A sonic wardrobe of emotions, memories, and myth
Justin Wardrobe (JW) was born from a moment of clarity in a foggy train cabin somewhere between Oslo and Istanbul. A former train driver with a penchant for whiskey and wandering thoughts, JW spent years drifting—both physically and emotionally. His Viking ancestry pulses through his music, not in brute force but in the quiet resilience of someone who's weathered storms at sea and in soul.
JW spent his early childhood in Beirut, where the scent of jasmine and diesel filled the air. When the war began, his family fled to Canada, settling first in the suburbs and later in Montreal, where JW discovered Leonard Cohen—not just the music, but the melancholy, the myth, the Montreal of shadows and snow.
The name "Wardrobe" was chosen not just for its literary resonance, but for its symbolism: a portal, a passage, a place where identities hang and stories wait to be worn. JW's music is a kind of sonic wardrobe—each track opens into a different emotional landscape, often tinged with surrealism, nostalgia, and myth.
That album was written during a year-long overland journey from Singapore to Morocco, with ship passages across the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The songs are steeped in the unpredictable rhythm of travel—sometimes structured, sometimes chaotic, always searching.
Sitar Player
Met JW in Varanasi. She was playing sitar at sunrise near the ghats, looping ambient textures into the morning mist. JW, sleep-deprived and spiritually raw, sat beside her for hours. They didn't speak until the third day.
Their first collaboration was a spontaneous duet: sitar and whispered vocals recorded on a borrowed Zoom H4n. She joined the band after JW sent her a postcard from Iceland with the words: "The canyon misses your echoes."
Guitarist
Met JW in a pub near Inverness. JW was driving freight trains and Milo was playing a set to five drunk locals and a dog. They bonded over whisky and ghost stories. Milo claimed his Telecaster was haunted by his grandfather's soul. JW believed him.
They recorded "Things We've Left Behind" in a freezing cottage with no electricity, using candlelight and a battery-powered recorder.
Bass Player
Met JW on the streets of Tokyo. JW had just spent a night sleeping near Shibuya Station. Koji was playing ambient bass loops in a tunnel for no one in particular.
JW dropped a coin and asked, "Do you play memory?" Koji replied, "Only the parts we forget." They jammed in a tiny studio above a ramen shop. Koji later moved to Berlin but kept sending JW bass stems via encrypted email.
Keyboardist
Met JW in Iceland. JW was stranded near Akureyri with a broken motorcycle. Clara offered him shelter in her studio, which smelled of coffee and old vinyl.
She was scoring a short film about lost fishermen. JW added vocals to one of her tracks, and they realized their sonic palettes were made for each other. Clara joined the band after hearing "Living for Jane" and saying, "This sounds like fog."
Modular Synth Player
Met JW in Toronto. JW was crashing in a warehouse loft during a brutal winter. Ravi was hosting underground synth nights where the audience lay on the floor and listened in silence.
JW read poetry over Ravi's evolving patches. One night, Ravi said, "You speak in voltages." They built a track called "Come on a Ride" using only modular synth, field recordings, and a single vocal take recorded in a stairwell.
A 5-part mini-series exploring the journey of Justin Wardrobe and his collaborators. Each episode (~1 minute) captures the poetic, intimate essence of their musical odyssey—think Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown meets The Velvet Underground documentary.
JW's early life in northern England and Scotland. Drunken nights, train cabins, first lyrics scribbled on ticket stubs.
Varanasi and meeting Anaya. Spiritual awakening, sitar studies, sonic experimentation.
Milo's haunted Telecaster. Scottish Highlands, whisky-soaked jam sessions.
Koji and Ravi's ambient architecture. Tokyo tunnels and Toronto lofts. Building tracks from field recordings and voltage.
Clara's cinematic scoring in Iceland. Lucía's flamenco counterpoint in Spain. Final ensemble recording in a candlelit monastery.