Made with GarageBand, two mics and a £15 charity shop guitar, Book Of Churches captures Divorce’s Felix Mackenzie-Barrow at his most minimal.
Made with GarageBand, two mics and a £15 charity shop guitar, Book Of Churches captures Divorce’s Felix Mackenzie-Barrow at his most minimal.
“It’s always been a part of my process,” Felix says. He had been writing solo material for years before Divorce existed, but as the band grew, he noticed his songwriting naturally splitting into two different voices. “One for the band and one just for me.” Instead of creating tension, that divide became oddly productive. Writing for Divorce felt less pressured, while Book Of Churches stayed private, untouched by expectation. “No one was expecting it of me, which was freeing in some ways.”
That sense of privacy runs through the entire process of making his self-titled new record. Much of it was written alone, squeezed into gaps between tours. Felix never thought of himself as someone particularly good at solitude, having always gravitated towards collaboration, but band life has a way of changing your relationship with being alone. “Being in Divorce has been so overwhelmingly social at times, I’ve found solitude increasingly precious.” Making the album became “often an exercise in sitting with myself” and a way of managing the jolt between life on and off the road, “going from never being alone to being very much alone, whilst always in a state of coming or going”.
For all its intimacy, Book Of Churches was never meant to stay hidden forever. Felix always imagined sharing it, once it felt ready. “Sharing feels like a way of letting go,” he says, explaining that the privacy of the process was really about making sure he believed in what he was making before anyone else got to hear it.
The way the record came together was, by Felix’s own admission, “incredibly DIY” and “kind of naive”, though there is nothing sloppy about the intention behind it. “I knew that I didn’t have any money to make the record with, so that was a constraint,” he explains. Working alone meant relying on whatever recording knowledge he had picked up along the way. “I had two decent mics and a laptop with GarageBand, and I figured I could make a sound I was happy with.” Rather than dressing that up, he leaned into it. “I worked within my means and within the bedrooms I was living in through the process, so I knew it would always want to sound scrappy, and I didn’t want to hide that.”
The sound of Book Of Churches is minimal and close-up, shaped partly by choice and partly by circumstance. Felix was drawn to records with sparse arrangements and wanted to see if he could pull that off himself, but he was also simply using what was around him. “Every song was played largely on a nylon string guitar I got for £15 in a charity shop, and it’s my favourite.” There is something reassuringly unflashy about that.
While writing, Felix found himself circling the idea of a “North Star”, though not in the sense of hunting for answers. “I often felt I was just reaching out to say hello to something in these songs,” he says. There were no big questions to resolve, just moments to acknowledge. “It was mostly just telling someone about things I’d noticed, or recognising the beauty in the small things and holding them to the light.”
That attention to small details feeds directly into the album’s title and its idea of “church”. For Felix, it has nothing to do with rules or repentance. “It feels like a space for softness and saying thank you to life or the world,” he says, quickly adding, “it sounds a bit wet but I do feel like that when I’m working on it.” His experience of church growing up was very different, shaped by authority and obligation, and Book Of Churches becomes a way of gently reworking that idea into something personal and chosen.
Letting people into that world still feels strange. Felix admits he does not enjoy the act of selling the project, but he is also clear-eyed about the privilege of being able to make music at all. “Songwriting feels like the thing I’m best at, and my best shot at doing a job that makes me feel alive.”
One of the biggest shifts he has noticed over the past few years is learning that creativity does not have to be fuelled by chaos. “I think I’ve learned that there are still songs to be found in stiller times,” he says. Where once he believed intensity was essential, he now sees value in paying attention. “The skill is in being open to noticing the details that go ignored, and appreciating simplicity, especially given how constant and oversaturated the cultural landscape is.”
As for how people might respond to Book Of Churches, Felix keeps his expectations loose. He likes the idea that songs change meaning once they leave your hands, and admits this is the project he has been least worried about how listeners might feel about. That lack of anxiety feels like its own quiet achievement.
The next step is taking the songs into rooms with people. “I’m doing a tour,” Felix says. “Small quiet shows, just me and a guitar.” True to the spirit of the record, he plans to keep things informal. “Think I’m gonna do show-and-tell with the audience, which will be fun, bring a rock or a meaningful spoon or something.” It feels like the right ending for a project built on restraint, attention and learning to be comfortable sitting with yourself. ■
Taken from the March 2026 issue of Dork. Book Of Churches’ self-titled debut album is out now.
