Ryan MacGrath & Harlow

Picture it: a modest yellow house set in a clearing surrounded by tall spruce and fruitful apple trees. The worn gravel driveway extends from the highway and loops around passed the front door. Neighbours are scarce, and the air vibrates with the humming of all-terrain vehicles and blackflies. A large white barn-shaped garage, a station-wagon complete with maroon vinyl upholstery and faux wood side panels, and toys in primary colours are all cushioned by sweet, freshly mowed grass. The flat stone and cracked concrete doorstep leads into a kitchen scented with buttery biscuits, gooey cinnamon buns and faint wafts of Javex. Through an open archway, there is a darkened sitting room padded by brown calico carpet, chunky veneered furniture and heavy volumes of discounted encyclopaedias. Outdated family photos are hung in steps across fading floral wallpaper. Placed centrally against one wall is a stereo posing as a weighted, unidentifiable antique with a front hinged panel that pulls down to reveal its components: a record player, an 8-track player, and an AM/FM radio. The built-in speakers, one on each side and placed on the lower half of the system, emit low, muffled bass tones and tinny highs. On the turntable is Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’, in the 8-track slot is Dolly Parton’s ‘Greatest Hits’, and on the radio is ‘Elvira’ by The Oakridge Boys. On the floor, wearing superman pajamas, and with his ear pressed tightly against the speaker is a 4 year old Ryan MacGrath. This is the beginning of what will become a sensual and inspired relationship with music.