Extracted from his new solo album, Saudade, which is recently out, new track from The Sad Song Co, My Saccharine offers the latest foretaste of his much anticipated studio release. The track’s uplifting strings, glacé falsetto and sweeping chorus, sugar-coat a bittersweet song of unrequited love. The Sad Song Co AKA Nigel Powell spoke with The Fountain about the new track and more plans for 2021.
TF: You have a new single out, what has the reception been like to My Saccharine?
It’s been exciting getting reactions from fans who seem to really appreciate it. Putting art out commercially is a weird thing, because like most artists I put a lot of myself into it, and it’s hard to separate from that when people dislike it, or worse are indifferent to it. But in this case it’s been very positive!
TF: How would you sum up the track in one sentence?
It’s my lyrics singing either about trying to give up chocolate, or realising I have to let the love of my life go (multiple choice), sung over music that sounds like a collaboration between Elbow and REM, sounding deceptively positive and joyful considering the subject matter, and the fact that it’s made by an act called The Sad Song Co.
TF: What is your plan for the remainder of the year, after this release?
When it’s safe to do so I’d love to get out and do some shows – I play by myself, sometimes with my ol’ comrade Jason playing bass, and it’s fun to spend some time, with an audience and me and a piano and a guitar (and a laptop for some extra backing tracks). I have a few other musical projects that I’m working on with other people, and I’m just about to start my final year of a degree in Computer Science, so I have some things to keep me occupied.
TF: Where is your favourite venue for playing live, where is the next place you look most forward to gigging?
I always loved the 12 Bar Club in London, but sadly it’s not there anymore, so it’s not somewhere I can look forward to playing. I’m not so tied to a particular place that I’d like to be, my enjoyment of a gig (as performer or musician) tends to be about a sense of intimate communication with an audience, and when that happens it doesn’t matter if you’re in a damp basement or the Royal Albert Hall, it’s magical.