Start Listening To: Oedipus and The Mama’s Boys

Oedipus and The Mama's Boys discuss grief, chaos and the strange beauty of uncertainty behind their towering new single, 'A Daisy For You, John'.

There is something thrillingly unpredictable about Oedipus and The Mama's Boys. The Edinburgh eight-piece occupy a space where post-rock, noise, folk and experimental guitar music collide, creating songs that feel as though they could either collapse under their own weight or soar into something transcendent at any given moment. Their latest single, 'A Daisy For You, John', captures that balance perfectly, stretching across seven emotionally charged minutes that wrestle with memory, grief and the enduring power of love.

We caught up with frontman Charlie to discuss embracing uncertainty in their songwriting, why they resist defining the meaning of their music, the emotional landscape behind 'A Daisy For You, John', Edinburgh's flourishing experimental scene and how eight musicians continue to find clarity within the chaos.

For those unfamiliar with your music, can you tell us who you are, where you’re from and about the music you make?

We are Oedipus and The Mama’s Boys. 8 people still not particularly certain on who we are but it’s not a question we feel any real need to find an answer for. The music we make is a byproduct of this. Loud, messy, uncertain and balanced on a knife edge.

'A Daisy For You, John' feels simultaneously overwhelming and incredibly intimate. At nearly seven minutes long, did it always demand that kind of scale, or did the song gradually grow into something that couldn't be contained in a shorter form?

It’s never written in as certain terms as that. We know what the song is about and how it can, will and needs to feel. There’s never any direct effort to maintain a ‘scale’ as such. If it feels right, then it is right. It contains itself.

The song argues that grief should be celebrated as much as mourned because it reflects our capacity to love. Was writing it a way of processing loss, or of preserving something that felt impossible to lose?

Both. Neither. Somewhere in between. It doesn’t really matter to a listener what the song is about, it can mean 10 different things to 10 different people. It’s not our job to tell anyone what a song is about, or how to feel about it. People will draw their own conclusions and find what they need to find within it. We all write and listen for reasons that are far too long to list. For me, not that it matters more than anyone else, it’s both. Grief shows its grotesque features in the most brilliant light often. It’s a snapshot, a reflection, a brief glimpse forward. But it’s also none of those. Not if you think so.

Your music often feels like it's constantly threatening to fall apart, yet it somehow holds together. Is that tension something you deliberately compose into your songs, or is it simply what happens when eight people bring their ideas into the same room?

As mentioned earlier, there’s nothing deliberate about our songwriting. They sprawl and heave until whatever they need to be comes out of the cracks and presents itself. Upon presentation we simply package it up with a pretty little bow.

You describe yourselves as 'eight people seeking answers to a question they do not yet know'. How much of that mythology reflects the band itself, and how much is simply another creative outlet?

If we all knew where we were going, we’d be an exceptionally bored bunch. Giving ourselves no concept of a box around what we do allows expression beyond that. People will create for whatever reason they need to create, and we simply do that outside of any boundaries imposed. We allow for creation by being amongst each other.

With eight musicians, each bringing different instruments and perspectives, how do you avoid becoming crowded while still embracing the chaos that defines your sound?

Clarity emerges in funny ways. It only takes one seed to flower. We get crowded, we spread ourselves thin across each other until we are drawn to whatever emerges from that. Then we hone in and lay it out flat. We reject and embrace ideas at every juncture. If it’s right, it’s right. We trust ourselves.

The memory of your grandfather's garden sits at the emotional centre of this song. Why do you think places often become such powerful containers for grief and remembrance?

I don’t think places do become just that. Rather, the feelings you had in that place become that. Grief throws a shot of adrenaline into those places, amplifies those feelings and the colour returns. We’ll search for those places by how we felt in those places. Recreate the feelings and the place becomes vivid.

The title itself feels quietly understated compared to the intensity of the music. What does a simple gesture like giving someone a daisy represent within the emotional landscape of the song?

The title serves nothing more than to prompt intrigue. The lyrics paint more of a picture around that. Flowers and death are both shoulder to shoulder and staring at each other as strangers.

A lot of bands write about loss retrospectively, whereas 'A Daisy For You, John' feels like it's unfolding in the middle of grief rather than looking back on it. Was it important to preserve that sense of immediacy?

Again, there was very little deliberate effort in the writing of this song. There was nothing to be preserved or held immediate. I think getting hung up on achieving anything in a song is ultimately a detriment to the song. It happened, it’s continuing to happen and it will always be moving and changing. For me, it was written in the unfolding. And the aftermath. Death and life come in many flavours and the one that was given to me was slow, and burning. Inevitably the song reflects that.

Live shows have become a huge part of your identity. Does performing such emotionally charged material night after night change your relationship with the songs, or do they continue to reveal new meanings each time?

It’s a performance for a reason. If you let it get too close it’ll bite and burn you. You keep it at an arms lengths. let it be an extension, a version of you but nothing more. That allows it to be explored pain free. Playing a character, dressing up as such and letting go has to be a part of a live show. The relationship stays fairly linear, let the songs show new meaning as you grow and mature.

Edinburgh has produced an exciting wave of experimental guitar music in recent years. Has being part of that community encouraged you to push your ideas further, or have you always felt like you existed slightly outside of any scene?

I wouldn’t say encouraged is the right word, but we’ve certainly never felt like we wouldn’t be able to do something as ambitious as what we are without support. We definitely don’t exist outside of any scene, purely because the scene across Edinburgh (and very much also Glasgow) is stronger than ever. There is a sense of excitement and anticipation around bands that are doing some fresh an exciting, purely because we have a much smaller pool of bands. We’d never be as far along as we are now if we came from South London.

What do you love right now?

3 ply toilet paper, esostericsm, Cocteau Twins and accountability

What do you hate right now?

Trombones, sellotape, overwhelming senses of dread, the pollen count, Morrissey

Name an album you’re still listening to from when you were younger and why it’s still important to you?

What Did You Expect From The Vaccines? - The Vaccines

This was my first toe dip experience into alternative music, I suppose. This and Bowie are two of the things that my dad showed me that have stuck with me since. A memory held dear.

When someone hears your music for the first time, what do you hope sticks with them?

Ambition, love, unbridled joy and heat. We hope people create beyond what we could imagine and feel something from what we put into the world. Whether thats high, low, somewhere in between or something outside that. We want something to be felt beyond us.