“I want to hear the word peace,” Jill Lorean says, her voice carrying equal measures of determination and weariness. “But I know that we’re very far from that. It feels like we’re sliding even further away from it.”
It’s this tension that shapes Peace Cult, her latest album with Andy Monaghan and Peter Kelly.
The album’s title carries a weighted duality – peace and devotion intertwined, yet somehow at odds with each other. “I keep hearing ‘death cult’ everywhere,” Lorean reflects. “It particularly comes from the right. They always go on about our liberal death cults. And I was like, I want to hear the word peace.”
Where This Rock, her debut, was captured in a three-day burst of raw energy, Peace Cult takes a more considered approach. Throughout our conversation, Lorean returns to the idea of restraint – not as a limitation, but as a conscious choice to occupy space differently. “My instinct always is to just belt things out,” she admits. “And I feel like in some ways that is congruent with my being when I’m making artwork. Because in my reality, the self that I show the public when I’m just walking about my day, I wouldn’t say I’m meek, but I’m certainly quieter.”
This interplay between public and private selves runs like a current through Peace Cult. On “The Hunter,” perhaps the album’s most striking moment, Lorean confronts a memory that’s haunted her since she was thirteen – an encounter with a stranger on a train. The song becomes a vessel for transformation, turning trauma into triumph. “When I listen to it now, I no longer see a frightened 13-year-old girl on a bench with some creepy weirdo. I see an empowered woman who’s like, ‘you didn’t break me.'” The journey to this resolution wasn’t straightforward – it required trust in her collaborators and the courage to sit with discomfort.
“When the Bell Finished Ringing” stands as another testament to this newfound directness. “I actually had to go and tell my mom,” she recalls, “‘you know, mom, this album is coming out. There’s going to be a song on it that says, ‘my mother is dying.'” The song weaves together threads of American childhood memories – from racial profiling to the ritualistic nature of pledging allegiance to the flag in schools – creating a tapestry of personal and political observation that feels both intimate and universal.
The album’s musical blend is equally considered. A nylon-string guitar appears throughout like a recurring character, bringing what Lorean describes as “the calm after the storm.” Working with Monaghan and Kelly, she’s found collaborators who understand the power of space – both sonic and emotional. “They are two people who are so conscientious,” she says. “They are naturally like all about what’s right for the song.”
The collaborative dynamic shapes not just the sound but the emotional landscape of the record. “Peter’s kind of world is guitar and he comes from almost like hip hop and breakbeat style drumming naturally,” Lorean explains. “And I come from maybe if I was just on my own, things always maybe sound a bit more like Drag City folk.” This convergence of styles creates something entirely new – “It could have gone horribly wrong,” she laughs, “could have been like the equivalent of throwing a bunch of colours at a thing and you end up just with a brown turd.” Instead, the result is a richly textured album that allows each musician’s strengths to shine while serving the greater whole.
Drawing inspiration from Ursula Le Guin’s world-building, Lorean has created her own alternate reality – one that mirrors our own while suggesting different possibilities. “When I was younger I would sing about love more or my anger about things,” she reflects. “But I was like, no, I want to ask questions. I want us to point towards something a little bit better. But acknowledging that things aren’t just going to change overnight.”
As part of Hen Hoose, a collective of female-identifying and non-binary artists, Lorean is helping to reshape Scotland’s music industry from within. “It’s created almost like a yellow book of different women and non-binary artists and we’re all exchanging skills and encouraging one another,” she explains. It’s a direct challenge to those who claim there aren’t enough women in production or engineering roles.
The album itself was pressed at Scotland’s first vinyl plant, Sea Bass, powered by wind energy – a detail that seems perfectly aligned with Peace Cult‘s ethos of conscious creation and hope for better possibilities. In a music landscape often dominated by easy answers and quick reactions, Peace Cult stands as a testament to the power of patience, of careful consideration, of allowing space for both vulnerability and strength. “Someone asked me the other day, do you reflect or do you resist?” Lorean muses. “And I was like, wow, I think both. Or maybe resist and then reflect, still work. Resist, reflect, repeat.” It’s an album that doesn’t just capture a moment in time, but actively engages with the process of transformation – both personal and collective.
Peace Cult is out now via Monohands Records
The album launch takes place Wednesday 4 December at Mono, Glasgow
Halina Rifai
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