Then there was a period where “people around me were like, ‘You’ve got to figure it out, man,’ but they didn’t know what the problem was, and neither did I.” There followed a period when Mumford went into trauma therapy and a period when he didn’t want to write songs at all: “he was in denial that he was an artist, when I only hung out with farmers or estate agents”. He remembers recording the demo, playing it to his mom, and having to tell her about his theme. Cannibal vividly describes the sexual abuse Mumford experienced as a six-year-old in terms that are variously enraged – “fucking animal” – and self-inflicted and which, ultimately, lead to forgiveness. It was something he had kept to himself, first revealing it during a therapy session last year, which Cannibal also describes: “When I started saying it, it became the hardest thing I’ve ever said out loud.” , he sings, “words locked in my throat – man, I choked.” Grace, the song that follows it on Self-Titled, describes the conversation that followed: “I’m fine, okay, do I sound like I’m lying?” Elton John spoke to me about being fearless and fearless that I will never forget He never considered not releasing Cannibal, or Grace, or any of the other songs on the album, despite their personal nature (Mumford asked a trauma specialist to review them because “I didn’t just want to hang traumatic stuff out there and activates or activates people”), or the fact that their release would make their subject world news, an inevitable consequence of the millions of albums he sold as frontman for Mumford & Sons. “It felt like a natural and quite useful part of my process, now I was less embarrassed,” she says. “Because of what I do and who I am, the natural extension of that process of handling and coming to terms with these things was to write a song about it.” Laughs. “To take these intimate things, these really private moments and publicize them as widely as possible – it’s just crazy. But there’s a magic to it, I think, because you’re offering an opportunity for people to connect through it.” ‘Now I was less wrapped in shame’: Marcus Mumford Photo: Eric Ray Davidson Even so, Self-Titled was not an easy album to make. We’re sitting in a west London studio where Mumford & Sons used to record in the 00s. When they made their first album here, he says, it took four weeks. The self-titled took 18 months. Some of this was due to painstaking attention to detail. But Mumford also opened up about breaking down in tears while recording Cannibal, putting together every word of the lyrics with producer Blake Mills to ensure they were “relentlessly honest”. The album features Phoebe Bridgers, Clairo, Monica Marty and Brandi Carlyle, who compares the recordings to a “fall in confidence”, with a number of female artists “standing behind Marcus. I just think women were a little more able to carry the message.” Mumford says he had refused to admit that he was making a solo album, despite the fact that he had played the songs of the other members of Mumford & Sons and had been told to do so – and that he had played Elton John’s songs and not received just the same answer, but “a conversation from him and David [Furnish] for being fearless and fearless that I will never forget.” “Even last November, when I was in the studio, I refused to call it a solo album. Because once you think about it as an album, then inevitably you start thinking about record labels, how you present it to the world, how people will hear it and I thought: nothing can distract me from writing it, I can’t start thinking how people will hear it, or how I’m going to talk about it, or the live show.” The end result is excellent. The lyrics – about addiction, faith and redemption – are surprisingly powerful, but the songs would be powerful regardless of their subject matter. It’s tempting to say that it’s an album that people who don’t like Mumford & Sons might like. That’s partly because his live stew of country, electronica and rock sounds nothing like this band. And partly because it’s the kind of album you want people to hear without prejudice. Mumford & Sons were hugely successful, but they also attracted harsh criticism, both for their image and their music. The buns, the nautical flags and the old shop fronts on their album sleeves, the waistcoats and the ties: all were considered twee, designed by Cath Kidston, Keep Calm and Carry On with nostalgia for a non-existent english past. Viz comic mocked their antics – “touring the English countryside in their twin-turbo jet-powered rustic flying grass” – while artist Scott King created a print in 2013 that read STOP MUMFORD AND SONS, claiming: “They represent the ,what is wrong with this country today’. “I’m sure it made me more defensive,” Mumford says. “I’ve tried not to read this stuff, but anyone who tells you they don’t read it at all or filter it out in some way is lying. But I think, a few years ago, before I even started this healing process, having a family, having the priorities change a little bit, Covid in some ways, made me care a lot less what people think of me. And historically I’ve been more of a people pleaser, so the idea that I wasn’t a people pleaser was difficult at times. “Ah, I didn’t mean to offend you! How can I fix this broken relationship?’ – which of course didn’t exist anyway. Now I’m able, with some distance and perspective and shifting priorities, to think a little more lovingly, actually, and think, it’s okay.” Mumford & Sons: (lr) Ben Lovett, Marcus Mumford, Winston Marshall and Ted Dwane. Photo: Larry Busacca/Getty Images for Naras One thing that seemed to infuriate Mumford & Sons’ critics was their Christianity: Mumford’s parents founded the Union of Vineyard Churches in the UK. he first met his wife, actress Carey Mulligan, at a Bible study camp. Christianity wasn’t front and center in their music, but it wasn’t exactly hidden either. When they won a Grammy, Mumford thanked God in his speech, which, he says, “seemed strange to some people.” “Serve God, love me and fix,” went the title track of their debut album, Sigh No More: it’s a quote from Shakespeare, but still. Mumford’s faith is again there in Self-Titled, though not in the places I thought it was. I assumed it was the theme of Stonecatcher, with its lines about “I’ve got the strength to kneel again”, but Mumford says the song is actually based on Just Mercy, a memoir by Bryan Stevenson, an American lawyer whose The Equal Justice Association has saved more than 130 people from the death penalty. The Warning, however, presents imagery taken from a passage in John’s gospel: Jesus paints in the dust to calm an angry mob. He says his experiences over the past three years have “deepened” his faith: certainly, he’s more confident about discussing it publicly than he once was. “Again, you know, that people-pleasing thing. I feel less insecure, I guess, about my faith. I remember a cover interview with Rolling Stone where the guy needed me on faith and I’m not sure that would happen now. Maybe we all learn how to be more tolerant of each other and that would be less of a point of difference. I really feel like it’s more acceptable to be a lot of things, including someone who has faith, which is good.” He reaches for his phone and starts searching for a picture. “I met the Pope yesterday!” he beams. Sorry? “I went to Rome and met the pope. Was amazing. I went with a group of artists to talk about art and faith, in the Vatican, which is kind of strange, this seat of institutional power that historically is so complicated. But it was really beautiful and really cool, really interesting. In the past, I would either be insecure about somehow over-sharing my faith in public or insecure that, like, I don’t deserve to be here. It’s not like I revolutionized my ego, like yes, I deserve everything, it’s like: no, this is cool, I can embrace it.” Mumford with his wife, Carey Mulligan. Photo: Comic Relief/Getty Images He’s keen to point out that Mumford & Sons haven’t broken up, although when I ask if they’re still going strong, he laughs: “‘Unrest’ is a great word to use.” Aside from Mumford’s own issues, last year his childhood friend Winston Marshall left the band after praising far-right journalist Andy Ngo’s book Unmasked: Inside Antifa’s Radical Plan to Destroy Democracy: he first apologized, then retracted his apology and doubled down , announcing his departure from the band. The general belief is that he was asked to leave, but Mumford says otherwise: “he really tried to get him to stay,” believing he was “getting involved in something that didn’t represent who he is,” despite the backlash. she knew it would follow if…
