The Bergamot give love away
Wow, this is for real. The Bergamot are not simply a folk duo releasing another record, they are living proof that music can be a direct extension of intent. Their latest album, “Give Love Away”, is not wrapped in layers of irony or performance. It does exactly what the title suggests, offering music as an act of generosity, a gesture of radical simplicity in a culture that thrives on complication. At a time when folk has already been rediscovered and reshaped into folktronica, glitch folk and countless other variations, The Bergamot remind us that the heart of the genre lies not in innovation but in conviction. They are not adding to a trend but cutting through it, reminding listeners that folk is still at its most powerful when it insists on honesty.
That honesty runs through their decision to record with the Notre Dame Children’s Choir. Folk has long been associated with the solitary voice, the lone songwriter carrying stories across generations. By bringing in children’s voices, The Bergamot expand the frame from individual to collective, from present to future. “The moment the children began to sing with us, something transcendent happened,” says Jillian Speece. “Their voices remind me why we create in the first place, to give hope, to inspire, to connect.” This is not an embellishment or an experiment in arrangement but a deliberate reminder that music is never only for the present. It becomes a conversation with those who will inherit what we leave behind. Capturing the performance in a concert hall rather than a studio underlines this intent, situating the songs in a space designed to carry voices further than the room itself.
For Nathaniel Paul, the album is both personal and political in its ambition. “This album is about imagining a brighter tomorrow,” he explains. “It’s about choosing to be the warrior, not the victim, and continuing to build a future we believe in.” Folk has always had that dual edge, able to hold intimacy while also speaking to a wider cultural moment. Here it is sharpened to a point. In a world that thrives on distraction and division, to insist on love as the foundation for action becomes an act of resistance. The Bergamot are not escaping reality through nostalgia, nor are they dressing folk up in new textures for novelty’s sake. Instead, they are using the genre to carve out an alternative posture: resilient, forward-looking, unwilling to surrender to fatalism.
That insistence lands most clearly in the words that close the record. “Only love can heal the hate,” Paul concludes, and while such a statement could be mistaken for a cliché, it resonates differently when heard against the backdrop of fractured politics and digital culture. Speece deepens the thought: “Love, resilience, and vision still have a place in our collective future. This album is our offering to remind people of that.” In their world, music is not content but communion.