James Vincent McMorrow never saw himself getting nostalgic.
“Looking backwards has never really excited me,” the Dublin-born singer-songwriter tells Rolling Stone AU/NZ.
But here he is, guitar at the ready, heading back to Australia to revisit Early in the Morning – the album that kicked everything off. More than ten years on, McMorrow admits he didn’t quite appreciate the journey when it was happening.
“Maybe my nostalgic brain kicked in during the pandemic,” he reflects. “I’d lost a lot of my confidence, and I realised I wanted that feeling again — that sense of, ‘Wow, that was really special.’”
After years tangled up in studio perfectionism, label headaches, and quietly rebuilding his confidence, he’s now going solo in the purest way: just him, a guitar, and a setlist of songs that still hit hard. “Being alone with a guitar has reconnected me to that early drive — write a song, make it good, figure out how to make it work in the studio,” he explains.
And while anniversary tours can sometimes feel like easy cash grabs, McMorrow insists this one’s different. “I’m doing it to reconnect with a part of myself that had been dormant.”
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There’s something special about bringing those songs back to the first fans who really embraced them. “Australia was the first country to really get some of my records,” he says. “That’s never been lost on me.”
Ahead of his return Down Under, we caught up with McMorrow from a rare sunny corner of Ireland (“a rarity,” he laughs) to talk sonic missteps, pandemic perspectives, and the unexpected power of looking back.
Ticket information for McMorrow’s Australian tour, which kicks off tonight (June 3rd) in Sydney, can be found here.
Rolling Stone AU/NZ: Hey James, are you calling from home in Ireland?
James Vincent McMorrow: Yeah, I’m at my house. It’s pretty warm here at the moment, which I know might sound underwhelming to you guys, but for us, it’s basically like seeing a white tiger… it just doesn’t happen.
How does it feel to be heading back to Australia? You’ve played here a few times over the years — what do you remember most about those trips?
McMorrow: It sounds disingenuous to say, “My memories of that country are incredible,” but it’s true. When I started coming to Australia around my second album in 2014, there was something in the air. I made a record [Post Tropical] that was hard for my label to process at the time – they didn’t know what to do with it. But when I sent it to people in Australia, they immediately said, “We get this. We can make it work.” The song “Cavalier” became popular on triple j, and I thought, “This is how it’s supposed to work, make music that challenges you and the audience, and hopefully people connect with it.” Australia was the first country to really get that record. Even playing to about 100 people in bars and pubs, it always made me feel like a professional musician there.
What made now the right time to revisit Early in the Morning?
McMorrow: Looking backwards has never really excited me, but coming out of the pandemic, like many people, I had time to think about whether I appreciated things as they happened. I’m talking about 2014… I remember it as an incredible trip, but also a frustrating time dealing with other countries, label fights, and not really appreciating the moments as they happened.
The first album was a slow, steady build from 2010 to 2012, so there was never a chance to stop and think, “Oh, this is actually happening.” Maybe my nostalgic brain kicked in during the pandemic, and I realised I wanted that feeling again, the sense that, “Wow, that was really special.” It still feels special, but only because it felt potent at the time.
Playing those songs again brought me back in a way that’s been really helpful. It feels natural to do this. I know anniversaries can seem contrived, but anyone who knows me knows I don’t do stuff like that without reason. I’m doing it to reconnect with a part of myself that had been dormant.
Has revisiting those songs and that time changed the way you’re approaching your new music?
McMorrow: Definitely. In 2017, I felt like I lost my way a bit. Probably no coincidence it was when I stopped touring and my daughter was born. My brain chemistry changed, I think for the better, but I also moved to a major label, and I didn’t love that experience. It wasn’t a good fit for me. I lost a lot of my confidence, for lack of a better term. I used to have a belligerent sensibility, always pushing forward aggressively in the right way. But then I let other people take the reins because I was so busy. That’s not their fault, it was just reality, but it made me lose the thread of what I was doing.
Then, during 2020 and 2021, while I was at home, I’ve been trying to slowly rebuild myself, refining those threads. A big part of that has been these Early in the Morning shows, reconnecting with where my head was back then, without trying to go backwards. I hope the music I’m making now reflects that. It feels connected to that time, though not necessarily sonically… There are sonic elements, but I’m trying to get back into that headspace without just regressing. And I think it’s working. I listen to the music objectively and feel it’s as good as anything I’ve made so far. Hopefully that comes through when it’s released.
You’re playing this tour completely solo. Has going back to just you and a guitar influenced how you’ve been writing lately?
McMorrow: Yeah, I think you forget how time passes so slowly that your patterns shift organically. It’s true for anyone—me, you. Then you look back 10 years and realise you did things completely differently. Your whole life was oriented in a different way, and you don’t even notice the shifts. I used to sit with a guitar or piano, write a song, then go into the studio and deconstruct it, build it 20 or 30 times, to get it to the version it was supposed to be. Over the years, that pattern changed. I’ve realised the only way to get back to that was to pick up my guitar, get on stage, and let the songs live or die.
So last year or the year before, when writing new music, I’d play shows with songs people hadn’t heard. Most of it went well, but sometimes I’d play a song and instantly think, “Oh, this is bad.” It’s revealing, but I realised I’d lost that. All my first shows were songs that hadn’t been recorded. I’d play something at home, bring it to a stage with 50 people, and instantly know if it had something or wasn’t worth pursuing. Then your career grows and it gets harder, you know, playing new songs in front of 1600 people a night is a risk. But the premise stays the same. A good song stands up, a bad song fails. That’s something I’d forgotten. Being alone with a guitar has reconnected me to that early drive — write a song, make it good, then figure out how to make it work in the studio.
You often push yourself by playing new, unreleased songs live, even if things might go wrong. What helps you do that? Any habits or tools you rely on?
McMorrow: I don’t really know, nothing specific comes to mind. But I definitely love the idea of, every time I get into a new cycle or headspace, incorporating a new instrument. That’s always been a simple but crucial part of it. For example, with Post Tropical, my second album, the sound came from an idea I had about how I wanted the songs to move, but I was limited in production skills. I brought in a great engineer, Ross Dowling, who pointed me toward new instruments and synthesisers I wasn’t familiar with.
We went to Texas. The studio was owned by this compelling guy who one day brought in a synthesiser called a Poly Evolver. I’d never seen or used one before. But as soon as I touched the keys, I thought, “Oh — this is the sound of this album.” It was exactly what I’d been looking for, and this man had just brought it into my life. I muddled through it, and every sound felt like the newest, most exciting thing in the world to me. If you understand synthesisers, it’s probably boring. But for me, it felt kinetic, it pushed the whole thing forward.
With each album, I try to bring in new things I’m not a master of so I can fumble in the dark. Because you hear fumbling on a record, you hear it in music. Like in movies, you can tell when someone’s flying by the seat of their pants; it has a palpable feeling, a sense of risk. That’s the main thing I try to do with each record, push myself into an uncomfortable zone — whether that’s in the studio or with an unfamiliar instrument — and build something out of that.
Was there anything that surprised you when you went back and listened to Early in the Morning again?
McMorrow: This might sound strange, and probably a little narcissistic, but I was actually impressed when I went back and listened to it. For years, I thought of that album as sonically limited. I had no idea what I was doing. It was literally just me in a house with one microphone. I didn’t know how to record drums, so I played each drum individually — the kick, snare, toms, hi-hats — pointed the mic at each, then pieced it all together. So in my head, I figured, “Oh, this album must sound really chunky or shy.” I knew people liked it — I’ve always been aware of that — but I’d kind of written it off, thinking, “Yeah, but I could do better.”
Then when I listened again, I realised I actually don’t think I could do better. Not that it’s perfect, but I really pushed myself to the limit back in 2010. It holds up and it sounds better than I remembered. Musicians don’t say that enough because it can feel weird — not wanting to come across as some narcissistic asshole. But I really put a lot of time and heart into that record, and I think it shows. It’s probably why that album, along with my first couple of records, has stood the test of time. So yeah, I’m proud of the work, and honestly, I was a bit shocked it sounded as good as it did.
When you first floated the idea of doing this tour, did the response from fans help make the decision for you?
McMorrow: Definitely. I think if I hadn’t floated the idea late last year and seen how well it was received, I probably wouldn’t have gone ahead with it. I just didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. I know there’s an audience for this kind of thing, but it had to feel intentional — not lazy. I’d never just pocket a bunch of cash because the opportunity’s there. It needed purpose.
Seeing people respond the way they did made me realise, “Oh wow, some people think about my record the way I think about Boxer by The National.” And that kind of blew my mind. I’m not saying the records are equal, not at all, but just the idea that my music could hold that kind of emotional weight for someone? That’s wild. I’ve never really seen myself that way. I know I’ve done well, I’ve toured, played shows, but in my head, I’m still that guy in a Toyota Corolla, selling CDs out of the boot. That mindset’s served me well. So the thought that someone heard this album at 20 and is now 35 and still playing it, maybe even for their kids, that’s incredible. It means the record moved with them.
Are there any Australian artists you like or listen to right now?
McMorrow: Angie McMahon. She’s incredible. There’s just something so effortless about what she does. There’s a song of hers called “Fireball Whiskey” that I absolutely love.
Are you going to get to spend much time in Australia while you’re here?
McMorrow:Yeah, the schedule’s pretty chill. There’s a day between each show, so even with all the flying, it won’t feel too hectic. Since it’s a solo set, there’s not much prep, so I’ll have plenty of free time. I’m mostly just excited to be back, play shows, and catch up with friends.
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