Octoberman’s Chutes opens with a line that serves as the compass for the album: “It’s hard to know just how to grow old.” In that instant, Marc Morrissette, songwriter, guitarist, and the band’s founder, sets the tone for a twelve-track journey reflecting on aging, loss, and the fragile continuity of family and friendship. Recorded live to two-inch tape at Ottawa’s Little Bullhorn Studios, with no click tracks, no screens, and plenty of room for raw expression. Chutes has a vibe of warmth from a band in a room, fully present. Its looseness is its strength, the kind of unvarnished feel that songwriters know is nearly impossible to fake.
From the appealing sway of “Harry Nilsson” to the strong rock backbeat and lyrics of “We Used to Talk of Death,” the record makes its case for melody and stories as anchors. Half of the songs, drawn from long-buried demos, are captions from another life. The other half was written in the shadow of Morrissette’s mother’s passing. These selections ache with vulnerability and stories that trace grief without collapsing under it. As the tracks move between third-person storytelling and inward confession, what unites them is a curiosity about how we navigate through change.
The band’s arrangements come across as lived-in. Marshall Bureau’s drumming favors touch over flash. Tavo Diez de Bonilla’s bass underlines the songs with a grounded, melodic patience. J.J. Ipsen’s Rhodes and guitar work layer subtle harmonic color. Annelise Noronha’s accordion and banjo push the palette into new territory for Octoberman on airy textures with songs like “Ottawa River” and “Old Names.” Over it all, Morrissette’s voice comes across as part weary storyteller and part wry companion.
One can hear the tape’s fingerprints everywhere: saturated vocal edges, unpolished drum bleed, the imperfections that turn into character when captured live. Later overdubs, recorded in home studios across Ontario, never mask that core intimacy; they expand it. Jarrett Bartlett’s mix respects space, letting the analog warmth bloom while giving each instrument its own honest place in the stereo field.
Chutes is a reminder that songs still matter most when they’re vulnerable enough to be captured in the moment and strong enough to hold your attention melodically. For listeners, it’s simply a record that knows change is inevitable, and still finds melody worth holding on to.
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