Ella McDonald’s latest single, “New York,” arrives with the kind of sentimental flourish that’s caught between grief for what’s been lost and excitement for what’s to come.
As McDonald tells it, the song was born out of an overheard snippet of conversation between two former residents of New York City who no longer recognized the city after unending waves of gentrification. It’s a story that’s familiar to residents of Cambridge and Somerville, where McDonald now resides.
When the final refrain kicks in and McDonald leans into the closing lyric “You don’t move me like you used to,” the careful listener will hear a sense of relief suffusing the sweet goodbye.
The Indie talked with Ella McDonald about the single “New York,” the forthcoming album “No Going Back” and the path of healing ahead of the single release show at New Leaf Espresso on Sunday.
Judging from some of the singles released thus far from your forthcoming LP “No Going Back,” such as “Avalanche” and now the new single “New York,” the compositions provide much more of a full band experience than the solo sound of your debut “February.” Is that a fair read?
Yes, this is absolutely a correct read, and it’s very much reflective of how my relationship to my music has evolved over time.
“February” was the first recording project I ever put out, and I really decided to jump into the deep end: I taught myself to record, mix and master. So not only were most of the songs solo performances, I was also carrying out most of the behind-the-scenes work alone.
In a way I think I was afraid to let anyone into the process. Which seems like a silly thing to say when you’re choosing to publish an album of your original music, your most vulnerable inner thoughts, to the entire world. But for me that wasn’t the hard part; it was believing that my music was worthy of collaboration with artists I admired, believing that I wouldn’t be judged by professional engineers for my amateur recordings and mixes.
Part of me did genuinely delight in nerding out over the technical aspects of recording and learning to do it all myself, but there was also a huge element of self-consciousness that made me shy away from collaboration. Looking back, I’m so proud of that project, because I really did put myself out there. I remember telling myself, I’m going to look back on this project in a few years and cringe, but it will because I have grown past it, and that won’t happen unless I start somewhere.
I knew when I started putting together my second album that I wanted to do things differently. I wanted to push myself to collaborate with artists I really admire and say, “Yes, this project is worthy of their collaboration.”
Most of the tracks on this album have a full band behind them: Hadley Lloyd on drums, Cilla Bonnie on bass, Casey Murray on cello, Molly Tucker on fiddle, Maxfield Anderson on mandolin and other strings, Talia Rose on lead guitar, Nora Meier on piano.
I also knew I wanted to collaborate on the production side of things, because I learned from my first album that it’s very difficult to make objective decisions about a project when it’s your own songs; it can feel like you’re too up close to see the full picture. I found an amazing partner in Kayla Blackburn, who co-produced the album in addition to engineering and mastering it. Otto Klammer mixed the songs, adding another person’s perspective to the recordings.
Everyone who contributed added things I never could have dreamed up myself. I genuinely could not be more proud of what we created, and it’s because I took that scary leap and let other people in.
The album marks a return to music for you after suffering a brain injury. You’ve remarked during the recovery process that “hope is a discipline.” What does that statement mean to you?
In 2022, at the age of 23, I suffered a traumatic brain injury. I was running to catch the bus, I tripped on uneven pavement and fell on my face. It was dismissed by doctors as a mild concussion – I was told to take five days off of work and just rest in a dark room.
Months went by and I was still having constant headaches, terrible light and noise sensitivity, my motor skills felt super clunky, I couldn’t write or read more than a sentence without getting a splitting headache. Walking, standing, looking at screens or trying to use my brain for any type of complex task made me dizzy and exhausted. I didn’t have any knowledge or framework to understand what was happening to me, besides that it seemed to be a concussion and I wasn’t getting better.
Eventually I was diagnosed with persistent postconcussion syndrome and was set on a path of rehabilitation including physical therapy, speech and language pathology, occupational therapy, acupuncture, neurology, psychiatry and trauma-informed psychotherapy. At one point I was regularly going to four medical appointments every week. I had to relearn my sense of balance, how to read and write, how to have the fine motor precision required to play guitar and how to have proper breath support when singing.
For me, the phrase “hope is a discipline” speaks to this sort of long healing journey. There are going to be times when it’s easy to be hopeful because you’re noticing improvements, but more often than not, at least for me, the hope doesn’t come easily, nor does the healing. It’s an act that requires consistently showing up for yourself. It requires literally rewiring your brain to stop fixating on all the things you can’t yet do, and look out for the ways in which you are improving.
One of the things that has helped me immensely on my healing journey has been an organization called Love Your Brain. It provides free mindfulness, yoga and support group resources to people who have sustained brain injuries. I felt really alone in my experiences for so long, and now I have a gigantic community of people who have been through similar things.
My album is called “No Going Back” because, in a spirit similar to the phrase “hope is a discipline,” there was an active mindset shift I had to adopt in which I stopped trying to get back to who I was before my injury and started focusing on who I am now and who I’m becoming. For me, that’s where a lot of my healing began.
Your single release show is scheduled for Sunday at New Leaf Espresso in Somerville. You’re no stranger to the coffeehouse performance scene. What makes that scene special?
My first introduction to performing was the acoustic coffeehouse scene in Northern New Jersey. In fact, I’m pretty sure my first headline gig as a singer-songwriter was at Trend Coffeehouse in my hometown of Montclair, New Jersey, when I was in high school.
I’m grateful to have come up in this kind of environment because, while I appreciate louder venues and genres, I think there is something very special and empowering about commanding a room without having to be loud. Drawing people in to where they are really listening to your lyrics. I don’t feel like I have to be flashy or gimmicky, I just get to share my songs on my own terms.
New Leaf Espresso in Somerville is a very special place for me because it is a worker-owned cooperative coffee shop that was started a couple of years ago by two of my friends, Eoin Jaquith and Andrew DeBenedictis. And I know that I’m biased, but they do genuinely have the best coffee in Somerville. I’ve played there a few times before, and I’m really excited to be there again in celebration of my “New York” release. It’s a free show, and it’s going to be a lovely time!
Ella McDonald at 1 p.m. Sunday at New Leaf Espresso, inside a Razors Barbershop at 308 Highland Ave., Spring Hill, Somerville
