LEVI J. BURR | INTERVIEW + TRACK REVIEW
There is a strange contradiction at the centre of Levi’s music. It feels enormous, yet very little is fighting for space.
Guitars stretch towards the horizon. Synths appear around their edges. Notes are allowed to hang in the air long enough to become something more than melody. Where another musician might see an empty space and instinctively fill it, Levi seems increasingly interested in asking whether anything needs to be there at all.
That philosophy sits at the heart of New Medieval, a record whose title looks backwards in order to make sense of the present.
For Levi, the medieval reference isn't simply aesthetic. He sees uncomfortable parallels between the concentration of power and division of the modern world and structures humanity supposedly left behind centuries ago. But his fascination with the period also reaches somewhere more hopeful. Drawing on William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement, Levi is interested in an older idea of creativity as meaningful human work: something made with intention, imagination and connection to the person creating it.
In an era increasingly obsessed with speed, content and constant stimulation, his response is almost defiantly slow.
That extends beyond the record. Levi has begun exploring longform ambient performances alongside synthesisers and singing bowls, creating spaces where audiences can lie down, disconnect and simply listen. It feels like a natural extension of music already fascinated by silence, landscape and the increasingly radical act of being present.
Yet New Medieval isn't easily contained by the word ambient. Country blues, primitive guitar, experimental folk and electronic textures drift through Levi's work without any one of them becoming its permanent home. Memories of Medieval and Renaissance art sit alongside John Fahey and Jack Rose; Australian landscapes coexist with ideas drawn from Americana; ancient craftsmanship somehow finds itself in conversation with synthesisers.
Perhaps that's why describing his music as a landscape feels more appropriate than assigning it a genre.
Levi isn't particularly interested in telling the listener exactly what to see. He builds the environment and leaves enough empty space for us to bring something of ourselves into it.
We spoke with Levi about New Medieval, the value of silence in an increasingly noisy world, what ancient art can teach contemporary musicians, the landscapes hidden inside instrumental music, and why sometimes the most meaningful thing a piece of music can ask us to do is simply stop and be present.
TRACK REVIEW - MELIORA
From its opening moments, textures seem to emerge from every direction. There’s something almost lucid about it, like waking from a dream only to discover you've opened your eyes somewhere even stranger. Sounds hover at the edges, instruments slowly reveal themselves, and rather than immediately showing you where the track is heading, Burr gives you time to simply exist inside it. And so you wait. Patiently.
The composition gradually expands until all those seemingly distant elements begin converging. Bass enters beneath the intricate instrumentation, the weight of the track shifts, and eventually everything reaches this beautiful pinnacle of sound that, for me, feels almost healing. Not because Meliora suddenly explodes, but because everything it has been quietly building towards finally seems to arrive. Then a moving guitar-picking rhythm takes hold, and we're off.
There's suddenly a feeling of setting sail together, carried forward by a guitar that provides movement without disturbing the tranquillity surrounding it. The track continues to rise and fall around that momentum, moving through peaks and valleys without ever losing the atmosphere established in those opening moments.
That's what makes the composition of Meliora so impressive. It feels meticulously considered without ever sounding overly constructed.
There are countless textures here, yet nothing feels busy. Every instrument seems to understand when to enter, when to disappear and, perhaps most importantly, when to leave space for something else. Burr doesn't confuse complexity with excess. Instead, all that detail is used to create depth.
By the end, Meliora feels less like a piece of music moving from beginning to end and more like somewhere we've travelled through.
A lucid dream. A slow awakening. A departure.
Peaks and valleys that somehow soothe the soul.
Levi, your music often feels less like a collection of songs and more like a landscape unfolding in real time. When you’re writing, are you thinking like a songwriter, a guitarist, or almost like a filmmaker building a scene?
On my first record, everything began with guitar. The second LP became more of a 50/50 mix, with ideas coming equally from synths and guitar, and that approach continued into New Medieval. These days I’m thinking a lot about the elements I can add as I’m writing - the textures, the sounds, the space around the main idea.
So I don’t really see myself as just a songwriter or guitarist; it’s more like building a scene or a landscape. I’m interested in creating an atmosphere and letting the listener step into it. It’s actually a good question because I can see how that cinematic quality could translate well into sync work for film or visual media.
The title New Medieval is intriguing because it seems to connect ancient ideas with modern uncertainty. What does “New Medieval” mean to you, and why did it feel like the right lens for this record?
I feel like we’re living through a kind of new medieval period. There are echoes of the past in the concentration of power, fear-driven politics, and a growing sense of division. In some ways, it feels like a return to a more feudal model, where wealth and influence are increasingly held by a small group of elites.
I’m drawn to the ideas of William Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement, which looked to medieval guilds as a model for meaningful work, community and craftsmanship. Morris was a socialist who believed creativity should be part of everyday life, with people having dignity and connection to what they make. New Medieval comes from that tension between the past and present - a response to a rapidly changing world and a reminder of the value of human hands, imagination and authentic craft.
A lot of guitar music is built around virtuosity, but your work seems more interested in atmosphere and restraint. What have you discovered by leaving space in the music rather than filling it?
I think people are really craving space right now. There’s so much noise and information coming at us constantly that creating music which allows people to slow down and be present feels increasingly important. I’ve become less interested in filling every moment and more interested in what happens between sounds - letting notes breathe and allowing texture and silence to become part of the composition.
I’ve also been exploring this in a live context through ambient longform performances with singing bowls and my friend Mike playing synthesisers. People lie down on yoga mats and tune out for a while, creating almost a communal meditation through sound. The next one will be at Annandale Neighbourhood Centre on August 8, 2026, and entry is free.
Your records sit somewhere between country blues, ambient music and experimental folk, yet they never feel torn between those identities. Do you see genres as useful maps, or limitations to be ignored?
I genuinely love music from all those worlds: country blues, ambient, experimental folk - and I’ve always been drawn to artists who sit outside easy categories. I’m a huge fan of the primitive guitar tradition and players like John Fahey and Jack Rose, but I’m happy for people to use whatever words they feel describe my music.
Lately I’ve also been exploring different forms of sound and composition, particularly organ music. I recently went to Sydney Town Hall to see Titus Grenyer playing the incredible Victorian pipe organ, including a piece he composed called Medieval Suite. Experiences like that continue to expand my idea of what music can be.
There’s a strong sense of place running through your work, even when there are no lyrics guiding the listener. How do you communicate geography, memory and emotion through instrumental music alone?
I’ve been on the planet a few years now, and like many people I’m deeply affected by nostalgia. A lot of my music comes from memories, places and a sense of connection to the past.
At university I studied Medieval and Renaissance art and culture, and that had a huge influence on me. I think there’s a connection between instrumental music and the fresco painters of that era - they told stories and created emotional worlds through imagery rather than words. In a similar way, I’m interested in creating landscapes through sound and allowing listeners to bring their own memories and experiences into them.
Bandcamp has recognised both Another Domino Map and New Medieval among its best country releases, despite your music stretching far beyond traditional country conventions. What do you think country music becomes when you strip away the clichés and keep only the spirit?
I was really honoured that Bandcamp singled out those two records, and I genuinely think it’s one of the most important platforms for music right now. They’ve recently changed hands, but I’m hopeful that their focus on artists and independent music remains.
To me, country music is really about freedom, open spaces and a sense of journey. It doesn’t have to be tied to a set of clichés - it’s about capturing that feeling. Bands like SUSS and North Americans do that beautifully, creating a sense of landscape and openness that goes beyond traditional genre boundaries.
Your collaborations span a fascinating range of artists and sounds. When bringing another musician into your world, are you looking for similarities or for the creative friction that comes from different perspectives?
I generally collaborate with people whose music sits somewhere in my lane, because there’s already a shared musical language. At the same time, I’m happy to bring in session musicians whose strengths are different to mine if they can serve the music.
I’m incredibly lucky to have a community of talented friends who are always keen to contribute to whatever I’ve got cooking. I trust them to bring their own personality to a piece, and it’s often those subtle contributions that help the music become something bigger than I could have made on my own.
The phrase “ambient Americana” suggests both movement and stillness at the same time. Do you think your music is more concerned with the journey itself or the spaces between destinations?
I’d say it’s both. A lot of people tell me they love listening to my music while they’re travelling because its expansive sound seems to suit wide open landscapes and long journeys. That connection with space has always been important to me.
At the same time, I’m increasingly interested in the spaces between destinations. I want the music to have a meditative quality, where people can tune out the noise of the world for a while and simply be present. If the music creates a sense of both movement and stillness, then I feel like it’s doing its job.
Many listeners use atmospheric music as a backdrop, yet your work rewards deep attention. Do you write with a specific listening environment in mind, or do you enjoy not knowing where your music will find people?
Great question. I’d say it’s both. A lot of people tell me they love listening to my music while they’re travelling because its expansive sound seems to suit wide open landscapes and long journeys. That connection with space has always been important to me.
At the same time, I’m increasingly interested in the spaces between destinations. I want the music to have a meditative quality, where people can tune out the noise of the world for a while and simply be present. If the music creates a sense of both movement and stillness, then I feel like it’s doing its job.
If someone hears your music for the first time while driving alone through unfamiliar country at dusk, what do you hope they understand about your artistic world before the final note disappears into the horizon?
I hope they come away with a sense that we’re only here for a short time and it’s so valuable! Be kind to each other, protect the vulnerable, and try to live with compassion rather than fear. Most of all, don't spend your whole life trapped inside your own head - be present. It's simple advice, but often one of the hardest things to put into practice.
If my music can encourage even a few moments of that kind of reflection, then I feel it's done something worthwhile. I'm also extraordinarily grateful that these pieces are finding an audience and connecting with people in ways I never could have predicted.
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