Morsifire

Hailing from the outskirts of San Francisco, Andrew Seely aka Morsifire straddles the line between hip-hop and indie alternative, crafting an indelible sound from his harrowing past that lands somewhere between Kid Cudi and 21 Pilots. His painfully honest stories are lifted directly from a fractured childhood, raised by a drug addicted single mother and exposed to the untimely loss of his younger sister and father. As a young adult... More

Hailing from the outskirts of San Francisco, Andrew Seely aka Morsifire straddles the line between hip-hop and indie alternative, crafting an indelible sound from his harrowing past that lands somewhere between Kid Cudi and 21 Pilots. His painfully honest stories are lifted directly from a fractured childhood, raised by a drug addicted single mother and exposed to the untimely loss of his younger sister and father. As a young adult he suffered from panic attacks, often so severe he ended up in the hospital. The only thing that seemed to quell his anxiety was music, an art which he dissected and pursued with abandon, gaining acceptance to Berklee and studying music production abroad in Spain. Returning to the local SF scene was always the plan, as the city had served as a constant source of inspiration. While running workshops in the Bay Area, teaching kids how to produce/record, Morsifire began doling out verses on a few mixtapes, eventually deciding to plant his flag and release a debut LP. During this time he was hanging with notable SF artists, like Emily Afton and Dogthief, many of whom ended up on the record, along with notable contributions from Tony Fredianelli and Arion Salazar (formerly of Third Eye Blind). The title of the album, ​Metanoia​, stands for ‘a spontaneous attempt of the psyche to heal itself by being reborn in a more adaptive form.’ This term seemed to suit the material well, as the resulting recordings became a strange, often psychedelic journey through the trauma he internalized throughout his young life. The tender “I Can’t Stay” was played on his dad’s guitar (“I still can’t bring myself to change the strings”) and the powerful “Contact” dives into the complicated emotions surrounding his little sister’s death, while other tracks probe the mysterious and often macabre nature of existence. “Making this record helped me work through my grief,” Morsifire asserts, adding that he often felt compelled to incorporate found recordings of the deceased into the song structure. “My music is not something you flip on while you cook or party. It’s not passive shit. It’s involved.” Less