The Mole interview: “the new work is filled with my kids and my in-laws and, you know, the birds and the frogs…”
Our man on the inside tracks down the elusive Mole
Colin de la Plante’s work has never suggested he’s an artist looking to engage with the frenzied egotism the music industry often seems to run on. Instead, since surfacing on our radar circa 2005 with ‘One Foot Either Side of the Ladder‘, a four track EP on Mutek_Rec that remains impossible to pigeonhole, his output has best been described as a consistent series of multifaceted gems. Sounds that take time to fully reveal themselves, oozing replay value.
Better known to most simply as The Mole, that moniker is among electronic music’s most apt. Despite a stacked back catalogue and unreleased archive betraying relentless work ethic, the oeuvre is more about patient deep dives. Layered and textured tracks that seem to grow from subterranean ideas, immersing listeners and dancers alike, luring us to weird and wonderful places somewhere in the furthest reaches of house, ambient and tech-something.
While long-since priming fans for surprises, his new LP, The River Widens, still feels like a step change. Hitting Juno’s virtual racks late-January, even labelling the release “new” warrants an extended explanation. The complete package first took form during the pandemic, when MUTEK launched a government affiliated scheme asking Canadian talent to create music podcasts in exchange for dollars.
The resulting two-hour digital piece, largely comprising what might be labelled ‘mini tracks’, was then cut back to 60minutes for the first iteration of the album. That landed in 2021 on limited edition tape through Eddie C’s Red Motorbike imprint, accompanied by t-shirts because why not. Around five minutes into our reassuringly informal Zoom call, after disappearing into a room off-camera, de la Plante returns clutching the first cassette copy, subtitled ‘The Rebound.’
“Yeah, so I thought Covid was ending around that time. Somehow it feels like less of a commitment, in terms of the media, the tape. A happy byproduct of that was the feeling of freedom. Because this isn’t my typical stuff, I guess — these quick songs. But somehow it was freeing, and in the end I feel super proud of it,” he says, half laughing at his optimism. We ask how he feels now the record has finally made it to vinyl thanks to the Circus Company label.
“I’m even more excited now as it’s a real thing, a record, that’s just sort of affirming. I don’t know, maybe the original tape idea was a rejection of records. I’ve been pretty obsessed with putting things out on record since the beginning. I wouldn’t do remixes unless they were coming out on wax, things like that. I tried to avoid the digital thing, kind of bucking against it,” de la Plante continues, quickly acknowledging that despite that perspective, he understands vinyl culture can be cliquey, and sees digital as a force of democratisation.
If the story behind The River Widens making it to black plastic needed unpacking, the tracks themselves have even more to tell. 21 tunes are listed on the sleeve, few are longer than three or four minutes, several are under two. Of these, many were produced years ago, long before pandemics were more than movie ideas. And a significant number had failed to find a home with labels.
“There are a lot of rejects on there,” de la Plante explains. “I can’t think about albums. First I just have to write, and write, and write. I play and I play as much as I can. Then, when the time comes I change hats. I’m like, ‘OK, now I need to put this together somehow’… I have four hats I think — writing, playing, merging, then editing and mastering and finishing. The last part I like the least.”
The results of this approach are often rather dense, sonically speaking. But this latest outing warrants a different definition. We test the phrase ‘stripped back’, and while not necessarily committed, we’re told the term is interesting. “I’m gonna have to listen to it again and think about that. Maybe that’s why nobody wanted these,” he says, as our conversation gets to the subject of change.
“I mean all plans just went to shit when Covid arrived. I remember in December, in Berlin, I was setting up to get a loan to open a bar. Maybe it was January. Anyway, I was close to doing it, then thought maybe I’ll wait like a month or so. But I was looking for a space, that was the next step, I just needed the space and I was gonna open a little place to hang out,” de la Plante recalls. “Then the pandemic hit, we had a kid and, you know, that was it — we just left town.”
Now back in his Canadian homeland, the busyness of Neukölln and chaos of Germany’s capital in general have been replaced by serenity and the wilds, comparatively speaking. Partly inspired by his own upbringing, and that of his wife — both of who, we are told in typically witty phrasing, “are from the sea” — while the move, catalysed by a desire to bring kids up in nature, or at least not in Berlin, offers many advantages, the adjustment has also been significant.
“The neighbours are just as entertaining now, but in a totally different way,” de la Plante quips. We ask how relocation might impact an artist working in a scene so heavily weighted to European events. “It’s a huge, huge change. It’s a big ticket to get me out there now, I’m not sure a lot of people want to pay that extra 1000 bucks for the flight. But I can’t stop completely, playing brings me sanity and joy. But it’s different now. I’ve played parties here, that’s been fun — they’ve got sophisticated taste. There are some hardcore diggers for really interesting music. And it’s been liberating, I’m not worried about gigs the same way.
“There’s also been an opportunity to get in touch with a new generation. Hashman Deejay lives about an hour a way, so it’s nice to meet him and talk and listen… There’s this one kid around here who comes and plays with my modular. He likes it, he doesn’t know what he’s doing but I’m just like ‘come play, I’ll be back in an hour,” he continues. “And I’ve touched base with the old dudes I used to play with when I was a kid. These guys are in their 60s and 70s, still playing and still totally badass. They’re awesome. I got asked to join a band where I’m the youngest. Actually, second youngest, that’s great.”
Where one story ends, another often starts. And so it goes. As gigs have taken changed pace, or at least location, reconnecting with his birthplace has already spawned new life. Between introducing us to his kid, clad in wool hat and the kind of outdoor coat that screams ‘Canada is cold’, admitting the bar dream hasn’t died (it’s just moved regions), and hyping rising British Columbia synth-R&B wunderkind Diamond Cafe, who “sings like Prince”, we’re told work is already underway on another album.
“Circus asked me, when we started manufacturing this one, and said ‘it sounds too soon but it’s going to take a year to make’. And it’s kind of perfect for me. I’m isolated here. Well, I’m not isolated — I mean, I talk to everybody, or I talk to some people, maybe not everybody. But I was given perfect timing. It propelled me to reassess all this other stuff I’ve done, changing hats again, looking back at all this music I’ve written just sat there piling up,” de la Plante explains. “I forget it’s there, not even rendering half of it. So I’ve spent the last couple of months trying to piece it together, then adding here to it. Inviting my friends to come play bass, I did a vibes recording with two guys I respect immensely as musicians. I wanna drive up island and record some congas with my buddy Super Smooth. I haven’t seen him since I got back.
“Before moving here we visited Uruguay en route, my wife is from there. So we went there for summer, totally skipping winter, which was amazing. I only brought, weirdly, a synthesiser I never touch and a field recorder. So I have like 60 hours of recordings of birds and beaches, and this whole drumming tradition, the Candombe,” he continues. “I’m not sure if it’s a good move or bad, but the new work is filled with my kids and my in-laws and, you know, the birds and the frogs and stuff, instead of all the shit I was grabbing from movies and YouTube for the last album. I’d still like to get Chong on this, like that scene where he drinks the water and they’re getting arrested, and he’s like ‘it’s fucking vodka, maaan!’ Chong is from Vancouver, so I feel a special kinship.”
Martin Hewitt