Florist Find Comfort in Connection

She reunited with the rest of Florist—Rick Spataro, Jonnie Baker and Felix Walworth—in June 2019. The band rented an old house in the Hudson Valley on the edge of a big hill, with a field and creek behind it. Sprague and Spataro arrived at the house first and chose to set up their gear on the large screened-in porch, where they could be totally immersed in nature.

The result is recordings rife with the warbling of birds, soft wind in the trees and the subtle rustle of leaves. On “June 9th Nighttime,” you can hear the crickets chirping behind their ambient folk, and on “Duet for Guitar and Rain,” a downpour in the background sounds like it’s another instrument in perfect accompaniment with the delicate finger-plucked riff. A gentle reminder of just how connected we are to both each other and the world around us, the willowy synthesizers on “Finally” and the references to rivers, birds and flowers laced throughout the record foster a serene sense of harmony.

“In all scientific and clinical ways, it was the worst idea ever to set up out there. All of our shit had to be taken into music shops,” Walworth says. “But it was an impulse. They looked at that porch and saw we could make magic out there, and that this could be part of the story.”

That level of trust in one another is tangible throughout the record. While they work seamlessly together, Florist aren’t trying to be a single organism, but rather an entire ecosystem in which everyone has a special role that only they can fulfill in order for the whole thing to work. Whether it’s the improvised instrumental tracks that were lifted from impromptu jam sessions on the porch or the effortless melding of feathery vocals on “Sci-fi Silence,” there’s this belief in one another that gives the album a sense of comfort only felt when someone sees you so completely.

For a while, the band contemplated how they could capture the pure magic and love that they felt towards one another. It was finally on Florist that all the pieces came together, making it more than deserving of the self-titled designation.

“It opened our eyes to how special this is,” Walworth says. “We continued to play music with each other for eight or so years because we enjoyed it, but there was this moment around the record of, ‘Wait, this is deeply special, we are drawn to this, and we need this, and we love each other.’ I can’t describe it in any other way. It felt like all of the sudden there was language around that or an actual conscious understanding.”

You can practically hear the strawberry rhubarb pie Walworth would make for them, the wine nights, and days they spent just hanging out until 5 p.m. when they would finally decide to start recording. Their friendship is intrinsic to the record and accounts for the vulnerability evident not only in admissions like, “You’re not what I have but what I love,” but also in the minimal, yet achingly meaningful instrumentation.

“A lot of it is about people in your life and the ways in which it’s worth it to have people in your life versus not, because maybe that seems easier. It’s about finding the strength and power in reconnecting with your home and your family when that feels painful, but coming out the other side of it,” Sprague says.

While it can be scary to let people in and the fear of loss always looms, over 19 tracks, Florist proves that loving each other is the only way to make it through this world—that you can do it alone and keep yourself out of harm’s way, or you can experience the kind of unfaltering love Sprague finds in “Red Bird Pt. 2 (Morning),” when she sings, “She’s in the birdsong, she won’t be gone.”

Samantha Sullivan is a Paste Music intern and writer based in Philadelphia. She can be reached on Instagram @fangirlpurgatory.