Lauren: I started writing music about ten to twelve years ago. What inspired me was: my friends in high school were in the high school talent show, and a couple of my good friends learned a song on guitar and performed together. I was so jealous. I was like, “They look so cool.” So, it was pure jealously that first inspired me to pick up the guitar [laughs].

After that, I decided that I was interested in learning how to play guitar and learning how to write songs, so I got one of those off-brand guitars you can pick up from your local music store. I got a book of tabs, and it just shows you where to put your fingers, basically. I looked up the chords for my favourite Green Day song at the time, which was Good Riddance because that was what I thought was cool, and it felt really, really natural. I didn’t have anyone showing me what to do or anything, I just kinda pieced it together. Once I realised I could play someone else’s songs, it made me want to insert my own meaning and my own words.

How similar is what you’re doing now to what you thought you might be doing when you started out?

Lauren: Wow, it’s a lot different now. I started on acoustic, playing solo, and I always in the back of my head thought it would be really neat to maybe do a full band, but I didn’t really know how to get there. I didn’t know how people found bandmates, or how you even write music for a full band. It’s definitely not what I imagined, just what I’d hoped for.

So is the band a conventional unit, or is it more of a conduit for your own material?

Lauren: I think it’s a good mix of both, actually, in that every band member contributes, but it’s also definitely an outlet for my feelings and my words.

I guess the reason I think it’s more of a hybrid is that I do write the songs ninety-five-percent of the time, and then I’ll go to band practice and I’ll sing a song on guitar, but then as a band we’ll flesh out the rest together. As I’m playing, the guys will make up their parts, and I’ll be like, “No, I don’t like that”, or “Yeah, that’s cool — let’s keep that.” So, it is a little more collaborative than a solo artist with a band.

I think it’s unconventional in some ways because we like to introduce a lot of different instruments. For example, our new songs that we’re writing, we’re introducing sleigh bells, which I’m really excited about. We also have a synthesizer and an analog drum machine, so there are a lot of things that aren’t conventional about it in terms of the instruments. And I would also say genre-wise, we’re still exploring, and we’re not very stringent about what a song has to sound like. We’re very fluid genre-wise.

I must admit that when putting together the compilation, I found it a little difficult from sonic and genre perspectives to get my head around where your place was in the context of the overall record. Is that something that you find yourselves, perhaps when booking shows, or is is just me?

Lauren: No, I definitely think about it a lot: how it’s kinda trickier to market in a way, because there’s not a specific genre or a specific band we can point to and be like, “We sound exactly like them.” There’s a big pop influence in our music, so I like to think of it as just indie-pop and indie-rock mixed together.

But yeah, I think about that a lot. When we’re booking shows though, it actually works to our advantage, because we fit in really well with poppy, synth-driven acts, but we can also accommodate… For example, our last show we played was with this experimental band called Merel and Tony — they’re like, indie-experimental — and they do kinda jazzy, weird modulations, but it was such a fun fit. It totally worked.

Okay, so what is your songwriting process before you take a song to the band?

Lauren: I tell people I’m kind of a lazy songwriter — it takes me a few months to think of anything. Well, not a lazy songwriter — I’m a slow songwriter. Basically, what happens is, if I get to a place emotionally where I feel like I’m welling up with feelings and I need some sort of outlet, I’ll finally, reluctantly go to my guitar and start noodling around. Usually after a couple of hours I’ll find something cool on the guitar that inspires me. Alternatively, I’ll be walking around my neighbourhood, just to be with nature and my feelings, and I’ll think of maybe a line that’ll inspire the rest of the lyrics, and the rest of the lyrics I’ll marry to some music.

When you hit upon that initial idea, how long does the rest of the song generally take to develop?

Lauren: If the lyrics or the music are there, I try to get it all done in a month. I’ll take vocal notes on my phone, and I’ll keep revisiting it a little bit at a time. This is really bad, but my favourite time to do it is while I’m driving, while I’m stuck in traffic and there’s nothing else to do and I’m super bored. [laughs] This is Houston — you sit for thirty minutes to an hour every day. So, while I’m sitting at a stop light, I’ll be messing around with melodies. Usually by the end of a few weeks, I’ll have something that I can actually present.

How quickly do you all connect with one another’s ideas when you take a song to the rest of the band?

Lauren: It’s been great; it’s been pretty instant. Just last week I presented a song idea, and actually on this one I did do a demo — I was able to do a really shoddy home recording that had the melody and the piano, so it kinda got everyone’s gears turning. But basically, I started playing the song in practice, and the guitarist just kinda noodled around — instantly he thinks of things that I really, really like. Our drummer’s like that too, and our bassist. They just pretty much immediately, within a few minutes, lock into something that we all really like.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Lauren: Yeah, when I’m so deep in existential dread — that’s when I write my best stuff. I guess, also, some of the songs are about a really strong romantic feeling, so I guess any strong feeling.

When you get deep into a song and are connecting with these feelings, how does that affect your mood subsequently once you’ve finished writing?

Lauren: Oh, that’s a good question. I feel comforted on some level. I feel the same way — if I feel really sad and I’m writing and expressing that, I’ll still feel sad but I’ll feel a little like: ‘Wow! I made this beautiful thing.’ So maybe it’s not to waste; maybe I’m not wasting this awful feeling. It’s kinda satisfying.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Lauren: I’m not classically trained on guitar at all, so that’s kinda hard. I utilise a capo to kinda add variety to the music, but my guitar parts are really simple, and I think that’s an obstacle: creating interest when I’m working with really simple parts.

Is that something you’re keen to try to improve?

Lauren: I’m really impressed with what I’ve been able to create with such little training and everything. I would like to buckle down and maybe learn some skills and challenge myself a little bit.

What do you feel is the most important element of a Velveteen Echo song?

Lauren: Well, now that we have nine songs written, I think going forward, as I’m writing songs, I’m keeping in mind, “How will this fit into our set?” It’s okay if it extrapolates a little, but is it not gonna fit at all? I want it to have a similar dreamy vibe. Me and our guitarist, Jake, we tend to gravitate towards the same guitar tones, so that really helps add consistency. I guess the most important thing is having a dreamy tone. I really like songs with a melancholy undertone, because I think the reality is life can be hard and kinda sad, and I like exploring that theme in the music.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the genres of music you fall into?

Lauren: I think what can be annoying is when people aren’t flexible, and they’re like, “Well, you’re either pop or you’re shoegaze. You can’t be both.” And we kinda are both. It’s nice when people have an open mind when listening to our music, for sure. Some of my favourite bands in Houston that I would be really excited to play with, they’re considered more hardcore, and so we don’t really get invited as often on those kinds of bills. I think it’d be fun, but in that way our genre, even being associated with pop, excludes us from those bills sometimes, unfortunately.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively inclined?

Lauren: I feel like I gain a sense of purpose, because I think there’s a lot more to life than just eating and sleeping and dying. In between being born and dying, there are all these really big questions we have to contemplate, like: What it means to be human; What it means to love someone; The problem of pain: Why do people suffer? I love exploring that. Sometimes I like exploring in an enigmatic way in my lyrics. It really gives me a sense of purpose: that I can talk about these big questions in a creative way and share it with people.

You used the word ‘enigmatic’ there, which I think describes your lyricism very well. Is that something you always set out to be when writing, or is it often just the way it pans out?

Lauren: I definitely think it used to be intentional. I was in a relationship; I wasn’t happy. I was writing songs about it but I had to do it in a secret way, because I wasn’t ready to rock the relationship yet. So, the songs might have been melancholy, but I don’t think it was clear what I was sad about. So that was purposeful. A lot of the songs I’ve written are enigmatic on purpose. Also, I think another reason I like writing that way is that sometimes I think being really specific is kinda cheesy and hard to relate to.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Lauren: Even if it’s in an indirect way, I want people to listen to my music and feel like it’s okay to be a little different; it’s okay to feel sad sometimes — it’s part of life. I want people to feel encouraged to create and to feel things.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Lauren: Oh, boy. [laughs] I don’t want how much I create to ever define me because how many songs I put out a year really fluctuates. So, I think that’s a really volatile way to define your value. In some ways, I don’t want it to define me at all — I think there’s a lot more to me than what I can make: there’s the moral choices I make; how I treat the underprivileged people in my community. I hope that answers the question! [laughs] In some ways, yes, and in some ways, no.

The post Lauren Massa (Velveteen Echo) appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Georgia: We were starting a band a bunch of years ago, and my friend was like, “Why don’t you play guitar in the band?” I was like, “I dunno, I don’t really play guitar.” He started teaching me some of his songs, and then one day I was alone in my room and thinking about this toxic relationship I was in with this stupid, stupid person, and I started writing a song about it.

How has your approach to songwriting developed since then?

Georgia: I’ve definitely tried to consciously emulate techniques or musical styles that I like, whereas before I just wrote whatever I thought sounded good. Which is good too, but I think you should always try to keep growing in life. I don’t know if that shows through. I have a lot of unreleased material, so maybe it’ll show through more in that.

Unreleased material?

Georgia: I am going to release it; you have to release the things that you make. If you don’t, how are you ever gonna know if people would’ve liked it?

I’m going through an interesting experience with this right now, because I recorded a full-length album. I’m just taking my time with it, because I really want it to be something I’m very, very proud of. Since I have time and resources right now to make it really, really good, I’m gonna take as much time and make it really, really good. I haven’t had this kind of experience before, and that’s why it feels so long and drawn out to me. Everything I’ve done before was like, “Boom boom boom. Bang bang bang. We’re out of money. Put it out. Let’s see what happens.” [laughs]

What is your songwriting process then, and how long does it take for you to fully develop an idea?

Georgia: A lot of times something will happen that will affect me so deeply, that I will have so much to say about, I’ll usually sit down and write something almost all at once. That’s how I write most of my songs. I have to get it all out. It takes a whole day or half a day, and I only get up to go to the bathroom and drink water. That’s mostly it. Alternatively, I have these ideas for melodies — I’m singing in the shower or while cleaning my room or something — and then I figure it out on the guitar or record it into my iPhone. I’ll forget about it and then a couple of weeks later it’ll come back to me. The fact that it comes back makes me realise that it’s a good one. Then I’ll expand it.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Georgia: It’s funny, because I think that I’ve done my best writing when I’m simultaneously very comfortable and very uncomfortable. Maybe emotionally I’m very uncomfortable because something really shit has happened and I want it to be over, so I’m writing a song about it to get over it. But, I’m also at home, in my room, and I have candles going — maybe I just took a bath [laughs] — and I’m very comfortable in my environment. I definitely need to be in my zone to write songs.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Georgia: Basically, just my own editorial mind. Self-censorship is a huge obstacle. There’s the creative essence, and then there is the mind. The mind is controlling, and telling you what’s good and bad, even though it doesn’t really know. That’s a big obstacle. You have to shut that off.

How do you do that?

Georgia: Excellent question! I wish I had the answer. [laughs] I do think meditation helps. I meditate every single morning — if I miss a day then the chatterbox of the mind pipes up louder. But I don’t think there’s any one or two things that you could do — I think it’s probably a lifelong process. It’s work.

Forgiving yourself — that’s a big one, because if you make something that you don’t like, you still made something. So you have to acknowledge that you still did the thing, and just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean someone else won’t.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the style of music that you make?

Georgia: Not about the style of music. There are things about the music scene and music industry that irritate me, like how homogeneous it is. But style, no.

Conversely then, what do you really love about your particular style?

Georgia: The fun about writing your own songs is that you can just do whatever you want. I never really thought of myself as a singer-songwriter, and I’m curious what you mean when you say ‘the style’. I’m curious what you think my style is, because I don’t even know sometimes.

I think it’s difficult to describe music accurately, and if I were forced to do so, I’d just reiterate the words I wrote to accompany the compilation. Which is a pretty lame response to your query, admittedly. I do think you have a very distinctive sound though.

Georgia: Yeah, describing a style of music — oh my God, that’s so hard! But, what is nice of you to say, is that it’s distinctive, because that is something that I’ve always tried to do. You just have to do your own thing; you just have to do what you like and what you think is good. That’s what people are gonna hear.

You can tell when someone’s a phony. You can hear it and you can feel it in your bones. You can also hear it and feel it when someone is being totally honest and just doing their own thing, and so I have always tried to do that. Always. That’s not a very revolutionary thing to say, but whatever. [laughs]

Is there a particular element of your craft that you think you could improve upon?

Georgia: Yes. I really want to get better at guitar. Oh, man — it’s a struggle. [laughs] I don’t have the discipline. You have to practice every single day, you have to do all these scales… I’m really, really trying hard. I’m taking guitar lessons, and there’s like a little kid leaving the room and then I go in, and then there’s a little kid coming in after me. [laughs] But, you know. I’m not musically trained or anything. So yes, I would love to improve my guitar — I would love to be able shred and stuff, but we’ll see about that.

How do you keep yourself motivated, both with the guitar, and just generally with your songwriting?

Georgia: A huge part of motivation for me is social: going out to see shows; going to see friends play; showing my friends new songs, hearing what they think; hearing their new song. I think it’s really important to have a solid home base – a place where you can play shows, where you know people and have friends: a scene. I really, really value that. Highly.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively, inclined?

Georgia: I honestly don’t think that much about what I gain. A lot of it for me is about giving, actually, because being able to perform and contribute that experience to people’s lives and evenings — that’s what I’m gaining: that sense of contribution. It’s being able to offer something to people to enjoy, and that’s what’s really rewarding about it for me: making the rest of the world go away so you can have fun.

What are your goals for ggpeach?

Georgia: My goal above everything else is to just play live shows all of the time, all over the world. That’s the big vision. You have to start local, but I also think it’s important to visualise what you really want and to say it out loud — to put it out there. You’ve gotta ask for what you want. You’ve gotta tell people what you want.

And I think the other fun thing about getting to play more shows in different places is that you can make them so different each time. You can have so much variety in the experience of the show, and I think that is what I really look forward to in expanding and playing more widely: that I can make really unique experiences at different shows.

I admire people who are able to tap into their emotional energy reserves for multiple nights in a row on tour.

Georgia: Yep. You know what: it’s the best. The way I feel about it is that it’s the best thing to do; it’s just the best thing in the world to do: to be on stage. So, it’s nice to do it every night, and I think a lot of people feel that way who are on tour. It’s just the most fun thing that you can ever do.

I don’t really like the winter at all, so I don’t leave the house very much, but over the summer I went on tour. I planned these DIY tours, and I recently bought a minivan so that I could drive myself around and play shows. Performing is definitely the main reason that I do all of this — playing live is the number one thing for me. It’s the most fun thing. Ever.

I keep on going back to this quote — I don’t know why this has been coming up in my memory recently — but I started out when I was really young doing musical theatre. I had this vocal coach, and she was like my mentor for a long time. When we were doing rehearsals or something, and we were talking about a character starting to sing — you know how, in musical theatre, people are talking and then, suddenly, a song starts [laughs] – she would always say that the reason that was written into the show was because the character feels so strongly about something that they can’t just speak it, they have to sing it. The only way they can express this exact thought is by singing it through music — speaking it will not suffice. And so, I’ve been really trying to incorporate that into my original music: What do I have to say that is so important to me that I can only sing it?

Is that something you find easy to do?

Georgia: I think it’s easy for me because I already do that. I’m very meticulous with writing songs, and I think really long and hard about the words and what I’m going to say. I think that’s just an extension of my personality — of how I am in person when I’m not singing or writing songs. I don’t like speaking candidly and quickly about something that’s very important, because sometimes my brain is like three steps behind my mouth, and I want to make sure that it catches up. [laughs]

Well, I would completely agree that your work to this point is very expressive — it just seems like it’s naturally your style.

Georgia: Thank you. I am a very expressive person. I like things to be big and out there.

To what extent then would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Georgia: My first instinct is to say that I can’t really separate the two. Who I am is very much the same as my creative output, but the more I think about it, the more I think that there are many other parts of the person…

I don’t know… There’s nothing else that I could do, so how much would I like it to define me as a person? One-hundred-percent. [laughs] I guess, when I think about the people that I look up to who have made music or who are performers — from what I’ve read and what I’ve learned about them, they completely, one-hundred-and-ten-percent, committed to it.

I just think that everyone should be honest, with themselves, and with other people. That’s what I’m trying to do: to be honest, and express myself. If people connect with that and feel some type of way when they hear the music then that’s awesome! But if they don’t, they don’t.

The post ggpeach appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Ross: I was playing music for a long time — I started taking piano when I was seven years old. I think when I picked up a guitar as a teenager, that was more inspiring from a songwriting standpoint, but I’ve always tried to write songs. I have some really terrible recordings of some really bad songs on an old tape recorder somewhere. I think it just felt like the thing to do — it wasn’t necessarily a decision.

What was it that prompted you to commit to a solo project?

Ross: I was in a band up until last year called Release the Dog. We were around for five years or so — it was my first real band out of college. I had a bunch of songs that I’d written that didn’t really go along with that band. In that five years, that was my main band, but I was also in a bunch of other projects — just experiencing writing in a group setting and fronting a band.

Having these almost folksy songs, they didn’t really go with anything else. But I think the main focus for flower shopping was to try to write songs that sound good by themselves. When you write in a group setting, it’s really easy to be like, “Yeah! That sounds great!” Because it’s super loud, and you’re all feeding off each other’s energy. But then, sometimes, you strip it down to just acoustic and vocals and it doesn’t have the same effect. And not everything has to, but that was my goal for this: to have something that could stand alone. And I guess I still haven’t fully committed to this project — I’m still trying to see where it’s heading. But I’ve gotten some good reactions, so it’s just kinda what I do, and I’m going to keep doing it for as long as I can.

So has the reaction to the project been more positive than you were expecting?

Ross: It’s not so much that I wasn’t expecting a good reaction, it’s just that I didn’t want to expect anything. Booking shows, and trying to tour around and buddy up with bands — it takes a lot of time, is really hard and can be really frustrating. I’m in this other band right now called Barnwell, and we’re all best buds — we’ve been around for about four years, so that’s a pretty big time commitment for me. With this, it was like, I’m just going to try to make the recordings and the music really good, put it out there, advertise it and see what happens. And I haven’t had to book my own show yet, which is great, because it’s kind of a pain sometimes. I’ve had some friends be like, “Hey! Hop on this show with us.” That’s been great.

What will probably happen is, once that stops — if I have a lull in show offers I think are cool — I’ll probably start recording again. I don’t have any super ambitious plans at the moment. [laughs]

With regards to the live environment: Have the shows you’ve played thus far been stripped back?

Ross: Actually, I’ve been trying to do a full band. The band I’m in, Barnwell, it’s pretty much just those guys and another one of our friends on keyboard and background vocals. I’ve tried to make it a full band experience, and that’s worked pretty well, but the problem is that we don’t have a lot of time to practice. I feel like I need to record some new songs — right now we only have five full band songs, and I’ll play one or two on my own depending on how long the set time is.

How does playing live as flower shopping feel compared to the band you were in before?

Ross: It’s way different. I’m focusing more on trying to make the songs sound good by myself, so once I’ve taught these guys the songs — and I kinda taught them all the parts that are recorded — I was like, “Y’all are good musicians. You know what I recorded — now you can kinda play with it.” But unless something terrible happens in the band, I’m not really thinking about what they’re doing — I’m just up there playing, and everything they’re doing makes it sound really awesome and full. It was almost more stressful in the other band because I was focusing really hard on listening to what my bandmates were doing instead of what I was doing.

So, what is your songwriting process?

Ross: I start with two different parts — the music and the lyrics are separate, usually. If I have a bunch of musical ideas and then a bunch of lyrical ideas, I try to see which ones I can match together. Sometimes I’ll have a musical moment that I really like, and then I’ll just have a line or two pop into my head that seems to work with it. Then I’ll kinda think, ‘well, what does that mean?’ and try and build off of that. But it’s different every time. I focus a lot on the music as a listener. When I’m listening to music, I really like a good chord progression and a good aesthetic; that all the sounds being put into it are really well thought out and blend together.

So that’s what I do with my songs: I try to make a good guitar part and try to see what vocals I can add to it. But there have also been times — it’s more rare — where I’ll write lyrics and have melody pop into my head along with the lyrics. But usually it’s music first, lyrics second. I try to focus really hard on lyrics — I’m not saying that they’re an afterthought — but the song wouldn’t exist if I didn’t think the music part was cool.

So does the music side come easier to you than the lyrical side?

Ross: I’d say so. I mean, for both music and lyrics I try to make something that sounds earnest. I’m not going to pretend that I’m a super deep human or anything, but I try to write music and lyrics that I one-hundred-percent believe in. Sometimes the lyrics do come a little more difficult, and I tend to write sadder songs. I’m not a super sad person — it’s just a good way to vent that emotion. Otherwise, I would be venting that in everyday life a lot more often, and that’s just a thing that I don’t really want to do. I try to write stuff that really means a lot to me, and I try to keep it somewhat ambiguous so it can be open to interpretation. I’m kind of a perfectionist, so overthinking everything all the time, especially when it comes to lyrics because that’s what most people are going to take away from it.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Ross: Just time, really. I recently started doing music full-time, which is great, but it’s not as a creative thing — I teach music. So that’s a lot of fun, and music’s just an everyday part of my life now. But a lot of what I do with music is lesson planning and learning these songs that I can teach to people.

Actually, the biggest creative obstacle for me is probably when I sit down with the intention to create. Because if I sit down, like, “Okay, I’m gonna write a song” then it’s just going to be terrible and it’s going to sound really contrived. Normally the best riffs or whatever that I come up with, I’m just sitting on the couch watching TV with my guitar.

And I guess sometimes I don’t have stuff to write about lyric-wise, but I can usually find something.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the type of music that you make?

Ross: I think, sometimes, I wish that I could write happier songs. I feel like every time that my parents listen to anything I do, they’re like, “You should write happier songs. Why are you so sad?” It’s not really that I’m this super depressed and sad person, it’s just a good way to vent those emotions when I do have them. And it’s relatable to a lot of people.

As far as the genre of music that I’m in as a whole, I think there’s this glorified ‘sadboy’ type thing that’s kind of irritating sometimes. People are just like, “Yeah! It’s cool to be sad”, and I’m like, “Nah, it kinda sucks.” [laughs] But also, I don’t really know how to write super happy songs without making them somewhat bittersweet. It’s hard to write like Jimmy Buffet, where everything’s great and you’re eating a cheeseburger in Hawaii or whatever. That’s not really super relatable. It’s good background music when you’re at the beach, but it’s not something I seek more out of.

I find myself torn on the sadboy/sadgirl issue, because I’ve definitely noticed that same glorification of sadness (particularly on social media) and wondered how healthy and helpful it actually is long-term, but at the same time, sharing feelings and demonstrating to others that their sadness isn’t entirely unique — those are unmistakably positive things that shouldn’t be discouraged.

Ross: Yeah, that’s a really good point. I think it’s just the people who use it in the wrong sort of way, like they’re just trying to be hip or something: people who make suicide jokes and stuff — it makes me kinda uncomfortable. It’s good to know that people have the same thoughts, and mental health awareness is a good thing, obviously, but sometimes I feel like focusing on that emotion too much, it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If that is what your image is, it’s gonna snowball and that’s gonna be how you are, I guess. So yeah, I’m torn on it too a little bit. I, personally, don’t consider myself a sadboy, and I don’t want to be a sadboy – I want to be a ‘happyboy’. [laughs]

Okay, so what is it that you really love about your particular style of music?

Ross: I think it’s cool because it’s not really confined to one genre. I think ‘alternative’ is a super broad term, but it kinda does capture the essence of that compilation. I think what’s cool about music lately is that there’s a lot of tonal exploration, and the themes that people write about are pretty relatable. I guess, with my music, I’m just a guy who plays guitar, so I try to make it sound like cool guitar music. There’s a lot of cool guitar music out there now, which is nice because it always seems to be going out of style — at least, in the last decade it seems like guitar music’s gone out of style.

One thing I’ve really found lately is that there are a lot of good bands that seem to fall right in between genres, which is great but also makes it difficult to know where exactly to fit them in with regards the compilations.

Ross: I think that’s the beauty of music: you can do anything you want. Definitely with alternative music there’s not really a specific sound that defines it. Although I do think there are definitely bands out there that define a lot of younger bands that are popping up now. Mac DeMarco’s a big one — people trying to be that happy-go-lucky dude on stage with twinkly guitars and stuff. That’s really cool. And Frankie Cosmos — I see a lot of bands doing similar things to that. Those are some cool bands that have sort of defined the last several years of music — at least that I’ve listened to and maybe got some influence from.

So what sort of direction do you see flower shopping going in stylistically?

Ross: Well, since I’ve been playing with a live band, I’ve definitely thought more about how these songs are going to come across in a live band than I did when I was recording the songs for the last EP. The newer stuff, I’m probably going to crank up the tempo a little bit, because we had one song that was kind of a slower one that we played live — it’s not on the EP — and one time we counted it off too fast, and it actually sounded really good and the crowd was really into it, so I was like, “Maybe that one should be a little bit faster.” [laughs] I guess it just made me think: What is fun about playing these songs live with my friends?

Otherwise, it’s going to be pretty similar, probably. Maybe a little bit more polished.

Is there anything in particular you learned from the first release that you’ll take into future stuff you do?

Ross: Maybe from a recording standpoint there were some things — since I recorded it all myself, that was a huge learning experience. Figuring out a good way to make that process easy for me. So, just not being a perfectionist from the beginning of the song. Because what I was doing, typically, for a couple of those songs — I’m not a drummer by trade — I would do countless drum takes, and just be overthinking it. The one that got on your compilation, that was one of the first few takes. I’d set this arbitrary deadline for myself to release the EP, which was a couple of days away, and I was like, “Well, I just need to use this take. I guess I’m just gonna try to layer some instruments on top of it… Yeah, that sounds cool.” I was going through and adding stuff really quickly, and then that’s the one that everybody likes. [laughs] So, I guess what I learned was maybe don’t overthink it, and just trust the song.

It must be good to know that you have that in you: to instinctually be able to put something together so quickly?

Ross: Yeah, that was a fun experiment. Since I was running so low on time to meet this deadline — that nobody would have cared if I missed anyway, but just had to make for my own sanity — I was debating doing that one as acoustic and vocals. I’m really glad that I didn’t, because like I said, people seem to hear that one and go, “Yes! That’s a great one.”

It was my wife helping me decide what to do. She helped me make a lot of little decisions, where I’d be like, “Does this sound cool, or is it too much?” That song was one of them — she was like, “I think you should do it full band. The rest of the songs are full band, and you should at least put some stuff in there.” So, I spent a couple of days putting keyboards and guitars and stuff on it. If you isolate the drum take, it’s not a great take rhythmic-wise, but that’s what this whole project is about: learning how to do this, I guess.

How important was it for you to have your wife giving you feedback? To have someone who could give you a different opinion?

Ross: It was very important. Some of the songs would be quite different. Just having an outside ear. She’s played guitar and stuff in the past, and she’s sang — she’s got a good ear for music — but she’s not really a musician, so it’s good to have somebody from the outside be like, “No, that doesn’t sound good.” Because it probably just sounded cool to me because it’s maybe like an interesting musical thing to do, but that doesn’t necessarily make it appropriate. So yeah, that was really important. One of the songs was going to have a slide guitar solo at one point — it would have been weird, so I’m glad that didn’t happen. [laughs]

What do you feel that you gain from being musically inclined?

Ross: I studied music in college, so I have a lot of theory background — just constructing songs and being able to figure out different ways a song can go. That really helps.

And what does having a creative outlet do for your life in general?

Ross: It’s great. It keeps me busy, and it’s nice to have some feelings, emotions, that I put into music — and as much as I want to pretend that I don’t care what other people think, of course it’s nice to hear people say that they relate to the feelings that I’m putting out there. It’s nice to have a passion that I can pursue — I’ll be able to do it for the rest of my life. I feel like some things you can’t do that — you can’t play football until you’re eighty.

And especially if you’re teaching music, it’s fun to inspire kids and adults. And when you meet other people who are into music — like, I relate to you, halfway across the world, just because we gel musically. That’s a cool thing to be able to relate to people that way. If there’s an open jam or something like that, take your guitar and go jam with people and learn something from them, maybe teach them something. It’s cool. It’s something I’m really thankful to be able to do.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Ross: It’s probably less and less over the years. My early twenties, I was like, “This is me that I’m putting out there right now!” I think that’s okay, but as a result, I’d get my feelings hurt if people didn’t like it. Maybe that has less to do with it defining me and more to do with confidence — if my output defines me now and somebody doesn’t like it then I’m just okay with that.

But yeah, my creative output does define me in a lot of ways. But I have a lot of different outputs: I do this, and I have Barnwell, and getting to be creative in teaching music, and studying music like jazz and stuff like that. I feel like music is one big creative output for me, even if I’m not putting it all out there. Some people might say, “This is my diary, and putting it out there in the world means everything to me.” I guess I’m halfway between that and saying, “It’s just music, and if you don’t like it, that’s fine — maybe somebody else will.”

The post flower shopping appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Mia: I’ve been around music for as long as I can remember. I come from a very musically-inclined family, but I never picked up an instrument until I was probably twelve or thirteen. I started writing songs with the intention of starting a project when I was a sophomore in high school.

And what was it that prompted you to actually start releasing your music?

Mia: I’d had this idea for Pom Pom Squad — my best friend is a drummer, so I was like, “We have to start a band! How cool would it be!” I was like, “We’re gonna have an all girl band and it’s gonna be incredible.” She got really busy with things, so it devolved into this thing that I would do in my bedroom — it was a total solo project. When I was eighteen, I went to Pitchfork Music Festival, and it was the first time I’d really been up close and seen all of these bands and all these women be congratulated for screaming and really using their voices in ways that weren’t necessarily pretty. That had never occurred to me before. I loved riot grrrl and I’d listen to a lot of noise music, but I had never thought that I could do it; it never clicked for me. I went home, wrote Lux Lisbon, and recorded it alone in my room, very nervously.

Since then, you’ve obviously picked up other band members. Has doing so changed the way you perceive the project?

Mia: Yeah. I mean, I think the intention of the project is the same — it’s a really good release for me, emotionally, to be able to write these things and express myself — but I definitely wanted it from the beginning to be a female project. I wanted it to be a riot grrrl band. Serendipitously, I was trying to find female band members, but I couldn’t find anybody in time, which sucked. So, the guys (Alex Carr: lead guitar, percussion & Zoltán Sindhu: bass, percussion) and I initially struggled with what the dynamic was gonna be. I think there was this idea when we all started that they were the temporary band, so they felt excluded and isolated. We finally found a good balance…

It was hard for me to put myself at the front of the project for a while, so I would put my friends or other girls on the release covers; Hate It Here is the first time I’ve put myself on the cover art. I think I still needed, in some way, to be about femininity, female empowerment and empowerment of women of colour, and so to have this band and it to be all male — we have to be very careful about the dynamic in terms of the imagery.

Okay, so for those who are unaware: What is your process as a songwriter?

Mia: Every time I get asked this, I’ve been mentioning this Leonard Cohen interview. It was one of the last interviews he did before he died, and he was like, “You don’t write the songs.” If I sit down to write a song, it’s usually pretty unproductive — with the exception of today, actually! I have a deadline for the first time, and it’s still a waiting game, it’s just a waiting game in a much shorter amount of time. I like to let it happen naturally; usually, I’ll be walking down the street or in class and I’ll come up with a riff. I always try to carry a notebook, and I always try to get it down and record it really quickly into the memos on my phone. That’s usually how songs form for me.

Has having a deadline had any significant effect on your ability to create?

Mia: I think, for the first time, I had to try a bunch of different chord progressions and a bunch of different concepts. When I have all the time in the world, I’ll kinda marinate in a concept and be like, “Well, whatever happens with it is gonna happen. The song’s gonna get written one day, maybe next year, maybe tomorrow — who knows?” But, with this song, the theme has to be very specific, and I’ve been testing out chord progressions all day. I finally landed on one that I liked, but it was very frustrating. I work decently well under pressure, but it’s agonising for the first section.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Mia: Hmm… That’s a very good question… I think I need to be in a relatively relaxed space. Living in New York, you don’t really have a lot of time to think or to finish thoughts, so I find that during the school year, I write less and less, or I don’t finish songs. I need to wait until I have a decent amount of time to really be there with it.

What is the most important element in any song that you write?

Mia: That I believe what I’m saying. No-one’s going to believe you if you don’t believe you. If I find myself writing a line that I don’t think is worth listening to, it’s gone; I don’t want to make anything inauthentic.

When you have a basic idea, how easily do you find it to build upon?

Mia: I think it depends on the idea. Most of Hate It Here came pretty naturally. There were certain songs that were agonising, but a lot of them I didn’t have to think about too much; it just clicked and made sense. There are songs that I’ve had in my notebook since high school that are still not built, so I think it’s really specific to the idea.

With regards those songs that were agonising: What was it about them that made them so?

Mia: Me. [laughs] I was very afraid when I wrote them of letting my voice be heard. When I used to record alone, I could put a bunch of effects on things. I remember the first cut of Pharmacy — someone messaged me through Bandcamp and was like, “Could you just put the vocal up a little?” So, I went in and I put the vocal up, and it’s still pretty masked when I listen to the version that’s up. The version where there are no effects, there’s a stark difference. When I started recording with Alex, who has a lot of really great technology and gear, and I had the realisation that people would actually hear me singing, I was very nervous.

So, definitely letting myself be heard and received, but also I was scared of being soft. Songs like He Never Shows terrified me. That song is a total crush song; it’s very vulnerable. Then, also, I remember Hate It Here was one of the harder songs to write, actually, because I was in such a place where I wanted to be seen as a punk artist and have a punk identity, but all the things I was writing felt so soft and so vulnerable. I was like, “How can I be a punk and still have a bleeding, open heart?” Then I was like, “Oh wait, it’s the same thing.” It’s about an attitude, it’s about a style. That song when it finally came together was so satisfying for me, because it does have the yelling, and it does have the softness. I had a friend come up to me after a show and be like, “How can you be so aggressive and so vulnerable at the same time?” That was an absolute success.

There’s this Mitski song — I just got into music school, and I wrote my entrance essay about this song. It’s a very soft song, but it has this militaristic, electronic drum. At the end of it, she just screams like nine times, and it’s the most cathartic thing. I’ve always wanted to do that in a song, so Hate It Here was my equivalent of screaming nine times. [laughs]

You mention being nervous about people hearing your vocals. Is this because you don’t necessarily identify as a singer?

Mia: No, I’m actually a much better singer than I am a musician; I’ve been singing for much longer. I’m not entirely sure; I think there’s something really vulnerable about letting your voice be heard, and vulnerability is hard for everybody. It’s not something you learn how to do, and you get into the real world and you have to open up to people. It’s so easy, now, to be closed; you have a phone, you have a personality — everyone can kinda build their brand. You don’t have to be real.

But I think, vocally, there’s definitely something about letting your guard down. I used to be very self-conscious about my voice. I’ve gone in phases with it. I used to always wish that I had a higher pitched voice; I wanted to have a really pretty voice, and I felt my voice was too low or not feminine enough. Now, I’m on the total opposite end of the spectrum where I feel more comfortable screaming a lot of the time than I feel singing, because you have to have control — singing is a very controlled act. I used to get comments a lot, like, “I can’t imagine you singing Lux”. They can’t imagine you singing those songs where you’re yelling. I would have friends that would only like the songs where I was singing, but not like the songs where I was screaming. I didn’t want to be pretty, so when I was writing these songs that were pretty, I didn’t know who I was.

When you’ve been vulnerable in your work, does it then become easier the next time?

Mia: No. [laughs] I think you go back to where you started. I think now that Hate It Here is out and people have heard it and decided how they feel about it, it’s easy to forget that songs were hard to write, or songs were difficult for me to sing, or the guitar parts were difficult for me to play. Now that it’s in my body, it’s a lot easier, but I’m writing a new record for us right now, and it’s back to the same place, where I’m like, “No-one’s gonna like this. What am I doing? What are you saying? Why are you talking about that? Talk about something else. Just write another Hate It Here! People already liked it!” [laughs] I’m definitely back in the trenches trying to figure out if what I’m saying is worth saying.

We’ve been recording very, very slowly; it’s been a much slower process. Hate It Here, we recorded in a week, and it was just me and Alex for most of the time and then Zoltán came and did the bass and the drums. This recording process has been interesting because I can’t decide if I’m recording the songs because I want them to be finished, or because they are finished.

You just said, very deliberately, that you are currently writing a record for us. Does the differentiation between Pom Pom Squad being a solo project creatively, but a three-piece band for studio and live purposes, ever make things awkward?

Mia: Yeah, I’ve definitely worked very hard to keep my identity as Pom Pom Squad, because this project has been mine for so long and I’ve gone through so many concepts with it. I am very specific about the visual element and how I want us to be perceived. It is a little bit difficult because I don’t know how much to include the guys. I love the guys; I absolutely love working with them — they’ve been so kind to me, and we’ve really found our niche as a group, I feel — but, I remember we were all at a party and this girl came up to me and was like, “You need women in your band. It almost weakens your message that you don’t have women in your band.” That was hard for me to hear, because it’s so difficult to find people that you love working with, and then to be told that your message is not the same because of them…

I came from Orlando where there was a huge pop-punk scene when I was growing up, and now there’s a huge alternative scene — I couldn’t find collaborators. I came to New York, and I couldn’t find collaborators. I finally find people I feel comfortable with — when we get in the studio now, we know each other’s rhythms — and to be told that the message is different…

I’ve been, like I said before, working hard to keep myself at the forefront of the imagery, keep women at the forefront of the imagery, people of colour, people who are non-white, people who are of different sexual preferences and identities. I’ve just been trying to make it a very inclusive project — because I felt so excluded from so many of the music scenes that I’ve attempted to break into. That’s been an interesting process: finding what Pom Pom Squad is.

Why was is that you felt excluded from those scenes? Was it because of the colour of your skin? Was it because you’re a woman?

Mia: It’s both of those things; it’s neither of those things. Riot grrrl was the first time. My mum raised me on The Smiths, The Cure, New Order. My dad was classic hip-hop, like Eric B. & Rakim, Run DMC. That was what my household sounded like, so the middle ground between them was alternative music. When I started to find my own musical identity as a teenager, riot grrrl was the first thing that set my heart on fire. It was a very visceral experience to hear those words and sounds and to be an angsty teen absorbing the sounds of other angsty teens. I remember when I realised that there were no women of colour in riot grrrl, it was really disappointing. They weren’t talking about me; they were talking about something else. I still love the music, but I love the music with a grain of salt, knowing that that’s not my story, that’s not my issue. Also, I’m mixed-race, so I’ve never really identified with one identity in particular — I just identify as mixed-race. It sort of felt like, growing up, I was the white friend, I was the black friend, I was the Spanish friend, and it was like, “No, I’m not. I’m barely your friend. I’m just a person.” I just wanted to be nothing. So, I have always felt between identities, and I always wanted to find my perfect mixture and make room for other people that didn’t feel like they had a place to land.

So, do you feel like you’ve had to forge your own path into an alternative scene rather than follow a pre-existing one?

Mia: I definitely feel like I’ve had to forge a path in a lot of ways. The first artist that I ever heard talking about what it’s like to be of a different culture in alternative music was Mitski. She has a song called ‘Your Best American Girl’ where she talks about loving somebody of a different culture, and she’s also stated in interviews that that song means a bunch of different things — it’s not necessarily about race. But, for me, I heard that and I understood it in a way that was very visceral, and new, because it was a confirmation that, these things I felt, other people had felt. I think you always need that, to whatever degree, to proceed. I don’t think anything is strictly original; everything is born from layers of influence — like radiation. Even if you didn’t hear this artist, that artist is in you in some way.

I would still love to forge a path and to make more room. I meet a lot of girls of colour who love punk music, but when they’re looking at the stage, they’re not looking at themselves. Sometimes, that’s good, but other times, when you have a lot of questions about where you belong in the world, it’s good to look up and to see that you exist.

Do you feel that the independent alternative scene is becoming more inclusive?

Mia: I do. I think there have definitely been movements where room is being made for people. I think that there are still miles to go before we sleep, but it’s something. I’m hoping we’re coming up on a good time.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Mia: The fear of myself. [laughs] I keep going back to this concept, but things that I will allow and will not allow myself to say. I don’t remember who told me that if you’re afraid of something, you should usually follow it; that’s something I’ve been trying to live by in the process of songwriting. And fear of being misconstrued is a big one.

Are there misconceptions that you feel people make about you then?

Mia: I’ve been lucky enough that the feedback so far has been really overwhelmingly positive. Imagistically, a misconception has often been made — based on cover art, based on other things — that I’m not the one behind it, and that is something that is very frustrating for me. Something that is an honest mistake, especially when Teenage Girls came out — they see this picture on the cover of three girls, and they assume that’s the band. But it’s not! I have three friends who are talented and beautiful in their own right for other reasons. I’m also a big feeler; I feel a lot of things. I have to be very careful with my words because of that. I really have to stop and tell myself, “They couldn’t have known. It’s fine.” But I definitely have a burning desire to assert myself as the person behind it. Even when we first started the project, the guys would ask Alex, like, “Should we do this? Are we doing the right thing?” And I’m like, “Well, you can ask me that question because… it’s mine.” [laughs]

Which is exactly how it should be.

Mia: Yeah, but I think there’s still a lot of stigmas around. For the most part, I’ve had extremely positive experiences with bookers, with venues, with sound people, but we’ve had a couple where they really won’t talk to me, they’ll talk to the guys. I had this guy after a show — and it was funny, but I think about it sometimes in terms of the implication — explain to me that we were a mix of Hole, Nirvana and Britney Spears. I thought it was hilarious, but I was sort of trying to get him to say that I was the Britney Spears, because there’s nothing in our sound that is particularly Britney Spearsian. I was like, “So, why Britney Spears? Why Britney Spears?” And he says, “Well, it’s about what the eyes are taking in.” I was like, “So, what are the eyes taking in?” I was wearing a school uniform skirt, an old college t-shirt and fishnets. He was like, “Well, you know: you wore that skirt for a reason. You wore those tights for a reason.” I’m like, “Okay, so I’m Britney Spears. Nothing about them is Britney Spears. I’m Britney Spears.” So, effectively, ‘you are teenage sex object wearing guitar’. I was like, “So, the guys are Nirvana, I’m Courtney/Britney.”

That must be incredibly frustrating.

Mia: It’s mostly funny, but I think there’s the macro and the micro of it. The macro is: alright, you see a teenage girl on stage doing her thing, and the micro of it is: layers and layers and layers of preconception, and what you bring into the venue with you when you come to watch the show, which is, ‘female is lead singer’. And admittedly, I don’t really know how to play the guitar — I’m learning now; the guys joined the band, and I realised that I had to step my game up — but it makes it that much more difficult to want to improve when I feel like I have to be perfect to be respected.

How easy then is it for you to convince yourself that your work is worthwhile?

Mia: Some days are better than others. The biggest change in my life recently has been that I changed from acting school to music school. I had a really amazing teacher in between that transition who told me that your work doesn’t matter until you decide that it matters. I’ve really taken that to heart, because it’s true. Everyone is making art. Everyone is trying to do something — especially in New York; it’s such a bustling scene. I place a lot of importance on making sure that I have something worth showing to people. I personally feel like I have to make sure it’s cohesive, and I have to make sure it’s a project; it can’t just be that I throw it on the internet.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the style of music that you make?

Mia: I sometimes find that it’s embarrassing. [laughs]

Why?!

Mia: I don’t know! I think, and maybe this is just proximity, but I sometimes hear the things that I’m making and I’m like, “Oh, my God! What are you doing?” People are like, “Oh, it’s pop-punk”, and I’m like, “Nooooooooooooooo!” [laughs] “It can’t be pop-punk!” And, it probably is.

I don’t think so.

Mia: I personally don’t think so either, but we get a lot of interesting genre titles. [laughs] Sometimes, when I listen to it, it sounds geeky, and I think, again, it’s totally just me being inside of it and knowing what went into it — to other people, it probably sounds fine. I think there’s always this pressure and want, in such a busy music scene, to make something cooler, more musically complex, more nuanced — and I don’t write like that. There are times when it’s a little bit more nuanced, but what happens is going to happen, I think, and I know the second I start getting precious about this is when it dies.

Okay, so obviously your music is very sad, and you identify as making ‘sad girl music’. Firstly, is that identifier deadly serious, or is it meant more playfully?

Mia: I think it’s a little cheeky. I think it’s one of those jokes that your friend makes, where they’re like, “Oh, my God, I wanna die!” And you’re like, “Haha!”, with a little bit of “Are you okay?” I think that’s where I’m at.

What sort of trajectory do you feel your writing is on with regards sadness? Is it getting more sad, less sad, or is it pretty stable?

Mia: Alex said something the other day. We recorded a new song that we’ve played the last couple of shows, and he said, “Mia, the new stuff feels a lot more triumphant.” Which made me feel really nice. I think, when I wrote Hate It Here, I was in a very particular place, and I did feel like a loser in love and in life. I had a couple of acting teachers tell me, “You really like to play the loser. You need to stop playing the loser. Play the winner!” I was like, “No, I wanna play the loser right now. I wanna play how I feel.” Now, I feel more together. I feel more pulled apart, but in different ways, about different things. From an outside perspective, Alex says ‘more triumphant’, and I’m okay with that.

Is the sadness in your work ever reciprocated? By which, I mean when you play or listen back to the songs, do they generate sadness within you?

Mia: I’m definitely reminded of a specific place, but I think I can look at it now and feel, again, more triumphant. I feel a lot of pride when I listen back to Hate It Here. And again, it’s different on different days. I remember the recording process and feeling like there were so many things we could have done differently, and I listen back to them now, and it feels like that’s the only way they could have been. I think it’s good to remember how I felt, but I think there’s also a level of disconnect after performing them and hearing them a bunch and having my friends make jokes about them. It’s not quite the same as if I was listening to it back then.

When you perform the songs live, does it become increasingly difficult to muster the level of emotion that they perhaps need to be at their best?

Mia: No, I’m very lucky to come from an acting background, because that’s something I did learn. It’s like acting Shakespeare: everything you need is there, and I think, in some weird way, my body knows those emotions and knows those sensations, so it’s like riding a bike. I love doing the live shows and I love getting overtaken by everything that’s going on and by a crowd — there’s just an energy that changes and I kind of blackout and whatever happens, happens. I have a really bad habit of rewatching performances a lot and with a very clinical eye. [laughs]

Have there been plenty of opportunities for you to perform live?

Mia: There have been. I’m a really, really lucky person. The reason we started playing shows was that Alex has a project under his name — Alex Carr — where he was playing with the band, and they were booking, so he asked me, “Would you be interested in playing Pom Pom Squad shows?” I was like, “Would you play guitar?” and he was like, “Yeah, I’d be down.” I think that was the most exciting prospect for me about starting a band in the first place: getting to perform. Basically, Alex and Zoltán were putting me on their bills for a while, and then after that I would get emails on my Pom Pom Squad accounts getting asked to play shows. So, it’s been a while since I’ve had to email a venue and be like, “Hi! Can you let us play here”, which has been a huge privilege.

So, do you have any fears that being an artist brings into greater focus?

Mia: I think when I started putting things on the internet — throwing them into the internet abyss — I would open every message and every email and wince. I’d be prepared for someone to say something that would just completely crush my spirit. Oh, gosh, watch: this interview’s gonna come out and it’s finally gonna happen! But it has not yet happened. There have been things that have happened that bother me about the way that fans interact with me, particularly. But, so far, the response to the music has been great — better than I could ask for.

A fears it does bring into focus is: being respected — as a woman. I was talking to a friend of mine about this last night. There was an influx, for a while, of DMs and men coming up to me after shows and asking me out. There was a teenage boy at a show who asked me to prom, and I thought that was the most endearing thing, but other times it’s this thing where men want to explain my gear to me or my sound to me, and I’m like, “I’ll learn about it, and I know about it. Thank you.” … I think, and I’m so conflicted about even saying this, part of me wants there to be a sense of separation between an audience and me because, if me being on stage and me presenting my feelings is going to make me attainable, I don’t want to be attainable.

There are other fans who are so sweet and will send me their music and be like, “Tell me what you think!” And I’ll be upfront with them, like, “I’m not that separated from you.” But, I would rather a sense of separation mean a little bit more respect than a sense of closeness mean that men feel comfortable asking me out without having met me, without having spoken to me, without seeing if there is any reciprocated interest. It’s a really difficult territory to navigate, because I want to be able to talk to everybody, and I love talking to people after the shows, and I love getting messages. I love how human it is and how being in a band has put me in social circles and allowed me to meet people that I wouldn’t have met in other circumstances. So, I guess it comes with the territory, and I guess it just is the way it’s going to be, but that’s something that I’ve started to notice and started to become afraid of. I’m very conflicted in that I want to be a bigger band, and I want to have more exposure, but I know that more exposure is gonna bring more trouble — as it does, because you have a broader group of people there to tell you about yourself and tell you what’s wrong.

I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of the band Pinegrove. They’re blowing up right now, but there was an article that got published — all too recently — saying that the girl from Pinegrove is beautiful but useless. In what world is it okay to say that? No-one would say that about a male member of the band; it just would not happen. It really does blow my mind. There’s no winning until society can get its shit together.

Do you think these things have been made worse by the political climate of the past twelve months?

Worse and also better. I’m really lucky to have, in that time, been surrounded by artists, and be in New York where, for the most part, I can talk about how I feel politically and not be criticised. I think it’s a good time for art. Art is revolutionary and does change culture. For me, if I can make my feelings clear as an artist of colour, if I can make myself visible as an artist of colour to other women of colour as some kind of signal that you can say how you feel and you can be heard…

I’ve shied away from very on the nose political commentary, but I’m not going to hesitate to speak about political issues, as me. There was a lot of controversy with the band PWR BTTM recently, which is extremely disappointing because they were such a light for a lot of young, queer kids coming up in the rock scene. I think a lot of people wanted to keep their mouths shut about it, but I was just like, “This is unacceptable.” I wanted to be very open about that. If I’m lucky enough that you’re listening to me, I want you to know that you deserve better as a queer person in music.

And how about in terms of the brazen male attention that you mentioned before? Have things become worse in that respect, given the attitudes of those in power?

Mia: Yes and no. I think men in the rock scene are a little bit more nuanced, which is unfortunate. I feel that sometimes there are men who feel like, “Well, I understand that that’s wrong, so I’m not gonna do that, but I’m gonna do it in a subtler way.” … I want to make sure that what I’m saying is being heard the way it’s meant to be heard, because it’s very easy, especially in this political climate, for people to feel attacked, and that’s not how I want anybody to feel, but there’s definitely like a ‘Well, I Know Better’ syndrome, and sometimes people simply don’t know better, think what they’re doing is right, and don’t know how or why it could be wrong. That’s sometimes even harder.

I’ll tell this story: I got in a fight with a man at a diner because he asked me about my thoughts and beliefs, and he was telling me that the world is open to me. He was like, “Well, race doesn’t really matter anymore. I know so many artists of colour who are successful, and it’s not about them being a person of colour.” And I was like, “Alright, I hear that, but also you’re telling me that from the perspective of a presumably straight, white male.” This was a total stranger to me, and he was like, “Wow! You’re really leaning on that feminist card. You’re really leaning on that minority card.” I was like, “I’m not leaning on anything. This is just the lens which I have been given to see the world.” I know that I’m naive, I know I’m very young and I know I don’t have all the experience that a lot of other people have, but I think I have grown up in a very unique way, trying to forge my own identity. I can sympathise with a lot of people, I can emphasise very easily, and I was very frustrated. Because that’s how people think: that they’re doing me a favour by telling me the world is open to me, and I’m like, “Well, I am in the world, and I can see which doors are closed. For you to tell me that they’re not closed is not fair to me.” Because if I could enter, I would enter.

I think, in a lot of ways, it is really amazing to be an artist of colour, because people do want to hear me, but at the same time, they wanna hear me to fulfil a very specific expectation and to fulfil their own goals — sometimes it feels more self-serving than generous. Sometimes, I feel like people want to hear me so they can say, “Look at me! I’m listening to an artist of colour. I hear it! I’m with it!” Then, at the same time, I can’t blame anybody for not knowing how I feel, because how could they? So, it’s very difficult to navigate.

As a curator, I want to promote diversity; I want everyone who discovers this project to feel they are welcome and they are seen. At the same time, even on a progressive, inclusive platform like Bandcamp — which is where I source the vast majority of the artists for the compilations — it is evident that people of colour especially are hugely under-represented across the genres I search and seek to cover, ‘alternative’ absolutely being one of them.

Mia: Yeah, and it’s a more difficult line to walk given that there’s already systematic obstruction. There’s already all these layers of problems that get in the way, and some people don’t have the same opportunities. There’s already systematic problems in how we hear music and whose music we think is worthy of our time that are influenced by race, that are influenced by gender. We don’t even realise where those barriers are, half the time.

I think, also… I have a pretty jazzy voice when I sing classically, and I never wanted to do R&B — it just wasn’t ever my thing. It’s not that I can’t do it, but I think sometimes it just doesn’t occur to people that they can act or be a certain way, or look into a certain style of music. For other people, they have that moment.

Clearly there is much more to be said on this issue but, given we’re like an hour into this thing, I feel we probably need to move on. So, how do you keep yourself interested in your art when the buzz of a new song or great show wears off?

Mia: I think that, as much as I love the buzz, and as much as I love the attention, I’m in it for the art, and I think I have to be. It’s hard. There were definitely times when I was obsessed with the stats and obsessed with the attention. I got a lot of love, and I want to give a lot of love — I’m a very emotional person, and a lot of the things I do are predicated on emotions, so I think I have to make it about the art, and I have to make it about expression, because if I make it about anything else then what’s the point?

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically inclined?

Mia: I gain perspective, and I think perspective is extremely important. I think I’m very lucky to be someone who makes art. Art really is a very dangerous thing; historically, when you want to overthrow a society, the first people you get rid of are the artists. The artist has a few jobs in society: to interrogate an idea, to celebrate an idea, or to propagate an idea. I think art is the vehicle of culture; it can change things. And I hear myself, and I hear this very art-school mentality, but at the same time, when I meet adults — and I’m really lucky to have been mentored by really incredible working artists — I just don’t know what else I could do. I think I see the world differently, and I think I’m allowed to see the world differently. It’s just another set of eyes with which you get to see, and I’m happy that that’s my set of eyes.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Mia: Ooh, that’s a really interesting question… I feel that, in my life, I’m a nice girl and a normal girl, and I think in my emotional life, I feel a lot of things that I’m not allowed to express because of social contract. There have been so many times where I felt like I was going to explode, especially in acting school. Times where people told me I was very neat, very together, very mature and very grown up. On the inside, I feel like a baby; all of these visceral, big feelings. I think that, in my art, I get to be the person I feel like on the inside.

When you put music out, it’s not yours anymore; you don’t get the same ownership of it that you have when it’s just yours. People hear it, and they perceive it through their set of eyes and through their set of lenses, and they’re gonna hear what they’re meant to hear because that’s what they can hear. So, I think no-one can ever truly know me through my creative output, but I think, at the same time, if what I make can make somebody feel good, feel understood or feel angry, then sure, that can define me, but I’m only going to be defined by what you can make of my words, my voice my body — whatever I’m presenting to you.

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Andrea: I started writing songs when I was nineteen — so seven, eight years ago. I don’t know what drew me to that; I guess, as a younger person, I always respected musicians more when I found out they wrote their own lyrics and music. I’m not sure why. I just felt like it was something that seemed very difficult to do, and I kinda wanted to see if I could do that. I just remember sitting in my parent’s garage and trying to write lyrics and melodies. For a long time, it didn’t work, actually; for a few years, I really struggled. It’s really hard at first.

Was there a specific point where things changed and you started to believe it could work?

Andrea: Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m quite there yet. Something did click, but it took a really long time. I guess I started writing more seriously like three or four years ago. I felt like I was getting somewhere; I was like, “Okay, it’s getting easier.” I moved to Montreal around that time, so maybe the change of scenery was inspiring. There was some adaptation too, and some hard times, so that can fuel creative energy. So, it might just have been the change in my environment. I still feel like I have a lot of work to do; it’s something I work on every day if I can.

What is your process as a songwriter then?

Andrea: The melody comes first for me, always. I consider myself a musician before a singer — I don’t identify myself as a singer — so what comes naturally to me is the melody. I have these moods sometimes when I’m in a bit of a dream state — off in this other world… I can’t explain it, but I’m able to recognise that feeling now, and when I have it, I’m like, “Okay, I need to pick up a guitar and play around.” So, I just mess around on the guitar — usually, some chords come out of that and then the melody. I’ve noticed that I have different chunks of melody that come at different times and, at some point, I just try to combine them and turn it into a song. Usually, the way I know if it’s the melody I should be using is if I wake up the next morning and still have it in my head — then I know I have to do something with it; if I forget it then it usually means that it’s not good. I’ll usually just record little bits on my iPhone then go to bed; when I wake up, whatever I have in my head, I use that as a base for my next song.

The hardest part for me is the lyrics because I find it quite difficult to articulate what I’m feeling or thinking, which I usually do through melodies and sounds — it’s very hard for me to mirror that in words. So, the lyrics usually take me anywhere from two weeks to six months. It’s ridiculous. [laughs] I know some people are very good at just sitting down and disciplining themselves and writing the lyrics to a song in thirty minutes — I don’t have that gift, unfortunately.

Do you do anything to try and improve your lyrical capabilities?

Andrea: Yes, actually: I read a lot. It’s funny, but I never used to read that much because I have a very short attention span; I couldn’t sit down and just read. Maybe about four years ago, I started reading more — in English and in French — so that’s been helping a lot. I’ve been doing a lot of writing exercises; I actually took a creative process writing class last year, and I find that that really opens some doors for me. I try to keep up with those exercises, but it’s very hard to be disciplined and to do that every day. I go through phases, but I try to write a little bit every day, whether that’s a journal entry or poem, or just a sentence that came into my mind at some point. Every time I have an idea that comes at a weird time, I just make sure to write it down right away because I’ve noticed that I usually forget it. I’m really sad because I sometimes put it in my notes on my iPhone, but I accidentally deleted all my notes the other day. [laughs]

Oh, no! That’s not good!

Andrea: It’s not meant to be; that’s how I have to see it. I usually try to write in an actual notebook, but it’s not always the case, like if you don’t have one on you or whatever. Anyway… So, that happened. [laughs]

You mentioned that you’re now able to identify the moods that will allow you to achieve better productivity. Do you do anything to encourage those moods into being, or is it a case of ‘they happen when they happen’?

Andrea: Well, for a long time I saw it as something that happened when it happened, but after the creative process class that I took — it was focused on writing, but it also, I felt, was applicable to music and art, and in general — I’m kind of at that point where I’m trying to figure out how I can inspire those moods. I’ve definitely noticed that, for some reason, meditation really helps. I’m a pretty anxious person, so I find that when I’m in a calmer state of mind, I open myself up to the world more: to my inner world as well as the outer world. So, I’ve been doing a lot of meditation. Also, a lot of the work is actually just finding inspiration and then those moods come more frequently. There’s been this shift in the way I see the world, and I think it helps that I’ve been doing an arts degree. I went back to school and it’s been really influencing the way I perceive things — it’s great. I’ve been more aware of my environment, trying to go to more exhibitions, reading more, watching movies, and just feeding my soul, basically. Since I’ve been doing that, these creative moods are more frequent, and I’m actually realising that they’re even controllable. I’m not quite there yet, but I feel like, at some point, I’d maybe be able to identify it and be able to sit down and use it. Maybe eventually I’ll be able to do it at specific times of the day, but I’m not quite there yet; it’s still quite random, but I’m working towards that.

What sort of mood do you tend to find yourself in when you have had a period of productivity?

Andrea: I usually feel very satisfied. It’s kinda funny; it’s the same feeling for me as when I do a sport or workout — which, I have to admit, is something I don’t do very often. [laughs] I feel at peace after; I feel like I’ve said what I had to say. I also get an excited feeling, where I’m like, “I can’t wait to get up tomorrow and keep working on it.” So, it’s kind of a mixture of feelings, but usually satisfaction and eagerness.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Andrea: Oh, God — I feel like it’s a constant obstacle. It’s really hard, actually. Finding the self-discipline is where I struggle a lot. I find that when I’m in school, in the winter, it’s very easy because I have a schedule and I’m forced to be productive; I have deadlines, and I find that I’m already in that beat. It’s easy for me to stay in that beat for music, for example, but in the summer, I find it very difficult to just give myself specific times every day where I work on something. I know that the best way to be productive is to work on your project a little bit every day, but some days I don’t get around to doing it. So, self-discipline, definitely, is a huge part of creativity and it’s probably where I struggle the most; I think a lot of people struggle with that.

Then there’s the confidence thing, where you create something but you’re like, “Oh, it’s shit, so I’m just gonna throw it out.” There’s a lot of stuff that I’ll create but never share with anyone, so that’s a constant obstacle. What else? I mean, there are tonnes. It’s so difficult. I don’t think it’s realistic to produce all the time, but I admire the people that seem to be very much in their element and producing and inspiring and inspired. I feel like I do have phases where I’m like that, but mostly… I’m gonna be honest — it’s mostly a struggle.

How easily then are you able to convince yourself that the work you do produce is worthwhile?

Andrea: That’s something I ask myself every day: I’m like, “Why do I do this? Why am I putting all my time and energy into music and art?” I’ve realised that it’s like a therapeutic process for me, and almost necessary if I want to be in a healthy mental state. It’s an outlet for me. I notice that, when I don’t create, I turn into this monster; I get very irritable and I just don’t see the world in the same way, so it’s like I have to do this for my mental health. It’s stronger than me, and I need it.

Does being a writer ever force you into contemplating things you’d rather not?

Andrea: For sure, but like I was saying: it’s an outlet for that; for the things that make me sad or angry in life. I’m not just talking personally, but like, what’s going on politicly and all that kind of stuff. It’s a way for me to reflect on all that, so even if I might not want to talk about it or face it, writing is my way to deal with that. So yeah, it forces me to think about things that I don’t want to, but at the same time it helps me tackle them.

Has the political climate of the last twelve months affected your art at all?

Andrea: It’s definitely given me a sense of purpose. If anything, it’s made me feel like I’m a part of some sort of movement. I’m like, “Okay, I have to start using my art as a way to speak about these things.” I’m not sure if it comes through yet, but it definitely influences the way I tackle it. I don’t necessarily want my work to be political, but I want for people to find some kind of solace in it. So yeah, it’s definitely made me question my role as an artist.

I try to stay informed, but I’m also hesitant to get too informed. I know I should be more aware of what’s going on. I feel like part of me has always shut out the media, but at the same time, right now, I feel like I need to be more informed with everything that’s going on. I try to stay up-to-date, but it’s very depressing.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the style of music that you make?

Andrea: For sure! Actually, the songs on the EP are songs that I wrote when I was 23, so it’s been almost four years. It took me a long time to start showing my music to people because I didn’t have the confidence I needed, so when I felt ready, I was like, “Okay, I have to start with these songs that I’ve been putting off for years.” When I listen to the EP, there’s part of me that’s really happy with it, because I’ve been wanting to materialise these songs for so long, but I’ve also evolved a lot since then, and I’m kinda taking a different path in music. As much as I love psychedelic music and shoegaze and alternative, I’m at a crossroads; I have a background in folk music, so I’m trying to combine the two right now and I feel like my music is becoming more melodic and more multi-faceted. I feel like the songs on the EP are very simple and naive, in a way. Right now, I feel a bit frustrated in that sense; I feel like that EP does not represent fully where I am right now as a musician. But I imagine that’s something that every musician feels when they release an album. It’s representative of a specific time, which is cool — it’s kind of like a diary — but then people assume that that’s where you’re at now, and I think that’s the struggle for some musicians.

Do you have any fears that being an artist brings into greater focus?

Andrea: If you’re talking literal fears then the only thing I’m really afraid of is death, dying, change, time passing; I mean, for me, it’s all the same thing. That’s something I’m really afraid of, and I find that’s something that comes up a lot in my work: like, being caught in a dream or trying to escape reality and being in this dreamworld that I’ve crafted as a defence mechanism or something. So, my creative process has definitely revealed how much that affects me and scares me. But, being an artist in itself, I find, is terrifying too: for emotional reasons, but also for practical reasons. It’s a path that I’ve chosen but, at the same time, I have no idea where I’m going with this, so it’s terrifying; I probably won’t even be able to live. [laughs]

This question sounds very dramatic, but is it a path you’re treading alone?

Andrea: I guess, for most of my life, I felt like I was alone in that; I felt like I didn’t really have anyone who understood where I was going or helping or pushing me. But, I’m beginning to find my community in Montreal. I’ve been here for almost five years now, and I feel like it took a long time for me to find my niche here, but there’s definitely a really strong artistic community. Most people — I mean, I can’t say everyone — but most people who are artists will encourage other artists and give each other opportunities. I find, more and more, that my friends who are musicians will be like, “Do you wanna play a set at this show?” or “Would you like for me to include your photography in this?” Just having a support system — someone who’s living the same thing and understands what it’s like — is extremely important, and I feel like that’s what it took for me to start doing shows and start recording music. Also, I’m very lucky — my partner has been hugely important in all of this; he’s totally turned me around. It’s amazing! I’ve never had anyone who’s encouraged my passion. I really needed that support system and at least one person who believed in me and was going down a similar path; my partner happens to be a photographer too, so he understands the artistic struggle.

So, I don’t feel like I’m alone anymore, which is why, I think, I’ve been more productive in recording and getting myself out there. But, it took me a really long time because, for the majority of my life, I was alone.

You mention live opportunities. Are you able to play shows often, and do you enjoy that element of being a musician?

Andrea: More and more. I’m not doing that many — this year I’ve done five or six shows. I’ve just recently put a band together but, before that, I was on my own, so I was just doing solo shows. That was hard because I feel like the EP is totally different from what I was playing by myself, live. I’ve been doing shows since I was like seven because my dad’s a musician and he encouraged me and my sisters to start performing at a very young age but, unfortunately, I feel like it kinda traumatised me in a way. We were put on this weird pedestal where he’d be doing his thing then at the end he’d invite his daughters on stage and everyone would be like, “Wow! His daughters!” I mean, I was very shy, so it was hard. I like being on stage, but it’s extremely vulnerable and almost embarrassing sometimes because it’s like you’re naked in front of a bunch of people. It’s so weird and really hard, but I feel like I’m starting to get used to it more, especially performing by myself. I’m excited to start performing with my band; I think that will be a completely different experience.

Whilst you mentioned earlier that you feel like you’ve moved on from the EP, I imagine it must still be quite exciting to know that you’ll be able to play those songs as they were intended now that you have put a band together. I mean, the record seems to have had a very positive reaction online.

Andrea: Yeah, I was actually very surprised about that. I really didn’t expect that my music would be listened to and played internationally. [laughs] Which is really weird. So, it’s still really exciting to be able to play those songs with the full band, because like I said: I was playing them by myself, in my room, for years. It’s a completely different experience to have them come alive like that. For sure, it doesn’t represent me much anymore, but it’s still a liberating feeling.

You also have an interest in photography, right?

Andrea: I don’t know if I can call myself a photographer but, around the same time I started learning music, I took some dark room, black and white photography courses, and I fell in love with the process. Since then, I’ve been doing photography on the side — well, I’m doing a degree in fine arts now, and I’m doing a major in photography. I actually have another degree that I never ended up using, but photography is my other passion. I’m also really into poetry, so what I’ve been doing is making these little photography booklets with text — that’s what I’ve been doing at school for a while.

So, is there any overlap between your passions?

Andrea: That’s really interesting because it’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately. I realised that my photography is essentially the visual component of my music — or just my creative process in general; I feel like it’s the visual representation of the things I express in my music. It’s similar imagery, similar mood, similar colour palettes sometimes. I find that my music brings me to this weird, dreamy world, and the photos that I take are the visual representations of that. When I look at my photography and when I listen to my music, I feel like it’s essentially the same thing for me — it’s just different ways of expressing that, I guess.

Could you see yourself combining the two: heavily delving into your own photography for album covers, inserts etc?

Andrea: That would be cool, but I find what I’m more interested in is giving other artists a chance to contribute. For this first EP, I was kinda stuck so I just used a collage I made, but for the next album, I’ve already chosen people to do the album artwork: the jacket and stuff. I find it’s so easy to get wrapped up in your own ‘this is my moment, this is my art’, but I want to give the chance to other people to have their voice heard and just give them a little bit of exposure, maybe, and share part of themselves. I see art as something very communal, and I feel like it should be inclusive. So, I don’t know if I’m necessarily interested in making my own album artwork; I’d rather do an album with someone else’s art and then show my photography and poetry in a different context — like a book or an exhibition.

Okay, so what makes you smile?

Andrea: People, I think: their actions. I find when people say something really encouraging or really touching or really meaningful then it’s like a genuine smile that I have. I feel the energy of the other person and the compassion or empathy or whatever it is they’re expressing.

I have these encounters with strangers, more and more, where I’ll be walking down the street and someone will just come up to me — someone I’ve never seen before — and they’ll say something extremely inspiring, and I’m like, “Where… Where… Where did you come from?” [laughs] It’s really strange. I don’t know what’s going on but this keeps happening lately, and I find those are moments where I feel genuinely really happy.

That sounds very much like the pilot for an eerie TV drama…

Andrea: [laughs] It’s so weird. I’m not sure what it is; maybe I’m just more aware or open to these things than I was before. Before, I would probably have been like, “Who’s this weird person talking to me?” and walked away. I’m not like that anymore. But, anyway… It doesn’t happen as much as I’m making it sound. [laughs] But it happens, and those are moments that really make me smile; not just my face, but internally.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Andrea: For sure. I like the idea of being able to communicate something, but I think it’s a complex question because there’s a lot of things that I want to communicate. My work is very autobiographical, in a way. What I’m realising is that a lot of my work is about my anxiety and depression — I find that people who deal with anxiety often have both. It’s something that I communicate a lot in my work, directly or indirectly. I really want people to recognise themselves in that: to find that other people are dealing with these things, and I want to inspire people to find their creative vessel; their way of dealing with this. It took me a long time to realise, but my work really does speak to anxiety, so I would hope that people could find some comfort in that.

To what extent has anxiety affected you as an artist and performer over the years?

Andrea: Hugely. I think that’s the major reason that I took so long to start sharing my work. For a long time, I would refuse opportunities to play or record; I would turn down jam sessions or possible collaborations, or sometimes I just wouldn’t show up or answer messages. That was a while ago, like in my early twenties, but honestly, if I’d continued that way, I don’t think I would have made this EP and I wouldn’t be doing shows. I’m not sure where it changed or what clicked; I think I just got fed up and was like, “I have to stop letting this control my life.”

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Andrea: That’s a really hard question… I guess I want it to define me almost completely. I don’t know if that’s because I’m trying to hide behind it or something. I guess I just want people to be inspired, so if I can be a person that’s inspiring to someone because of what I’m creating then that would be the ultimate feeling.

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