How jazz-punk quartet Maruja prevailed in spite of their surroundings

On their debut album, Pain to Power, Manchester-based band Maruja channels political rage into a stirring call for sincerity, solidarity and collective hope.

Tradition dictates that Manchester bands must subscribe to the city’s musical lore, citing its influence as inextricable. Not so Maruja, who began their slow ascent a full 11 years ago and have largely prevailed in spite of their surroundings.

Speaking over Zoom, the jazz-punk four-piece recall launching Maruja onto an uninspiring alternative scene largely trading on former glories, where unscrupulous promoters ripped off young bands with pay-to-play schemes, and dilapidated practice spaces literally crumbled around them. Amid a sea of skinny-jeaned indie filler, their incendiary, improvised epics were deemed “a hard sell”, leaving them isolated. It proved to be their making, as drummer Jacob Hayes explains. 

“Because we were in a vacuum, we relied on being inspired by music that we actively sought out ourselves and shared with each other. We didn’t need other people to influence us in a physical sense.”

Swans, Death Grips and Belfast’s Enola Gay were all pivotal discoveries, as were raves at The White Hotel in Salford and Rusholme’s now-defunct Antwerp Mansion. From this strange brew, the quartet now craft visceral yet innately spiritual protest music, characterised by mercurial shifts shaped collaboratively in a flow state. Following a three-year run of EPs that concluded with this February’s Tír na nÓg, they’re now poised to release their long-awaited full-length, Pain to Power, via UK metal label Music for Nations. 

As lead singles go, Look Down on Us is an audacious opening gambit. A ten-minute opus balancing brutality with beauty, it morphs from pitch-black hardcore, powered by Matt Buonaccorsi’s buzz-saw bass and Joe Carroll’s frenetic alto sax, to transcendental jazz and back again, before culminating in frenzied, Godspeed You! Black Emperor-esque drone, driven by hysterical tremolo strings. Vocalist/guitarist Harry Wilkinson is our anchor throughout, his furious sprechgesang giving way to impassioned howls in the middle section as he decries late-stage capitalism, societal inequality and genocide – ultimately calling for collective action with the line, “Turn pain to power, put faith in love.”

For all its righteous fury, it’s this sense of hope and community that ultimately characterises the record. You can hear it on the Palestine-inspired Zaytoun – its name taken from the Arabic for olive tree – and in Reconcile’s rallying cry: “We are love in abundance and our courage can’t be tamed.”

“What else is an artist to do, apart from tell their truth?” Wilkinson says of the band’s lyrical focus. “In times of political turmoil and oppression, it’s up to the artist to lead the way and to shine a light of truth, because the artist is the only person without a hidden agenda. We can scream about how angry we are, but at the end of the day, we just need to love more.”

Like everything his band does, this message is delivered with so much sincerity it’s hard not to feel inspired. In the very darkest of times, Maruja are a beacon of light – standing alone as they always have. 

Sounds like: A hardcore record lost in the spiritual jazz section
Soundtrack for: Building bridges
Our favourite tune: Look Down on Us
File next to: IDLES, Sons of Kemet, Rage Against the Machine
Where to find them: @marujaofficial