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Bahamas
Afie Jurvanen does not spend too much time in cities these days. For nearly two decades, Jurvanen was a fixture of the Toronto scene, both as a valued multi-instrumentalist and producer for friends like Feist, The Weather Station, and Kathleen Edwards and as the architect of one of his country’s most celebrated artists, Bahamas. Jurvanen came of age across Bahamas’ first six albums, the restlessness of jumpy early hits like Pink Strat and Barchords slowly shifting into the generous domesticity of 2023’s Bootcut. But Jurvanen has long been drawn to open spaces, to a quieter life. In 2009, the year of his aforementioned debut, he began visiting Nova Scotia, the Atlantic Ocean. Over the next decade, his trips became more consistent, then more frequent, and then longer, until, in 2019, Jurvanen and his family of four finally made the move—nearly 2,000 kilometers northeast, to Nova Scotia. They live a lifestyle, Jurvanen half-jokes, that is “close to Mennonite.” The kids are homeschooled. No one has an iPad. Text messages can feel like miracles.
For a long time, Jurvanen didn’t know what to do with My Second Last Album. After cutting a legitimate country record in the city where the genre lives, was it a too-weird left turn to put out a loose-limbed indie-pop set cut in a shed? He thought about slicing it into singles or splicing it as a bonus onto some sort of future Bahamas compendium, maybe even shelving it altogether. But then he put the record back on after not hearing it for several months and had the simplest and most profound realization possible: He loved these songs, the way they sat together, the story they told about who he was at that moment—a married father content to live in the country alongside the very ocean where he surfs, a musician who often goes to his buddy’s house to casually make some music. It became My Second Last Album, one of Bahamas’ truly indispensable works.