with the big changes you never would have expected. I think I’m trying to do that too.”