Born in Nashville, Noah Fardon was raised in a stone house west of the city, and when he was a bit older, he would search out those people who carried themselves just a little bit differently than everyone else. When he wasn’t in school, this tended to be the front porch of a local coffee house where artists of all shapes, sizes and aesthetics would gather to discuss music, philosophy and the arts. After some inspiring words from a few of these same people, Fardon moved his singing from the shower to the stage, after having brought together his first band. But after a few years of good times and great music, the band disbanded, and everyone found new homes and new places to belong.
After a few moves of his own — namely from midcoast Maine to Portland — he settled into a small renovated laundry facility which had been seen its share of conversion in its time, eventually becoming the New System Exhibitions gallery space. But it was basically a a 9’ X 7’ wooden box during his tenure, and he spent the subsequent two years writing and recording in relative isolation. Taking on the moniker of Good Service, he wanted to use this personal time to explore his own relationship to music and his own creativity, attempting to weed out bad habits and establish a new sense of inspiration for his work.
His forthcoming record, “Please,” is the end result of this sequestered introspection, aided by his desire to investigate the nearness of mortality in the light of his grandmother’s terminal diagnosis and eventual passing. Many of the songs overtly deal with the need to understand death and how it can be both light and dark simultaneously, how it can offer peace and devastation so quickly. With assistance from Vaughn Hunt (recording and synthesizers) and drummer Jamie Joyce — and with Roger Moutenot, who helped with some additional recording and mixing — Fardon constructed a complicated exploration of birth, death and the messy circumstances in which we find ourselves as we traverse the distances between those two mile markers.
On recent single, “MaPaw,” he revels in a particularly noisy brew of indie rock and mutated pop rhythms, letting his fevered inspirations move him to some unexpected and exhilarating places. From his voice to the guitar to the drums, everything seem soaked in a drenching distorted haze. But this isn’t some dismantling static we’re talking about — it just acts as one more instrument to be bent to his service. Landing somewhere between Liars and Beach House, the track hints at deeper darkness even as the swirling melodies subsume your senses in a delirious rush of gauzy sound and ecstatic motions.
“In 'MaPaw', worldly terrors - once so near, a chilling, persistent tap on the shoulder - sublimate into a pale, restless fog set wildly and newly aglow by the frothed light of a germinating dawn; those of us yet to desire the down float home ever so slowly, tracing the southwest corner of Back Bay, along the right-hand wrist of Baxter Boulevard’s cool and restful embrace, singing in that chorally electric unison of absolute silence; on still to the corner of Deering and Park, the base of the hill, the tune of the “Commercial Street Whistler” as it descends, always from somewhere just above, and the smell of potato donuts. Look out the window awhile and fall asleep across a chair, wake up feeling like that beautiful color from the bathroom walls. A tradition of commiseration and narcotized rebirths momentarily soothes a small group of friends, ensnared in a time when reality has become so badly damaged that there looms the threat of nobody quite managing to put it all back together again.”