Mari: I think Alice started writing immediately.

Alice: [laughs] I think, since I could play piano — I started when I was four — I was making stupid songs. I’ve been making songs for a very long time.

Mari: I was trying my hand at it from nine or ten onwards, but I was more focused on performance. It was psychological though — I didn’t really identify with composing or songwriting until high school and more heavily in college. I wrote poetry before then. I would say what prompted us to start would be that both of our parents are artists. Our dad is a composer, musician, singer and voice teacher, so we’ve just been surrounded by that all our lives.

And what prompted you to start writing with the intention of recording and releasing material together?

Mari: We’ve been singing together and harmonising forever. When I was in college and visiting home, we started experimenting a little bit with our version of jamming — over instrumentals and pieces Alice was working on. That felt really good, so when I graduated and moved back, we started to look at it a little more seriously. The music spoke for itself, and we realised we wanted to write and make sure we recorded it at a real studio, not just on our iPhones.

How have your musical efforts away from Sybling prepared you for this project?

Alice: I think, for me, it was newer, because Mari had already released an EP with Smoke and Sugar. I’d always worked on composing things for short films or theatre, but I’d never recorded before. So, in that sense, I was prepared more composition-wise and knew what I wanted from sound, but Mari was more prepared in terms of knowing what to expect.

Mari: Yeah, the studio process and release process. That’s a common theme: where Alice comes with experience on one side, I come with experience on the other side. As a team, we’re well rounded.

Is there an aspect of being songwriters and musicians that you’ve grown to enjoy more since joining forces?

Mari: I would say I’ve come to appreciate patience and quality a lot more since working with Alice really seriously. Previous projects, I tended to be a little spontaneous, do a lot of improv and then be excited about some kind of immediate gratification or external result or product. I ended up never being that proud of it. Working with Alice, I really came to appreciate taking the time that’s needed to make something really, really feel right. Now this EP is out, I feel like I could listen to this twenty years later and still really love it and feel like we had the sound that we were looking for.

Alice: I think, on the flip-side, I’ve kinda learned to be a little less severe about my music. [laughs] I know in the studio sometimes I was kinda scary because I was so strict. I’m like, “Oh, it has to be like this!” I know Mari’s really good at collaborating too, so I learned a lot about collaboration through working with her.

How easy then do you find it to share songwriting duties?

Mari: I think we came at it organically, knowing that we could take up a different amount of space sonically with each song. We allowed each other to find space in each song. Frequently, Alice would take on most of the instrumentation and composition. She was playing all the instruments on the EP except for some percussion I played. It kinda depended on how each song came about: whether we were working on the melody together, or figuring out what would work as a bridge part, or Alice coming with a completely written piece that I would add some lyrics or a harmony to. The full spectrum was there — I feel it was a song-by-song basis.

Do you connect quite quickly to each other’s ideas?

Alice: I think we do… Don’t we? [laughs]

Mari: Yeah, actually it’s pretty natural.

Alice: Your hesitation scared me. [laughs] I think, because we also grew up listening to the same music — and I think what you grow up listening to is generally what you end up wanting to make — we have a lot of similar tastes, so are rolling with the same wavelength when we’re thinking what sounds good.

Mari: Yeah, it’s very intuitive in that way.

What is your actual songwriting process then?

Alice: The Grim and Under — those were songs that I’d already written some years before. I came to Mari with them, and we’d think up where to put harmonies and stuff like that. For La Baleine, our father originally wrote that tune and then Mari came up with more lyrics to it. For Call Her Back, that was a song that we wrote together — we sat down together and came up with melody, then Mari wrote the lyrics. She’s Still Alive in the Past was just a random day in the studio — I had this tune in my head and just played around with it. Mari thought about adding percussion to it, and that was definitely the most experimental one.

How long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Alice: It depends on the song. Some can be written in a day, and some develop over years.

Is there anything in particular you do to stimulate your own creativity?

Mari: Honestly, I don’t. I think that’s probably a good practice to discover. I feel at this point, all I’ve figured out is how to assess when I am not in a highly creative, receptive state, and to be like, “Ooh, I’m kinda blocked right now.” But usually that’s not the case when the two of us are sitting down together.

Do you find then that, when you are together, the ideas come more quickly and that you play off of one another quite well?

Mari: We definitely play off each other well. Every now and then we’ll find a block and be like, “Oh, that’s weird. We’ll have to try again another day.” Then, the next day it’s dissipated. But usually it flows pretty smoothly.

How do you keep yourself interested in your art when the initial joy of inspiration wears off?

Alice: For me, music is the thing that I understand the most. This sounds super cheesy, but it’s sort of a language, so it’s the way that I connect best to people and I how I understand how to talk to people or share ideas. Music is a part of my everyday life, so I don’t understand how I could lose inspiration for the art, because it’s just always there.

Mari: Music inspires me. When I feel blocked, or when I feel a lack of inspiration in the world, I can put my Spotify on shuffle and feel inspired.

Is there a type of music that tends to unblock you, or is it just random?

Mari: For me, it’s really random — I like a lot of different types of music. It’s about mood, so I’ll just read my mood and tune into that.

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

Alice: Aren’t they all minor key? [laughs] Is that an important element? I think that’s the darkness, the mysteriousness. I can’t write a song that’s not in minor key, but Mari: You have before, right?

Mari: I have, but honestly it’s not that common. [laughs]

Alice: It’s hard!

From where do the surreal, dark fantasy elements of your work come from?

Alice: There are probably a lot of places it comes from. In a superficial way, it comes from… I watch a lot of horror movies in my free time, so I find it easy to use images from horror movies. But also, I think our EP deals a lot with the inner demons that we’ve had, and finding a way to connect with them through music — sitting your demons down to tea.

Mari: Exactly. I feel like, looking for some kind of solace from the knots that you can get into in your own head. It’s a way of helping each other and helping ourselves. A meeting with demons, and being able to live with the tension of living with them, always.

Have their been any notable obstacles you’ve faced musically thus far, either as a band or as individuals?

Alice: We’ve had our share, for sure. I think our biggest struggle as a band has been dealing with our different personalities, because I’m very introverted, and I like playing music and recording, but I really don’t like performing or going to concerts and stuff. Whereas Mari, I think you love performing and concerts and dealing with people. So I think that, although it’s not musically a challenge, has been our biggest challenge as our duo: understanding each other, and trying to form compromises.

Mari: Yeah, once the music has been written, how do we interact with the world as a unit of two? That’s something that we’re figuring out.

How far along do you feel you’ve made it in that process?

Mari: Well, we learned a lot from our EP release show — that was really helpful. We’re in the process of figuring out… I guess ‘branding’ is the best word I can use to describe the other side of it.

Alice: Eugh! Gross. [laughs] I am not interested in that, but it is important.

Do you see more live shows in your future?

Mari: Yeah, in the next few months, we’re gonna really put together a clear game-plan for how we want to approach live shows and have infrequent shows, come summer, at the right places and events.

Is there anything in particular, Alice, that could make you more excited about that prospect?

Alice: [laughs] I think it’s just dealing with being uncomfortable performing and being in front of a lot of people.

Okay, so is there an element of your craft that you would especially like to improve?

Mari: In that vein, I would say our live performance — just because we haven’t had as much practice together as a duo.

Alice: Also, a little bit of mixing — that would be a good thing to learn more about. Because, every song I listen to, I’m always like, “Hmm, I’d like it if it had more of this feeling to it, but I’m not sure how to do that.” I think that’s very much related to the mixing process. I want to be able to find someone who understands the computer aspect, and then find a way to really understand each other. Maybe I’ll pick up some of the terms.

Mari: Yeah, vocabulary is very important.

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

Mari: I would say, immediately, just perspective. Reality can get pretty intense, so to have some kind of creative perspective on it helps relieve some of the burden of being human. Existentially and psychologically, I feel a little more grounded in being ungrounded.

Alice: I think what you said really captures it. There’s a connecting to a part of oneself that I think we can only really do through art.

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

Alice: I want to communicate that people who are struggling with their own demons, they aren’t alone. I hope that when they listen to the EP, they can feel that there is someone else in the world who understands how they feel — it’s okay that things aren’t always dandy.

Mari: Exactly. Being able to feel not okay and have that be a normal part of being alive – it’s not a problem.

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

Mari: I don’t necessarily like to be defined by one thing. When I’m feeling in a certain mood — kind of melancholy — to be able to put on a Sybling track and walk through that mood, sit with it and allow it to pass when it does naturally, but then also have moments where I feel in a different mood and can wear that genuinely through music and art.

Alice: I think that I define myself mostly just by the definition of musician or composer, and I like that definition.

The post Sybling appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Craig: We tried for a really long time, actually. We’ve been together eight-and-a-half years now, and we were always musicians but, when we tried making music before, nothing really clicked. We kind of accepted that, and had our own projects that we were working on. For this project, the catalyst was that Victoria saw a painting by Gustave Doré, called Andromeda —

Victoria: We just needed something to unite us. I asked Craig if he could help me make music that sounded like the painting looked. Craig totally understood what I was after, so we had this unified vision of what we wanted. We had lots of bits and pieces of music that we’d been writing independently — I guess stockpiling, really, but not knowing for what, because at that point we hadn’t released or recorded anything together. For some reason, the little bits and pieces came together in a way that actually made sense.

Craig: Yeah, and the record was pretty much written in a month after that. Once there was a vision for the project, it made sense, instead of just trying to force things.

Are you from quite different music backgrounds?

Victoria: I guess you didn’t really grow up with music. It wasn’t until you were a teenager that you started to pick up the guitar.

Craig: My guitar teacher would show me music, but there wasn’t really a whole lot of music in my household.

Victoria: Whereas I grew up in a very musical house — not that anyone in my family could actually play music, but I was exposed to a lot of music, and I was always singing lots of nineties grunge. Craig was late to the game and had a lot of catching up to do musically, exploring all these things at a way older age. It was only like two years ago that you really discovered Pink Floyd. [laughs]

Craig: Now I know every album inside out. I still need to get into Led Zeppelin. There are too many good bands. I feel like I’m still catching up.

Is there an aspect of being songwriters and musicians that you’ve grown to enjoy more since finding a way to work together on a project?

Victoria: For me, the recording, because that was something totally foreign. Prior to that, with any little pieces of recording I had done, I was very much just the musician — I went in there, said my piece, and that was that. But Craig was approaching it very DIY — he had that background knowledge of recording, so he definitely took the lead, but I was able to be way more involved than any other musical endeavour I’d ever done before. So, for me, I didn’t even know that having an interest in recording was a possibility.

What is your songwriting process then?

Craig: With this record, it varied from song to song. For a song like Penelope: that was very much based off of the painting and going for a very cold, urgent kind of sound. A song like Daughter of a Naiad: we knew we wanted to explore a loop, and that was more of an experiment.

Victoria: I think by the time we get together to write a song, there’s always a foundational element that has already been established, and we go from there. I think the reason we couldn’t work together prior was because we’d just sit down with a blank canvas and be like, “Okay, let’s write a song.” That didn’t work for us, but having little bits and pieces to bring to one another, to expand upon together, seems to work better for us.

You list 13 musicians — in addition to yourselves — that played on the album. Was it daunting to be bringing in so many people for a debut record, and did you have any doubts about the size and scope of the project at any point along the way?

Victoria: Only when we were too far in. [laughs] Because we laid down the drum tracks, and at that point, live performance-wise, we’d only performed three times, and that was as a duo. It was difficult, because we didn’t know what these songs were really gonna sound like or manifest into. For our live performance, we’ve developed a very intimate, ambient sound that sounds nothing like the record. But, at that point, we had these drum tracks laid down, so we were just like, “Okay, we’re committing. We’re gonna do this full band sound.” And at times, yeah, we were super in over our heads, and it took us years to make this record — partially because we had no idea what we were doing, it was such a big undertaking, and there wasn’t an overarching producer to rein us in.

Craig: Yeah, that was a huge thing, so we just piled it on and piled it on. And I’m glad we did. We were lucky, because a lot of the folks who played are friends, so it was a little bit of a different dynamic than if they were session musicians… Well, they are session musicians, but they’re friends first. So, we could go over to their house and rehearse the parts and experiment with things. A lot of the time we recorded parts at home, so there was no pressure of a studio. We did one day, for guitars, in an expensive studio, because I figured, “I’m playing it, so let’s go to the nice studio in town.” I just racked up a big bill and was too focused on the time wasted in the studio to get good tracks down. I ended up redoing them in a cheap studio.

Have you managed to get the feel of the studio songs into any of your live performances?

Victoria: We have, only once: for our release show. It was our first time with a full band, so the first time with drums, and I think the biggest difference between our normal live performance and the record has to be the drums. Because there are times where the drummer is really giving it, and it totally changes the feel of the song. It turns them into something much more rock driven. So, for the release show, we had the drums, bass, keys, a second guitarist, and we had the horns come play on stage with us. It was definitely still different, but it gave that feeling of the record. As a five-piece band, it’s not quite the same — I think the horns really add a dimension to it — but I think it still, compared to our duo sets, closer emulates the feeling of the record.

Okay, so how long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Victoria: I think, cumulatively, once we have one little idea and we want to expand upon it, that can happen really quick. But finding that first initial idea, there’s no rhyme or reason. At this point, I don’t feel like I want to push it because, when we tried to do that before, we weren’t able to come up with anything — when we just let it happen, we made a record.

Craig: Yeah, and we’ve got some little ideas for the next thing, and it’s not like they were forced at all — we were just jamming.

Victoria: And just the nature of it: we both work full time, we’re working on the record, we have shows — there’s not that much time for us to work on these ideas, so it does allow them to fester, but maybe in a more positive way. The nature of life allows them to sit and settle, and then we get to come back to it with some space, and I always think space away from an idea is the best thing for it.

Do you connect quite quickly to each other’s ideas?

Craig: Yeah, totally. I feel like, at first, there was a little bit of hesitation, because trying to express your deepest thoughts when it comes to art, it feels —

Victoria: Very vulnerable. It’s weird. Craig and I have been together for so long — the person who, in every other aspect, we’re okay being vulnerable with. You would assume musically it would be the same, but I think, for me, it was just very much this feeling of: I really respect what he does, and I want him to respect my thoughts — I’m scared to show them because, if I don’t fully believe in them, how am I going to show them with conviction? Just getting past that.

Craig: But now, I feel like there’s an openness. I’m not gonna speak for you, but —

Victoria: Yeah, it’s true. I don’t care now. [laughs] We do have a similar vision and so, even if something doesn’t get used, I feel in the creative process it’s never like, “Ew, I don’t like that. That sounds crap.” [laughs]

Craig: The only thing that will ever be shut down is something where it’s like, “Oh, that doesn’t quite sound ‘Porteau'”.

Victoria: Yeah, there’s lots of stuff that I tell him he should do on his individual projects, just because I don’t think it fits. But I think, in general, yeah, we’re pretty closely aligned and pick up on one another’s ideas very quickly.

Do you find it quite easy then to share songwriting duties?

Craig: Yeah, totally.

Victoria: We kinda fell into roles.

Craig: That’s exactly what I was gonna say.

Victoria: I was mostly writing melodies and lyrics, and Craig was mostly writing guitar ideas. In some cases, like for River Song, I did have this synth idea, and then in Re:Birth, Craig had some lyric ideas. But that was an anomaly. It kinda felt like, in a way, you were working with someone who could pick up the pieces of an aspect of songwriting that maybe wasn’t your strong suit. I don’t have the chordal knowledge Craig has — if I’d have put these songs to piano, which is how I would have done them, they would have been much more simplistic. But, I was able to work with someone who had a greater understanding. Craig was able to have these wacky chordal ideas, and as someone who has a pretty strong sense of melody, I was able to put melodies over, and sing over, these chords that he himself wouldn’t have been able to on his own stuff. So, it worked out well. We played off one another’s strengths and weaknesses.

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

Craig: [laughs] I feel like, when we were writing this record, we seemed to always have a beer or two on the go.

Victoria: That’s not a mood though. Beer isn’t a mood. [laughs]

Craig: Yep, mood of beer…

Victoria: I think, for me, I have to be in a contemplative state, just because of the way I’ve found I write. I have to have a personal experience, but need to be able to relate it to something else around me. If I try to do that when I’m super sad, mad, happy or whatever, it’s not gonna happen. I have to have space and be in the mood for reflection.

Craig: I need to have nothing on my schedule. I just need to have a chill night. I couldn’t write something under pressure, I don’t think. If I have to go out later in the night, and I have an hour, I’m never gonna write something.

Is there anything in particular you do to stimulate your own creativity then?

Victoria: For me, with writing, yes. I just force myself to sit down and write. Especially when I was writing this first record — I would just go to the beach with my pen and paper, and even if I thought nothing good was coming of it, force myself to sit there. And I still do that now. I have so many notes on my phone of ideas, and just giving myself the room to explore them — I think that, for me, is kinda the way that I help stimulate it. Allowing yourself to expand. Because, sometimes, it’s so hard — we’re a very fast paced society, and you’ve got this little idea, and maybe you’ll write it down really quick, but then you come back to it and you’re not in that head-space. It’s really hard to have that resonate with you again. So, just taking time — slowing down a little bit — and catching yourself when you’re in the moment as opposed to trying to relive it, which is so difficult.

Craig: For me, I guess, sonically, I’m always listening to records and taking notes to get some production ideas. A lot of my ideas for the next record are not songs or chords or lyrics at all — they’re just wanting to try this production idea, or this wacky thing I heard somewhere, or trying to adapt what this person was trying to do.

Is that a process pathway you’ve trodden before, or is it something that’s new for you?

Craig: It kinda came with recording this album. Along the way, I would just hear these things that seemed very obvious. We wanna play around with the vocals some more, I think. Because there is actually a layer of processed vocals underneath a lot of the vocal tracks — you can’t really hear it, but it does thicken it up. Things like that, field recordings, and I think it would be really cool to make some beats out of different sounds — not a drum kit. Doing this record made me more interested in that kind of approach.

Is it daunting that you have so many options available to you? That relatively small things — like the layers of processed vocals you spoke of — can ultimately make a tangible difference to the final result?

Victoria: Yes. There are so many layers on the tracks, you get to a point where you’re like, “Why not just add some more? You know what? Instead of doubling them, let’s triple them! Why not?”

Craig: I mean, for a lot of the vocals, there are like ten vocal tracks stacked on top of each other, plus the exact same vocal lines through a harmonised plugin re-amped through a guitar amp. Stuff like that. So, it is overwhelming.

Victoria: It is easy to get carried away, and we definitely did. [laughs] Because, again, we didn’t know what we were doing, right? The whole thing was this big experiment for us. We did have our sound engineer — he worked pretty closely with us — and he was very much a voice of reason. Craig is very much a neurotic worker.

Craig: [laughs]

Victoria: He hones in and focuses. Like, I always thought I was a perfectionist, but then I worked with Craig, and I realised, “Whoa! No, I have nothing on Craig.” [laughs] There’s like a level of neurosis that’s rare to find in a person, but Craig has it.

Craig: Oh, wow. [laughs]

Victoria: It’s a good thing, don’t get me wrong, because as I said, you were able to hone in on things that I never would have honed in on. But it’s nice to have a ying and yang, so the sound engineer, Andy Schicter, he was really good at saying,”You know what? I think we’ve dialled in as good as we’re gonna get — try to think big picture, and let’s move on.” Otherwise, I feel like we’d be on a free-fall of trying to dial in effects or sounds or adding layers. So, it’s always nice when you have someone to tap you on your shoulder and be like, “Let’s move on.”

Craig: I mean, I can hear all the parts that are in it, but someone listening to it for the first time, it probably doesn’t sound that dense. The next record is maybe going to be a bit more intimate in spots — I’m kinda learning from that. It worked for these songs, I think, but —

Victoria: There’s value in space, which the songs, in this instance, didn’t lend themselves to in the same way. But I think, in our minds, we want to create a bit more space in these new songs we’re gonna work on.

So Craig — you’ve just been accused, with quite hearty assurance, of being uniquely neurotic. Care to comment?

Craig: I guess it’s a very real thing. [laughs]

Victoria: [laughs]

Craig: I’m just very passionate about recording and music in general. We just wanted to make the best record possible, and I feel like we did. The only way I knew how to go at it was just just obsessing over everything. I had a list for every single thing. I think each song probably went through ten lists of things to do.

Victoria: I think you just approached the record in the way you approach life. I don’t wanna say you’re a neurotic man in your day-to-day life — [laughs] — but you’re a very attention to detail [person]. You love your lists. So, you just took that day-to-day approach to life and applied it to the record, which is great because it created a level of organisation that me, as a messy person, never would have been able to muster. So, I think it worked well.

The songs on the album do feel very full in terms of their ability to to deliver an atmosphere and transportative experience. I guess a lot of that comes down to the attention you paid to small details.

Victoria: I mean, it got very in-depth. There was really no, “Okay, well that sounds good — let’s move on.” That never happened. Even with the vocals — layering them — we’d go in, and I didn’t really no what the harmonies were going to be, so we were experimenting. We did all the vocals at home, so we had that luxury of not being on studio time. We would record like thirty takes of a little section, and then I’d come out of our little makeshift vocal booth and we’d sit there with pen and paper, like, “Track one: this word was good, that word wasn’t good”, and go through each take piece by piece — in many cases, word by word — and kinda fit them together. It took an extremely long time, and other people we’d talk to would tell us that we were being absolutely ridiculous. But it was our first time, so we didn’t even realise the degree of neurosis that we were partaking in. Everyone was like, “That’s how you’re doing it? That’s really interesting. I would never.” [laughs]

Craig: It’s not like we were super stressed out.

Victoria: No no, it’s just how we did it.

Craig: A lot of the stuff that comes to mind is when we were mixing it. I would sit there, and I would keep hearing these resonant high-pitched frequencies that would pop up. I have a synth on my phone that can play really high-pitched ringing sounds, and I would find all the resonant frequencies and we’d EQ them out so that it sounds smooth. I’m sure lots of records are doing that. Because we have the option of doing it at home, which a lot of folks don’t, we were able to obsess over certain parts. And a huge benefit of doing a record over a long period of time is that the expenses you incur are spread out, so that worked a lot better for us too. If we had to pay a huge chunk to record the album in a short amount of time, this record would not sound the way it does.

Okay, so what do you feel is the most important element of a Porteau song?

Craig: Having lyrics that can be interpreted in different ways. A lot of the lyrics on this album, they are personal, but they’re intentionally vague as to what’s being discussed. The next record, we want to continue making music that’s even more personal. I also think mantras are pretty important to our sound, and the other thing is the guitars playing off of the words. So, very light, ethereal-sounding guitars, hopefully with a lot of space, a lot of delay. As soon as we started writing these songs, I bought one of those RE-201 Space Echo units. Every single track on the album has the Space Echo on the guitars. It even has the Space Echo on the vocal tracks for a couple of them, like on Daughter of a Naiad. That kinda gives it a warmth, but also a brightness. Also a bit of uncertainty, because the tape would often screw up.

Victoria: Also openness and mysticism, to some kind of regard.

Your songs do elicit a strong sense of mysticism and reverence for the earth. Where did those aspects of the record come from?

Victoria: I feel like, with songwriting that I had done before, I really struggled to just put pen to paper and write down how I was feeling and feel even remotely poetic about it. I guess there was a level of vulnerability there too that I wasn’t comfortable with. It just felt very much like: This is me, and I have nothing to relate myself around to; I’m just exposing myself.

I had spent a bit of time up in Alaska, and I was just surrounded by nature. I had felt so good, so at peace and more connected. I kinda realised that finding that connection to the world around me, it made my problems seem a little less daunting. It was like I could see this parallel between personal experience and the natural world. So yeah, I guess there was a reverence for the world around me, just because it was grounding. Once a few ideas started to come together, Water’s Gate made sense, thematically, coming from that perspective. I wouldn’t say all the lyrics I write have that connection to the earth, but thematically, for the record, it made sense for them to. I guess it was almost out of necessity — it was a way for me to feel comfortable telling my stories, but veiling it with this mysticism, and also feeling a genuine connection to it.

Do you feel your songs offer an escape from the chaos of the modern world?

Victoria: I would hope so. For me, they very much do. There’s so much going on around us, and creating time and space is such a difficult thing today. There is an importance in it. Often, one of the easiest ways to make that time for yourself is to detach from the chaos of society and go on a hike, go camping, swimming, whatever it is. There’s something pretty powerful in that: being able to uproot yourself from your day-to-day life and reconnect. I hope that the imagery and the mystic idea that’s discussed does invoke that sense in people, because that’s definitely what I was trying to portray.

So, what do you feel that you gain from being artistically inclined?

Craig: Going off that last question a bit, I just feel like I’m able to chill out more. These songs, especially when we’re playing them live or just jamming with the band in rehearsal, you can get lost in them a little bit. When we play them live, certain parts are improvised, so that’s kind of our escape: being able to get lost in the songs still. Even though we’ve played them lots of times, we’re still discovering new layers and changing things.

Victoria: Yeah, and just in general, to be an artist: it’s just a way of expression. I’m always trying to wrap my head around like, “What’s this all mean? What’s going on?” I feel like I’m in a constant state of being perplexed by life and the weird stuff that goes on. Being able to have an outlet to digest that, it seems so unfathomable that some people are being assaulted with the same chaos and just have to sit there with it — there’s no output, no matter what medium. I can’t paint, I can’t draw, but I can imagine if you have that ability, that would be just as cathartic. It’s just having any way to output all the stuff that’s constantly being thrown your way. It feels like a real privilege to have that ability.

Craig: Yeah, it feels quite freeing to me. The other cool thing is: we get to go out and experience other bands playing music all the time, which is super inspiring — not just to make music, but inspiring in day-to-day life.

Your music, to my mind at least, doesn’t necessarily fall into a specific genre. How have you found it in terms of connecting with other bands, and also promoting yourself?

Victoria: In Vancouver, at least, there seems to be an acceptance of an eclectic bill, and often we will create a level of eclecticness, just because the music is a little different from a lot of the folk singer-songwriters that we’ve kinda aligned with in the music scene here. The music’s not too outlandish that it feels alien.

Craig: I would say that we’ve possibly played some shows where we felt afterwards that we didn’t fit.

Victoria: That is true. We’ve learned our lesson, that way. There are certain instances where you would picture a singer-songwriter working; where you could imagine parents and their children, maybe grandmas, and there will be a baseline of enjoyment — we’ve performed in those cases, and there is not a baseline of enjoyment. [laughs] And it’s super obvious.

Craig: But you don’t know going in.

Victoria: Yeah, as a small band going in, you’re taking these shows and maybe not knowing exactly what it’s gonna be like — getting there and understanding that maybe you’re not exactly what this space is meant for. [laughs] That does happen but, in general, we’ve been pretty lucky. With promoting it, I do find that difficult. I don’t really know where the record really sonically fits. Even in terms of playlists and all that stuff. For me, it seems very challenging. I feel like, maybe it is actually a challenge for people to put it into a certain feeling or genre. So, live performance-wise, it hasn’t really been an issue, but when it comes to ‘grand picture’ promotion, yeah, it has been a little more challenging.

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

Craig: Oh, that’s a hard question. I’ve not thought about it before.

Victoria: I have been reflecting a lot lately: Why would I want to be a musician? Why would I want success? Why would I want people to listen to it? Why wouldn’t I? What do I want out of music? I’ve always told myself that I just want to make music for the sake of making music, but then I’ve realised, as we’ve released this record — and there’s lots of rejection that you face — I’ve experienced feeling really upset by it, and hurt in a way that I didn’t expect. So, I’ve had to do a little bit of soul searching and try to figure out: Why do I feel that way? Because I’ve always told myself that I wouldn’t, but now that I’m faced with it, I do.

So, I think for me, there’s one hundred percent a base line of insecurity there that, I guess, you don’t even realise you want to be subdued by assurance from others. Realising that about yourself is a hard pill to swallow, especially when you’ve always, out loud, said that’s not the case. So now, I almost don’t trust myself when I say like, “Oh, I don’t want my music to define me. I wanna be my own person.” I don’t know if that’s the case. I think I do, in a way. I do want this idea that I have created and presented, not to maybe define me, but to be a part of who I am and how I interact with the world.

I don’t know if that was a little rambly on my part, but it just felt very much along the lines of things that I’ve been trying to work through and digest myself… I don’t know how you feel Craig?

Craig: I’m still thinking about it.

Victoria: [laughs]

Craig: The way I see it, even though we talked about how I was neurotic about everything being right in the studio, a lot of the songs, especially guitar-wise, like in Stream and Moon Maidens — almost all of those parts are improvised. So, the parts are just moments in time that happened, and the reason I played that way was because I felt that way at the time. I think they sound quite sensitive and delicate. I don’t know if this is a good way to describe sound, but contemplative as well — the guitar parts are like discovering themselves. I’m okay with someone listening to that and making an assumption on who I am, I guess, but I’m also gonna change as a person as well.

Victoria: Yeah, I guess there is that kind of idea that it very much feels like a moment in time, but people are evolving. I do listen to people I know personally — I listen to their music — and it does help me get an insight into them in a way that I maybe otherwise wouldn’t have. So, if people get an insight into me in a way that perhaps they wouldn’t have — if they digest the lyrics and they’re able to see the more personal aspects that I’ve cloaked in metaphor — that’s awesome. Maybe they get to learn a part of me that maybe I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about directly. Same with the music itself — you are evoking feelings, and maybe they see a sensitivity in your playing that they wouldn’t see in real life. So, I think there is something to be said for someone who’s truly listening to the music and deducing certain things from it — there’s beauty in that, for sure.

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Brynja: I went to a street theatre in Norway. I was with my friend — she played guitar and wrote her own songs — and she asked me if I could do a second harmony on her song, because she wanted to play it for the people there. I was twenty at the time, and I’d never really considered that I could play music. So, I told her, “Okay, I can try.” After that, I started to pick up her guitar and try to learn how to play. There wasn’t really much to do in the woods in Norway after our rehearsals — there was nothing around, just this group of people doing street theatre for a month. So, I thought, “I have enough time, I’m just gonna learn how to play the guitar.” I learnt some chords and stuff — not a lot — and then I fell in love, as well. [laughs]

It was such an amazing experience for me, this whole street theatre, and I wrote my first song straight after I came home. I was really surprised. I remember thinking: Okay, I don’t know where that came from. I’m probably never going to write a song again. Then, that summer, I wrote so many songs. When I was younger my parents always wanted me me to play instruments because they knew I had a musical ear, but I never wanted to practice. At that moment, when I was twenty, it kinda came from myself. That’s when I became very interested in making music.

Did you have any desire at all to make music when you were younger?

Brynja: I have a memory from when I was about nine. There was this Icelandic singer who released an album at the same age, and I remember being super impressed and thinking to myself: That’s so cool! I wanna be like her. But apart from that, not really. I started dancing, and I was really into that. I wanted to be a dancer.

Do you ever feel like, having started at the age you did, that maybe you’re at a disadvantage, or that you’ve had a lot of catching up to do?

Brynja: I’m 27 now, and sometimes I do feel like it maybe would’ve been nice to have started earlier, but then again, it doesn’t matter; this is just my story, my path I’m creating. I think, because of everything that’s happened in my life, I’m here, right now, and I feel like I’m in a really good place.

Would you say that your attitude to music before now was quite casual?

Brynja: Yeah, I always thought about it more as a hobby, but now I’m trying to see if I can do it more professionally. It’s the first time ever that I’ve not had any job — I’m just doing school and music. I really enjoy it.

I was a bit tired of the guitar. I remember sitting down with it and trying to write and nothing really came to me anymore — I had a huge writers block. I released a song in November, Liar — it was one of the first songs I wrote, and I always wanted to record it. Now, after the release, I feel like I’m free to explore new things again. I feel like when I first started making music. Back then, I wrote so many songs because it was so new to me. I feel like I’m back there again, because now I’m making music in a different way, experimenting with new genres, new sounds and topics.

So, what are the major differences between the music you’re making now, and that which you were making before?

Brynja: Now, I’ll sometimes have an idea about lyrics or a melody or something, and I’ll meet up with some of my music friends and tell them my idea. Then, we create something together. That’s unlike anything I ever did before — I always wrote everything by myself on the guitar. Also, I always used to write about my feelings. Now, I’m trying other topics as well.

And what changes have you implemented in terms of the actual music itself?

Brynja: Rhythm. Beats. A few are based on keys. I’m also trying a bit of rapping as well. [laughs]

I wasn’t expecting to hear that!

Brynja: [laughs]

What has inspired you to move in that direction?

Brynja: Probably the people I’ve met recently through school. And I was also very inspired by this podcast called Dissect. It’s really good. It’s a guy who’s dissecting albums, diving into every single detail — sound and lyrics and everything. He’s so good at it. After listening to this podcast, I was so inspired; I thought: Wow, you can actually write an album — I always thought you would just write songs and then put them together to make an album. It really gave me a new perspective on how to make music, you can have an idea — a whole story — and then create songs from that. In this podcast, he talks about Frank Ocean and Lauryn Hill… and Kanye West. [laughs] So, my inspiration is more there now. And Solange — her album, A Seat at the Table; I really like that album.

How long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Brynja: It depends. If I have an idea that feels right then maybe for a few days I’ll be really immersed in that, and I’ll write everything that comes to mind. Then I’ll maybe leave a few sentences out if I don’t know how to finish it, and go back to it later. Now, for the first time, I’m working on a few songs at the same time.

Some lyrics come quickly, but I’m really careful about what I want to say — I don’t want to just write whatever. So, I’ll take my time.

Do you prefer to write in English?

Brynja: Yeah, I do. I think, in the beginning, when I started writing songs, I was just speaking my heart, straight. It just felt too awkward or too sincere to write it in Icelandic. If I did it in English, I got a little bit of distance from it. But I have written some songs in Icelandic; the first song that I wrote was in Icelandic.

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

Brynja: When I write something I like it feels kind of magical. Have you heard of Elizabeth Gilbert? How she talks about creativity? That’s amazing. Basically, what she’s saying is that everybody has a genius instead of you being a genius. It’s like a spirit or something that gives you ideas, and if you’re open enough to it, you’ll be like, “Great!” and write the idea down. So, sometimes it just really feels like you’re not writing the song yourself — it’s writing itself, through you.

I really like to write on the train or on the bus. I went to Hamburg the other day, and I was sitting on the bus for six hours — I finished one track that I’d been working on for a while and got an idea for a new one. It’s nice to be on the move; it gives your brain time off from your everyday life and creates space for new ideas.

Aside from taking the bus, is there anything else you do to stimulate your own creativity?

Brynja: I figured out that having a routine is really good for me. I always used to think that it’s best to make music in the night — but now I really feel like it helps me to wake up early. Writing in the morning is pretty nice. I go swimming – coming from Iceland where we have a lot of swimming pools, I think the worst thing about moving to a new country is that there aren’t swimming pools on every corner. [laughs] But I managed to find one here that’s not too far away. In the morning, I go swimming, and after that I have a few hours until I go to school, so I try to be organised and use my time [to write].

How do you keep yourself interested in your art when the initial joy of inspiration wears off?

Brynja: I think it’s really important, like I was talking about with the routine, to detach yourself from what you’re doing. I try to, in the afternoon, just go home and cook and do my stuff; not do anything work related — just be excited to start again in the morning. Also, I try to keep in mind that I don’t have to make anything perfect. Nothing is really perfect. To try to find the joy in it and not worry too much.

Does that come quite naturally for you?

Brynja: Yeah, I guess so, but it is definitely something I have to remind myself of once in a while.

What do you feel is the most important element of any song that you write? What makes a song a Brynja song?

Brynja: I think the meaning is the most important. If I’m writing a song, and I feel like it doesn’t have any special meaning to me, then it’s not a song I want to release. The recording process is also important — the song has to sound like me. It’s maybe hard to pinpoint exactly what that means, but I will know when it sounds right.

I get really uncomfortable if I feel like the song is slipping out of my hands; if there’s a producer who kinda changes the song in a direction that I don’t feel is right for me… I really have to feel like I’m in control of what I’m doing, and I’ve sometimes had to fight for that.

How comfortable do you find that relationship between yourself and a producer then?

Brynja: The songs that I recorded for my EP were recorded with a friend who really gets my vibe. He was the first person that I ever recorded with and we just clicked. It was good to work together because I knew what I wanted, and he was there to help me get there. And I really like how he makes my music sound. He recorded me and did the mixing, but I was always very involved in the process, sometimes I’d be sitting by his side, like, “Oh, turn this up”, or “A bit less reverb.”

I think you just have to work with somebody that you feel comfortable with. I’ve also found some really nice people here in the Netherlands that I’m working with now. I’ve been working a lot with a guy lately, and it’s going very well — I have the feeling I’m making my music, but he is adding his flavour in there and elevating my ideas. Sounds pretty sweet.

Given what you’re studying at the moment — audio engineering — do you hope to move towards doing more of this stuff yourself in the future?

Brynja: I think that was my plan when I started the studies, or at least I wanted to figure out if that was what I wanted. I was living here in the Netherlands — for a year I was working in an office, and I didn’t really know a lot of creative people around here. At the time, I was recording my song, Liar, and I was working on it with a guy in Berlin. I went to Berlin a few times to work on it, but when I was back in the Netherlands and wanted to try some ideas, I didn’t know how to and I felt really helpless. That’s why I started the studies, because I wanted to be able to do more stuff myself. Hopefully, now, I’m better at communicating what I want.

It’s really good for me to learn some basics about recording, but it’s pretty clear to me that I’m more interested in the creative process than the engineering part. The ideal situation is to have a good team around me so I don’t have to think about everything myself. I have tried writing a song, recording it and mixing it myself, and it’s not the same — if I do everything on my own, I lose the joy of it. And I guess it’s also better to distance yourself from what you are doing a bit, then I can listen to the song with fresh ears.

Is there an element of your craft that you’d especially like to improve upon?

Yeah, I want to know more about the marketing side of music – to know more about how everything works. I haven’t been so good in putting myself out there. Like you said, you couldn’t [until recently] find any information about me on the internet. [laughs] So, now I’m trying to be more active on social media and sharing my music.

Okay, so what do you feel that you gain from being artistically inclined?

Brynja: Like I told you, last year I was working in an office, and it really didn’t give me any joy. At the beginning I thought it was interesting — it’s good to try something new — but, at the end of the year, I was just like a different person — I think I’ve never felt less happy about myself. I really feel the difference now. It gives me a lot, actually: to be doing this, to be creating.

I took a break from dancing school, because I was confused — I didn’t know if I wanted to do music or dancing. I didn’t know what to do. I remember my dad asked me, “What do you want to do with your life?” and I said, “I want to save the world.” [laughs] I mean, we are faced with issues like climate change, and it’s quite scary. I want to be able to help somehow. Recently, I started writing songs about that topic. I don’t know if that can actually help, but at least it gives me the sense that I’m trying to contribute using the tools that I have. And it feels good to be connecting those two passions.

And when do you think you’ll be ready to release new songs?

Brynja: I have a few songs ready for recording, so hopefully I’ll have them recorded soon. Let’s see, I don’t have a specific plan — I’m playing everything by ear.

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

Brynja: I think, what I’m writing about now, are my feelings and thoughts right now. It’s the same with the my older stuff, like my EP — those are thoughts that I had back then, so it really defines who I was at that moment. I think some of the things that I write are not necessarily things that I would say out loud. [laughs] It’s a nice way of getting your inner person out.

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Rosie: I think it was a conglomeration of events. I was definitely getting the itch to record stuff — maybe before I’d got the material — but if I did another record, I wanted it to be more of a body of work and less a collection of random songs. It came hand-in-hand with the realisation that I’d been keeping my art and my music separate in my mind and in life, and I’d been writing songs that were another outlet for thinking about the concepts I was exploring in my art. I was like, “Well, obviously. That makes sense because it’s my brain.” [laughs] Then I wrote one key song, which was the title track, The Lost Gardens, and that was just it. I was like, “Oh, I’ve got at least three songs now that are using kind of garden imagery. I think I have something! I have a theme.”

It all happened to be good timing that Jakes and Niko, my sound engineers, and Upcycled Sounds got properly setup with a studio in Oxford, and they were just raring to go and ready to start. I only had four songs at the time, and I knew I wanted five. I thought a lot about doing an album or an EP — the pros and cons — and we decided that an EP was a really good way of getting music out more quickly, and more focused as a project as opposed to an album, which can end up quite rambly. So, it came together at the beginning of last year, and we threw ourselves into it.

You mention the cohesiveness, specifically from a thematic perspective. Did you enjoy working within that framework once you realised that’s where you were heading?

Rosie: I didn’t realise quite how cohesive it all was until we finished and put the tracklisting together. I think even though I knew it was more cohesive, it was more the pleasure that I knew I was proud of the songs — I knew that they were good. With Inside Out, it was like I was prepared to record them and put them out there because I thought they were okay songs… That sounds terrible. They were meaningful, so I thought that was grounds enough to put them out, but with the songs I wrote for The Lost Gardens, I felt proud of them as good songs. That’s what was really enjoyable about recording them as a set.

We spoke last time about this being quite a relaxed project for you – how you’d deliberately kept things casual for fear of it dying – have you been able to preserve that attitude through the process of this latest record?

Rosie: Yes, I think so. Music in general is still that for me, and I’m much more clear on that now than I was three years ago. I was kinda like, “I dunno, I’ll just see what happens”, and I felt a bit guilty about that, like maybe it was just a lazy attitude. But actually, now, I really want the music to remain enjoyable, and I think the key to that is to keep it like, “Let’s see what happens. Let’s just try this out.”

But I don’t have an end goal, and I don’t have my sights set on anything in particular. Last year was pretty full-on music-wise, and it took up way too much of my time for how much it paid me. That was fun, but I have to be really aware of it. It’s energy sapping. My mantra for this year, and forever, I think, is to be open with music, and never to say no, but equally I’m not gonna pursue anything — much to the dismay of my production team. [laughs]

And compared to your album, how have you found yourself responding to the actual release of this EP: the letting go of it?

Rosie: I think my attitude to that has changed as well. It’s because the creation of the album, and then the launch and the gigs afterwards, have been a lot more collaborative than with my album, which was collaborative as well, but with the EP I very much more handed over trust to other musicians.

I remember, just before we started recording, I was still having anxieties about ownership of the songs. Handing over everything production-wise, and letting them play around with whatever they wanted in the studio, took a lot of, ‘Okay, what does that mean of those songs once they’re done? How much are they still mine?’ My problem with that quandary isn’t to do with wanting them to be mine, it’s more to do with how I feel guilty about then selling the CDs and getting the proceeds just for me. I had the same issue with Inside Out — I felt really bad about it. I was like, “This is eighty percent someone else’s work.”

I had lots of conversations with Niko about that, and he just kept reassuring me, like, “No, they are your songs. They can be displayed and worked with in hundreds of different ways, but the song is still yours.” The whole way Upcycled Sounds was set up in the first place, they really want it to be clear that the song is owned by the songwriter who pays for the production. That’s a job that’s been done, and the song is still completely owned by the artist at the end. I think that all helped me let go of them to a certain extent, and enjoy it. It’s been really fun. I feel like everyone’s reaction to the EP has been that of surprise and enjoyment of how much it’s opened up, and that’s all down to the production team, but also the collaboration between both of us. I’m much more aware of how that EP couldn’t exist without both our things coming together.

So, would you say you’ve now completely gotten over that particular doubt?

Rosie: Yeah, I think so. Having a band around me, I’ve started to see how people actually just get a lot of enjoyment out of it. I should stop feeling weird about that. Now I know where my strengths lie, where they don’t, and where I can invite others to contribute in order to progress things in a way I couldn’t on my own. I shouldn’t feel guilty about that — I should just enjoy the fact they’re enjoying it, and we’re all enjoying it together. [laughs]

How has all of this impacted your live show?

Rosie: It has definitely raised some questions. It was exciting what we developed on the EP, and how we broadened the sound. We came to the end of it and were like, “Great! How do we bring that onto the stage?” Because it feels like a really great leap forward, and it would be really cool to bring that progression into the live performance, but I’ve always avoided bands because it takes a lot of logistics and is a bit of a nightmare. But, that all quite happily fell together, accidentally.

Some of the artists on the label — we all just kind of collaborated on each others songs. Then we were trying to take the recordings, and not replicate them for on stage, because they’re two different things, but to take some of the elements of the recordings: to put my guitar down and hand over that instrumentation side of the performance to these other instrumentalists; to trust them to find their parts with what they’d heard on the EP, and what my live performance was like. Instantly, it was really exciting, and they really enjoyed it, which was what mattered to me. I’m not gonna employ band members just for the hell of it — the only reason I’m doing it is because they’re enjoying it.

As a bonus, it’s unlocked a whole different level of performing for me, which I never could have imagined before. The amount of fun you can have on stage when it’s not just you. You can actually own your craft in a much more poignant way — I can really focus on my vocals, which is what I really care about and enjoy. The part I didn’t enjoy so much, which was the guitar, I can hand over and they can enjoy it. So, it’s been really great.

Will you be doing more shows with the band?

Rosie: I want to, and they want to, but it’s just that difficulty of us all doing it on the side. When there are five of you doing it on the side, the chances of you getting in one room at the same time for a rehearsal are slim. We’ve done a few gigs recently where we hadn’t rehearsed at all, which they’re very good at — at winging it — but I don’t really want to wing it. If I’m going to do it with the band, I really want to be rehearsed. So, that’ll take a different investment of time and money.

I’ll say yes to things if they come up, but I don’t have that space — I’m gonna have to be focusing on my artwork a lot this year, because last year was a music year. This year, I need to lock down and focus. I think what I’m planning, in build up to the next record and producing it, is involving the band a lot more. Then we’ll see about touring and scary stuff like that. Next year, maybe.

Okay, so returning to the EP itself: Were you more, or less, concerned about the reaction this time around?

Rosie: I guess, naturally, more, because I think you always are with every new project — you feel like you’ve progressed, and you want that confirmation from the outside.

Last time we spoke, you said that you’d like to introduce a slightly more electronic influence, and a very noticeable way in which this EP differs from your album is the production. In this particular respect, how close is the EP to what you were envisaging three years ago?

Rosie: I’ve kind of taken stepping stones with Jakes and Niko towards that — keeping my songs pure. I didn’t want to suddenly go over-electronic; I didn’t want to suddenly become, you know, current. [laughs]

I loved what what Chris did with the instrumentation (for Inside Out) — it was beautiful — but the reason I can’t listen to the album much at the moment is purely because of my performance. I feel like I over-performed it, I was overexcited, and it was all a bit much. I’m aware of the fact that my songs are already quite a lot to absorb, and the instrumentation needs to bare that in mind — we kind of just threw everything at it. Chris came up with loads of arrangements for loads of different instruments, and I was like, “Yeah! Sure! Try that! Throw it on!”

I’ve realised since that I need to pare things down somehow and yet keep it real — I love knowing that a sound actually happened. I know synthesisers use sounds and then work with them, but I like the idea that everything really did happen in the studio. That’s what Jakes and Niko do. It sounds more electronic, but actually all of those sounds were created uniquely for the project; mostly, they didn’t take samples from a database and mix them in — we made them, by hitting things in the studio, and shaking random objects.

I think it became a lot clearer to me, when I had a lot of distance from the album, what I actually wanted the sound to be like. It took me a long time, and I really struggled with hearing it. Really, I think I’m only clear on that now that we’ve done it — in the studio, I was like, “Try whatever.” But I think Jakes and Niko had a lot of clarity about it, and that really helped. They knew it needed to be simplified, not over-complicated, yet they also wanted it to be fresh and interesting. So yeah, Jakes and Niko really helped to have that clarity, and now I feel a lot more clear for the next one.

It feels like it worked as a concoction of people and minds. It was quite experimental, but now we can see what worked and what didn’t. It’s nice. I can imagine doing something more, which I don’t think I was that clear on after Inside Out.

Is there anything you left off the album that, on reflection, you wish you’d included, or anything that could have been done slightly differently?

Rosie: I think the only change I would make to the EP is something I suggested that I now think I was wrong about. [laughs] Niko’s gonna love this; I haven’t told him. Towards the end of the mixing, I kept asking him to turn me up. You know Laura Marling’s new album, and the song Soothing? I was thinking very much in those terms: it’s all about her delivery. It sounds really egocentric, but the lyrics are so important to me. I didn’t really know what was going on with the instrumentation, but the point of the song — I really want that to be in the front. So, I kept prodding him to turn it up in the mix, and he was just like, “You’re already really loud!” I was like, “No, I’m not! Not loud enough!”

I do like it, but I have had a comment from another sound engineer that was like, “That was quite brave: to put you so forward in the mix.” Yeah, that was my fault. So, I think I need to trust Niko’s opinion more on the stuff that he’s trained at. I think that’s the only change I would make.

There was something we left out that was in the mix for The Lost Gardens, which I stand by. Niko used a lot of field recordings, and one of the main ones was a recording he’d taken of ants crawling over his microphone — they were making squeaky noises and spraying defensive stuff. He mixed it into quite a lot of the song, and he loved it. Everyone else loved it. They were like, “That’s so cool!” But I was determined, and I know I’m in the right about this: it was just a distracting, weird sound. You’re just like, “Are my headphones broken?” [laughs] The other aspect of it is that I have a phobia of ants. [laughs] So, it would have been quite ironic to keep it in there, but it was also like, “I’m never going to be able to listen to this song. I feel like they’re in my head.”

Other than the fact ant sounds are definitely not for you, is there anything you’ve learnt about yourself from the creation and release of this record?

Rosie: I’ve learnt to trust the fact that things are connected, and things happen for a reason; to trust that they’ll mesh together successfully, and to not be so worried about not having a grasp on what it’s going to sound like, be like or look like. So, definitely to trust my process, and to trust other people more. Other than that, I’m not really sure. I still don’t know much about myself. [laughs]

How do you feel you’ve developed as a lyricist since the album?

Rosie: I’m still learning. I can see now what’s more successful about these songs. There are a lot of people who have a huge place in their heart for the songs on Inside Out, but I think, technically, they’re definitely better songs on The Lost Gardens. I always write really rambly, and there are aspects of those songs that maybe are still too rambly. But I think, on the whole, with the input of Jakes and Niko, we did cut out quite a lot of random bits of verses that I was holding onto because I really liked them lyrically. But to make a good song that people could follow — could audibly go on the journey with me — it needed to keep their attention, and in order to do that, I have to sacrifice some lyrics.

I wrote a song recently that’s just been taking so long, because I had too much of an idea of what I wanted it to be about, and I was hammering that home way too much and in a really obscure way. It was really hard to follow, and I rewrote it three or four times. I think I’ve only just got it to a stage where I can bring it to the band and see what happens with it. It took a lot of sacrificing ideas in order to make a good song, and that’s hard, but also an important part of the process that I’m learning. It does come across in a shorter amount of words. I have to believe that people will get it; I don’t have to spell everything out.

I get the impression from the way you’ve conveyed that point however, that removing something from an original work for the betterment of a song is something you’re still struggling with a little.

Rosie: If you gave me a week off from my life, I couldn’t guarantee you that I could come up with a song — maybe an idea, but it’s still a mysterious process to me. I have more of an understanding of it but, in a way, that’s more of a risk. Sometimes I feel like I want to have less of an understanding, because I feel that holds me back. I used to write songs way more regularly — just spit them out — but now I definitely feel that my awareness makes me overthink things. I’m hoping that will all balance out and I’ll become productive again, but it’s a hard thing, writing songs.

I can imagine; I find it hard enough writing emails. The amount of time I can spend tweaking a two line message…

Rosie: [laughs] It happens when you really care about what you’re saying. If you really care then of course it’s hard. There are a million different ways you could get the words out, and you want them to be the right words. There’s so much pressure on that, and people who write a lot of songs, maybe they’re just better at letting go of that pressure, or maybe some of them just don’t care as much. [laughs] They just get it out and think about it later, and if you wanted to make a career in songwriting, you’d need to do that. But I’m not prepared to sacrifice my pernickety songwriting. [laughs]

Okay, so what does this EP represent to you.

Rosie: For me, in both my art and my music, it marks a kind of clarity. No matter what my songs are about on the surface, they are all dealing with a similar theme and ideas — that’s quite refreshing to realise. I think I’ll always be trying to express that in some way or other, whatever imagery I’m using at the time. I can see how, even though I’ve only got one or two songs for the next record, it leads on in terms of the underlying themes, which will be the same: ideas about finding stability in a world that’s so chaotic and turbulent, and also the dangers of veering too much to that side and wanting too much stability and too much control — what that can mean and how that can hold you back.

It’s weird, I feel like I’ve been having this epiphany for the last four years — I have the answer, but to get there is gonna be a lifelong process, and the songs are an important part of that for me. That’s exciting, I think. I see songwriting as less random than I used to.

The post Rosie Caldecott appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Mabel: Well, I’m older – I’m eighteen and Ivy’s fifteen — so I was the one who started writing first. We’d been in a band beforehand — Ivy and I, and a friend — we were called the Highway Sisters. We did the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack, which is like Americana and Appalachian folk songs. That was all three-part harmonies, no instruments. But then, at the end of grade six, my teacher said, “Why don’t you guys write a song for an end of year CD?” I picked up a guitar — I’d never played guitar before, but I’d been playing cello since I was eight, so it came really easily for me — and I wrote my first song, which was about my teacher and how it was sad that I was gonna be leaving him and going off on this journey in high school.

I also found out that First Aid Kit made their first CD when they were about sixteen, and I was like, “If they can do it, why can’t I?” So, I started writing my own songs when I was twelve, and they kept coming. Ivy jumped on board, and because we’d been singing a lot of harmonies since we were very young, as a family as well as at school, she was really good at harmonies.

How far removed do you feel from that early inspiration?

Mabel: I think we have moved on. First Aid Kit was our major inspiration — we went busking on the streets and just played every single First Aid Kit song. They had three albums out and we played them all in order from the start to the end [laughs]. We knew them all off by heart. But now we have a lot more influences.

Ivy: More influences for production: Sufjan Stevens, Agnes Obel.

Mabel: Sufjan Stevens as an influence — he’s very experimental with all his arranging, which we’re really inspired by. The kind of cinematic style of arranging. Carrie and Lowell is a really great album about the death of his mother, and it’s really, really sad, but really, really beautiful. I think it’s similar to our music in that way — since Ivy’s friend passed away two years ago, we’ve written a lot of songs about grief. Celtic music is also one of our influences. When we were kids, we listened to a lot of Celtic music at home, and we both play string instruments.

Ivy: I play Celtic fiddle, Irish — all that sort of stuff. I don’t like classical — I only play traditional Scottish, Irish and Celtic instruments.

Mabel: Yeah, and then I play cello, so that’s like our other project. At home we like to play our stringed instruments in the Celtic style, and I think that feeds into our music for Charm of Finches as well.

Is that something you’d like to develop further as you move forwards?

Mabel: Yeah, I think so. I mean, Ivy doesn’t play that much fiddle at the moment. So, I guess so.

Has your perception of Charm of Finches changed as you’ve gotten a little older?

Mabel: I don’t think our perception’s changed. I think we’ve changed. We still see ourselves as a folk sister duo.

So, what is your songwriting process?

Mabel: For me, my songs are often triggered by an emotion, an event, or something I’ve observed in someone else. From that initial spark, I’ll probably take my guitar first and find a nice chord progression that suits the mood of the song or whatever I’m trying to convey, and then trial lyrics over it. I’ll often record that on my phone and pick out the good bits.

We’ve used a couple of different methods in the past. Sometimes we record a chord progression that we wanna put a song to…

Ivy: … and then we loop it and just have a stream of poetry. For one song we used a book.

Mabel: We were writing a song about grief at the time — this was after Ivy’s friend passed away. I’d been reading a book called Kitchen, by Banana Yoshimoto, which is a really, really beautiful book but it’s really, really sad. We picked a random page and picked our favourite phrases from the page, used them as a gateway into the song, and then just made heaps of stream of consciousness writing from that.

And how easy do you find it to share songwriting duties?

Mabel: It varies, because sometimes I start a song, and then I go, “I can’t finish this song, Ivy!” and she’ll give me some help. But then sometimes we write them together.

Ivy: I think it’s also quite good that we’re sisters, because we’re not afraid to criticise and be really blunt, like, “No, that’s terrible! Or yeah, that’s great!” That helps a lot. When Mabel used to write a lot of the songs, she’d finish the song and then I’d add my harmonies to it, but now we do a lot more collaborating with songwriting.

Do you connect quite quickly with each other’s ideas?

Mabel: Yeah, I think so. We’re a similar age, and Ivy’s kinda got the same friend groups as me. She was supposed to be in year ten this year, but she skipped a year because we wanted to go touring overseas.

Ivy: [laughs]

Mabel: Our school was just like, “Okay, that’s fine.” So now she’s in year eleven and we share a lot of the same friend groups. I think we have a similar outlook on life or on our experiences. We’re quite on the same page.

When you are touring, does it feel normal to you? Or does it feel strange to be away from school life?

Mabel: I don’t think it feels strange. It’s often hard to juggle. I think our life as a band is like this separate life from our life as students at school, but sometimes those have to come together. We have homework that we need to get done, and we’re driving to Sydney or something, and sometimes we have to do work in the car, which is annoying — and you don’t normally get that much work done [laughs].

So do you feel distant from other people of your ages who are living a conventional school life?

Mabel: A little bit. Sometimes I forget that I’m a student. When we’re doing a really great gig or something… There’s some gigs where we go, “Wow, how are we doing this?” When we opened for an artist called Kasey Chambers, who’d been a really big influence on our music when we were very little. We knew all the words to her songs, and we’d sung her songs when we were busking at eight and eleven. We ended up opening for her at this festival on this big stage, and I was a bit like, “This is crazy!”

And people often do say, “How do you do both — doing all these gigs and school?” Yeah, it does get hard.

Returning to the songwriting: Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you write?

Ivy: We write more sad, melancholic songs rather than happy songs.

Mabel: I think when you’re happy, you wanna be in the moment, but when you’re sad, it’s a lot more reflective. Maybe you’ll be on your own in your room and feeling a bit upset — you wanna express it in some way. If you’re happy, maybe you’re spending your time with other people, which is not really where you write songs, generally.

Is there anything in particular you do to stimulate your own creativity?

Mabel: For me, it’s just stream of consciousness writing. If I have something that is hard to express in words, or just a raw feeling that doesn’t have any sort of rational element to it, I’ll try and express it through poetry. Because it’s nothing until you put it down somewhere — it’ll just stay there. It’ll be like a pent-up feeling until you put it on a page and see what happens with it.

Another thing I like to do is paint. That’s my other creative output.

On a similar note: You’ve just released quite a conceptual video for your new single — how big a role do visuals play whilst you’re writing?

Mabel: That’s interesting. I don’t think we have a visual in mind when we write songs. Maybe if it’s a story song it has a visual connection.

Ivy: One song I can think of that has a visual is Paper and Ink. We were inspired by a vase of flowers.

Mabel: We kinda just made the story of the song around the vase of flowers. There were some flowers that my grandma gave to me, and we changed it to a mysterious lover for the sake of the song to spice it up a bit [laughs]. So that became the centrepiece of the song and a reoccurring thread throughout it to tie it together.

How do you keep yourself interested in your art when the initial high of inspiration or a particularly memorable show wears off?

Mabel: I guess, trying new things. Especially, I think, being performers as well as songwriters, we’re performing the same songs at every gig — there are some songs that we play every single show. After a while, it’s hard to connect with them, which is a big challenge. So, we love to play new songs — they’re the most exciting thing. Sometimes we have little challenges: “We’ve gotta get this song done for this gig.” Which is a way of keeping things interesting.

I think also trying new songwriting techniques and new sounds. New instrument combinations.

Ivy: Yeah, that’s the big one.

Mabel: We have a lot of different instruments that we play on stage. I mostly play guitar, but I sometimes play ukulele.

Ivy: And I play violin, a little bit of glockenspiel, and banjo.

Mabel: So we have a lot of different instruments that we can do different combinations with. If we have a new song, we’ll try out a different combination.

Are there any instruments you haven’t used yet that you would like to implement in some way?

Mabel: Probably. It’s hard to fit them all in the car at this point [laughs]. I get really excited playing new instruments.

Ivy: We have one song on piano. Whenever there’s a piano at a venue, or it’s a special show and we can borrow someone’s piano and it won’t be too much of a hassle, we always get really excited about playing that song because we don’t play it that often.

Mabel: I also play cello, which I don’t play on stage. It’s a big instrument, so it is kind of a hassle to bring around. I play it in all the recordings, and I think, in the recordings, we get very experimental with new instruments. Which is always really fun: arranging all the different parts.

Since the last single and the last album were both very much studio albums, they had a lot of overdubs and stuff. We composed all the parts ourselves, and we had a hammered dulcimer in it. I was listening to Sufjan Stevens and I was like, “What is that sound! It’s really, really cool.” And it was a hammered dulcimer. We were like, “Let’s put that in one of our songs!” So, we found out one of our friends just happened to have a hammered dulcimer, so we drove out to his place in the country.

We will probably just keep bringing in more instruments into our recordings.

This talk of lesser used instruments reminds me, unfortunately, of a seemingly never-ending show I was at last year. One of the prime forms of instrumentation throughout the hour plus duration was a kazoo, which was played loudly and with extraordinary enthusiasm. I was blocked in and unable to leave. It was horrifying.

Mabel: Oh, no! [laughs] I don’t think that’s in our future.

Ivy: [laughs] Noooo! [laughs]

Mabel: Unless we both have an early mid-life crisis. Imagine that: kazooing in harmony [laughs].

Ha! So what do you feel is the most important element of any song that you write?

Mabel: Probably the lyrics. I think all parts of the song kinda work hand in hand. One of my songwriting mentors — my friend Charles Jenkins, who’s a very respected songwriter here in Melbourne — talks about how all the elements of a song have to be together. He calls it a car. They’ve all got to be in the car. The lyrics, the melody, the rhythm, the overall mood of the song — it needs to all be sitting in that one car and driving in the same direction to make a really great song. I think that’s really important but, for me, I really love a song with great lyrics — if the lyrics aren’t good, I think it wrecks the song. So yeah, the poetry of it, the originality of the lyrics. And the song has got to trigger something in you to make you feel a certain way, and I think the lyrics play a big part in that.

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

Mabel: Well, folk music is a very broad genre, which is nice because we have a bit of wriggle room. Whilst we define ourselves as that genre, we have space to experiment, which I really like. What I really admire in Sufjan Stevens is the way he’s quite folky but also has electronic elements to his music. I think what irritates me is that when you say you’re a folk musician, you’re expected not to have electronic sounds. I love Sufjan’s music, and the electronic sounds that he uses are kind of organic — they’re very soft and work really well with the folky style. We have a little bit of a synth sound in the back of one of our songs, but we don’t tell anyone that because…

Ivy: You just did! [laughs]

Mabel: Well, we won’t say what song it is [laughs]. Because if you say, “We’re folk muso’s, but there’s a bit of a synth in one of the songs”, it’s like, “Oh, that’s not supposed to be in folk music.”

Ivy: It’s really categorised, I feel.

Mabel: But I think artists these days are breaking the boundaries more and more and meshing different styles together — I love music that does that.

Being so young when you started out, have you ever felt as though your ages have perhaps unfairly coloured people’s perceptions of your music?

Mabel: Definitely [laughs]. We often get people being quite condescending to us.

Ivy: At gigs, the sound engineer — just very condescending. We’ve had that quite a lot.

Mabel: And people who say, “Oh, you’re good for your age.” Backhanded compliments, often. Just because we’re young, I think people’s immediate reaction is: they’re young, so they’ve got to be improving — “You’ll be good in the future”, sort of thing. “You’re working up to something.” I get annoyed because I want them to see who we are right now rather than young people who have got to progress to something bigger in the future.

Do you also perhaps feel then that it might be quite difficult to shake some of that off — that because people know you started so young, they’ll forever see you as such?

Mabel: Maybe, yeah.

Ivy: Yeah, I’ve never thought about that actually.

Mabel: I think being young has worked both ways for us. It’s set us apart, for the good and for the bad.

How welcoming has the Australian music community been to you both?

Mabel: I think they’ve been really quite nice. We’ve done a lot of music festivals around Australia, and they’ve all been really lovely and encouraging.

Ivy: Yeah, especially the festivals, like the National Folk Festival in Canberra.

Mabel: I think folk festivals are the best, because they’re all music lovers and they’re their for the music, whereas in maybe the more commercial music scene, it’s about the persona — it’s less about the music and more about the shtick and look.

It’s all about image, isn’t it: having something to post on Instagram.

Mabel: Yeah, totally. You totally get that. We haven’t been to many more-commercial concerts, but they’ve all got their phones out. Often you can hardly see the performer, and the sound isn’t very good because it’s in this huge stadium, whereas at folk festivals, it’s a lot more intimate — you get a more personal connection with your listeners and it’s a lot more real. Which really suits the way our music is, because it’s often really personal and you’ve got to really listen to the lyrics and understand the story. It’s not a pop ditty that you dance to far away from the performer.

Do you prefer playing more intimate venues then?

Ivy: Yeah.

Mabel: Yeah, I think big venues are fun, definitely, and those big concerts that we have played have been awesome, but I think that, for our music, a more intimate setting serves the delivery of the songs better.

Talking of delivery, specifically the vocals, I find it interesting that you both seem to really embrace your accents when you sing, which is something I’ve been told Australian-accented vocalists can be quite wary of doing.

Mabel: Well, I’ve noticed that we’ve been increasingly more Australian. I think it’s to do, perhaps, with finding our own voice.

Ivy: It’s not like a choice that we made, I don’t think.

Mabel: No, not consciously. I listen to the first recordings that we made, and I’m sort of singing like Klara from First Aid Kit. And some of the words had got an American accent, because I hadn’t yet found my own voice as a singer. So, I was just going from what my influences were.

That totally changed when we started writing our own songs, because they were our own words. I think we’re more sure of who we are as an artist and what our sound is, rather than copying from anyone. I think now, we’ve developed to a point where our sound is very much our own, and our influences all come together on a more subconscious level, I guess — they’re their, but they’re not so present or noticeable.

Okay, so you recently released your latest single – The Bridge. What differences do you see between it, and the songs you released a couple of years ago on Staring at the Starry Ceiling?

Mabel: There are definitely changes in the way we recorded it. We’re a lot more picky, and very thorough in the recording process — we wanted to get the best of everything — whereas, our last album, we recorded both vocals and guitar in the one room together, and we really wanted to capture the sort of energy we create when we play live. For this song, we did everything separately to get a really slick sounding recording, more refined.

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

Mabel: I think what I want is for people to be able to relate to our songs. Because we’re young, our songs can talk to a younger audience.

Ivy: There are still a lot of young musicians, but not as many, so there aren’t that many songs written about the experiences of a young person…

Mabel: … Immediate experiences, I think. While a lot of people reflect back on their teenage years, there’s not as many teenagers talking about their experiences at that point in time. But I do think, at the same time, our songs are quite universal, and I think they can speak to a wider audience as well. We’ve had audience members of all ages tell us how much they related to our songs. Especially the really honest ones — especially the ones about grief — because it’s a topic that people don’t really talk about. Maybe it’s hard to express, and our songs are a way of expressing that. For someone who can’t express how they’re feeling, maybe a song can speak for them, and maybe that will help. I hope.

How does that affect the both of you: writing songs about grief and then having to perform them again and again?

Ivy: It has been hard. A lot of the times, I’ve been particularly emotional at that point when I’m singing the song.

Mabel: Would you say that singing a song about your grief is a healthy way of dealing with intense feelings like that?

Ivy: Yeah.

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

Mabel: I don’t mind. I’m proud of the songs that I’ve written, and because my songs are so personal — a lot of them are autobiographical — I don’t mind that. It’s different though with recording, because recordings are capturing something of the past, which is not what we are in the present. Sometimes we don’t like people listening to the recordings, because they’re not that great and don’t show who we are at this very moment.

But I don’t mind my songs speaking for who I am or who I have been. I’m proud of them, and I like to share them with people — that’s why we play music.

The post Charm of Finches appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Calvin: I’ve been playing music since I was five. My pre-school was giving away an old piano that was painted this really gross white and had been scribbled all over in various markers and crayons. My parents were like, “We’ll take it!” I kinda started sounding things out, and then started taking lessons. When I was twelve or thirteen, I had been writing a little bit on my own but not really seriously. My mum has twin half-sisters who are both musical, and one of them was in a band called Scary Mansion; I knew that she was in a band, but had never really listened to it. One day I started listening and was like, “Wow! This is really amazing.” To have a family member who was doing that sort of thing really inspired me to write a little bit more seriously, so that was kind of the turning point.

What made you become confident enough to actually start releasing your work?

Calvin: For that, I actually have to give a lot of credit to Tumblr. I used to just post random photos, art and other stuff — both mine, and other people’s — then I started following a few other people who were putting out music, be it covers or little original songs. Eventually, I started to post some: mostly covers at first. I have to give credit to my aunt who taught me how to use GarageBand and got me on my feet. Those got a pretty good reception, so I was like, “Okay, this is something that is cool, I love doing and people seem to enjoy.” So then, very slowly, I started to put out some original stuff and that ended up getting a pretty good reception as well.

Does songwriting still appeal to you in the same way that it did when you started out, or are there now other things that keep you passionate about your craft?

Calvin: It’s something that I feel I very much need to do. Songwriting has always been the main route by which I process what’s going on in my life, which is kinda why my music is always on the sadder side. [laughs] That’s when I write: when I have something that I need to work through emotionally. So that’s always been the main motivation for why I do what I do, and I think that very much still is the reason.

How has your songwriting process changed over the course of your releases?

Calvin: I think the process has stayed more-or-less constant. What I do, more-or-less, is tool around on the piano or guitar for a little bit and come up with something that I like — be it a riff or a chord progression or whatever. I usually try to let the first line or two of lyrics just come spontaneously, because I think that helps me get a little bit more in tune with what I’m feeling. Sometimes I’ll write a line or two and think: Okay, what is that about? And then I’m like, “Oh, this must be on my mind”, so then that’s the direction that the song goes in. That’s always been the process, but I think as I have developed in writing more, I think I’ve come a little bit further in terms of composition, so my music has gotten a little bit less sparse, which I like. On the album that I have coming up, I started to incorporate a little bit more in terms of instrumentation — worked with a cellist and a violinist, a bass player and a drummer — which is really cool and something I’d never done before. Also, even recently, in the stuff that I’ve written since writing the album, I’ve gotten much more honest and frank with my music: stopped trying to be so subtle and using wordplay to dance around what I want to say, which is a new step. I played a show recently where I was singing songs about someone who was in the room — [laughs] — which was a new experience, but it felt good.

Would it be correct to say that your ability to do that has come about from an increase in confidence?

Calvin: Yeah, definitely. I’m in my fourth year at school here. You play your first show and no-one knows who you are, and you kind of build your way up. At this point, there’s definitely a student music scene at my school, but it’s rather small, so I feel much more connected to that group now and have much more of a foundation to work on. So, yeah: definitely much more confident in my abilities and also in the community that I have here — that’s given me a bit of a platform to branch off a little bit.

How different is the material on your upcoming album from what came before it?

Calvin: The work on the album spans roughly two years, so there’s definitely a broad range. The last EP I put out was all written on piano, and this is a little bit more guitar-heavy. I taught myself the guitar five or six years ago, and I don’t consider myself an expert by any means but I have definitely developed that skill a little bit, which has led to the album having a little bit more guitar than it does piano.

There’s definitely a bit more of the honest songwriting that I was just talking about, and I think just being able to collaborate a lot more on this record was a big change. The last EP, I put the whole thing together in my bedroom using GarageBand and did all of it myself — nobody heard it before it was released. On this one, I had someone else recording with me and doing all the technical stuff, which let me focus a little bit more on the creative process. Also, I was able to get feedback from him and all of the other people who were involved in the process: the other musicians that I worked with. Just having other musicians be on the record is a huge and exciting change too.

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

Calvin: I think, probably, the melody and the vocals have always been most important — just because my accompaniment is usually pretty minimal. Especially on the guitar where I’m not quite as skilled. So definitely developing a strong melody, and just the vocal parts in general: using harmony to build on a song is really important to me, and there’s a little bit more of that on this album than on previous ones. I think the atmosphere of the overall song is something that I try to craft a little bit too, especially on the upcoming record.

Sadness is a prevalent theme in your work and, obviously, sadness in life feeds into that. But do you ever find the opposite to be true: that the sadness in your work actually has a bearing on your general mood?

Calvin: Hmm. I’d never thought about it that way… I don’t think that the work has a huge influence on my mood, just because the writing process itself is what helps me work through the things that I’m writing about — I think I come away feeling much better after having written something. People are always — especially after I play shows — like, “Can’t you ever just write a happy song?” Or they’re like, “Oh, I’m worried about you.” I’m like, “No, I’m fine.” [laughs] It’s just that when I’m happy, I don’t feel the need to write about it. I don’t have to process it — I just want to live in that happiness. So people only hear the one side. I have a full spectrum of emotions going on — [laughs] — but the sadness and the anger are just what come through in the songs because that’s what I need to write about. I will definitely listen to some of my own songs when I’m down and processing those same kinds of things, but I think it actually keeps me happier overall to be able to write about the things that I write about.

Is the sadness more prevalent on the new record?

Calvin: I think it’s always been pretty prevalent. [laughs] This album is definitely a little bit more self-focused. One of the big songs on the last EP I released, She Took Your Breath Away, was about a friend and her relationship. This album, there are definitely a lot of songs about other people, but they’re about other people in relation to me — and then there’s just a lot of introspection as well. So, I think the sadness is a constant, but the subjects have shifted a little bit.

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

Calvin: I don’t know that I have an answer to that question. Because of the way that I try to let the lyrics come as they come, it sometimes feels very spontaneous. I’ll write a song about something that happened two years ago, and I’m like, “Oh, I guess that’s still on my mind.” I didn’t set out like, “I’m upset about this thing; I need to write about it.” I’ll just be playing piano and all of a sudden I’m singing about something that happened in the past. So, sometimes to me it feels very incongruent: where I’m in a certain mood, I sit down to write, and all of a sudden I’m transported into a totally different space. It’s really exciting to feel like you have very little control over your songwriting, but also it’s a strange feeling, sometimes.

When those initial ideas spawn, how easily do you find it to build on them?

Calvin: It definitely depends. Sometimes I’ll get a line or two, then identify what I’m thinking about, what I’m feeling, and write a whole song in ten minutes. Sometimes I’ll take a month or two, and sometimes I just never do. My voice memos on my phone are just filled with unfinished ideas and things that will probably never see the light of day. I haven’t quite figured out what factors go into what gets finished and what doesn’t, so that’s a mystery I’m still working on.

What is your greatest motivation for creating?

Calvin: It’s definitely always been a process that I just need to do. If I weren’t songwriting, I don’t know what I would do with my feelings. It’s definitely the best and the biggest way that I process everything that is going on in my head. So I think it’s really something that keeps me happy and healthy and going strong. Also, the fact that I have been able to reach people around the world, and even the people closest to me, with my music, who have really felt it and reached out to me and said, “This is something that is really important to me” — that has been incredible, and something that my twelve-or-thirteen-year-old self would never have anticipated. So that is definitely a huge motivation as well.

What is it you hope to communicate to people through your work?

Calvin: It’s really personal music — I’m writing, first and foremost, for myself — but I guess the biggest thing that I like to communicate is the idea that struggles and pain can be turned into something like music. And then, also, if people are able to relate in any way to the stories and the feelings that I’m communicating, I think that is enough for me.

You mentioned earlier that people sometimes make assumptions about your emotional state. Are there any other misconceptions that you feel people make about you based on your music?

Calvin: I think that’s the big one, definitely. People are just like, “Will you ever write or play a happy song.” I try! Sometimes I sit down and think: Okay, this is going to be the time that I write a happy song. This is the one. It just hasn’t happened yet. [laughs] Because that’s not the way I think through my songwriting process. So yeah, I think that is probably the biggest misconception that people have: “Oh, sad music. He must be the saddest boy alive.” [laughs] And that’s definitely not true — I hope. I can’t think of any other huge misconceptions that people would have.

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

Calvin: Yeah, definitely. Sometimes I feel I end up dwelling on things that are going on in my life because of songwriting. After the album had all been written, I went through a weird, awkward, bad break-up, and wrote way more songs about it than I would have liked to — because this person doesn’t even deserve to have that many songs written about them. So I was like, “Why am I still writing about this?” I was really upset with myself. That happens to me a lot: where I wish that I weren’t writing about the things I’m writing about, but then I have to re-contextualise for myself and say, “Well, if you’re still writing about this, then it’s something that you need to be thinking about still because it’s still on your mind.” So it’s kind of a blessing and a curse in that way.

How easy do you find it to convince yourself that your work is worthwhile?

Calvin: Ooh! That’s an existential question… Most of what I write, I think, is worthwhile for me to listen to. Because it’s pretty personal. But then, in determining out of all the songs that I write what ends up going out into the world for people to listen to… I don’t know. I’ve pulled a few of my songs and left them in the archive because I’m like, “This is a super cheesy song.” Being a twenty-year-old songwriter, a lot of the time I feel like I have to project this maturity because I’m so young — so, making sure a song feels fully formed and doesn’t feel like a teenager is writing it — but then, sometimes, even recently, I’ve enjoyed embracing the youthful quality and the simplicity and more honest songwriting that comes with it.

What are you most fascinated by?

Calvin: … I feel like this is kind of a corny answer, but I study psychology so — and I think this comes through a little bit in my music as well — relationships, and how people react to one another publicly, but also privately how they feel. I definitely think about that a lot in terms of myself and my own relationships. Figuring out how people tick always really fascinates me — why people do the things they do. It’s super cheesy, but I think that is the big thing.

What makes you smile?

Calvin: Cats, without fail. Any animal, really… Is that the first thing I think of: cats? [laughs] I think just being around friends and family is always a big thing that makes me smile. Sometimes, seeing things that are unexpected — like, this morning when I woke up to snow. I don’t particularly love snow, but I couldn’t help but smile. Just little, unexpected things that pop up. I try to smile at those — I don’t always. [laughs]

And what makes you smile most with regards your songwriting?

Calvin: I think the first point is when I figure out what I’m writing about because from there I can take it in whatever direction, but I have a thought or an event or an idea. When I feel like I’ve finished a song, that’s definitely another smiling point — I feel accomplished; I turned something into something else, which is a really cool feeling. Also, both in my songs and in other songs I listen to, there’s often one moment that I find myself particularly drawn to, be it the way my voice or another person’s voice sounds saying one word, or a harmony, or one measure of music — hearing that moment in a song, no matter how many times I listen to it, will often bring a smile to my face.

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

Calvin: I definitely think I’ve come to understand myself better through music, so that is a huge piece. It has also made me a lot of friendships around the world and immediately around me that I don’t think I would have made otherwise. The ability to meet and connect with other creative people has been really influential. And thinking back to Tumblr: way back in the day, I followed someone and was friends with someone in Australia — her name is Wafia — and she, now, is an actual musician and was just touring in the US and released these two beautiful EPs that I listen to all the time. We still talk occasionally, and to have that connection is just so incredible to me. To imagine not having those kinds of connections feels very strange.

Is the music industry something that ever serves as a distraction to you, or do you not really think about it too much?

Calvin: It’s something that is not super on my radar, just because I’m still studying and music is more of a side project. But, as I think about graduating in a few months, I’m weighing all my options as to what I’m going to do next — because I really don’t have any idea. So, music has definitely been on the radar, and I think: Well, do I want to pursue music? Then, the next question is: What does that mean? There are a lot of other scary factors that play into that as well; just committing to that is a big mental step. So, in that case, the industry is definitely on my mind a little bit more when I think about that.

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

Calvin: That’s a good question. [laughs] … It definitely defines a lot of who I am, because it’s my main creative and emotional outlet. But, at the same time, like we were talking about earlier, it’s not a full representation; it doesn’t capture the good times and the happy times. I definitely think of myself as a musician, and I hope that other people do too, so it’s definitely a label that I apply to myself, but it’s not completely who I am.

The post Calvin Lamothe appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Natalie: The majority of them were written in the year or two when we were touring Native Dreamer Kin. Some of them were in the last six months leading up to beginning to record. Planets was written a lot longer before — maybe right in the beginning when we started doing music — and Sweet Dreams was a little bit earlier as well, but those are the only ones.

With the first album, a lot of those songs had been written over the course of years, but we had had help from our friend and then producer, Andrew Stonestreet. He shaped the songs and took them from their elementary selves to what we really meant. That happened the summer before recording, but they’d been written so much longer before. A lot of these new songs were the products of co-writes, and it was a different thing to write a second album — it was like we had to start fresh, you know?

So what was your overriding emotion when the new songs were released?

Natalie: Oh, my gosh! I remember where I was — Meegan and Allie weren’t with me for some reason. I was taking the tram in Minneapolis from our hotel to the airport. It wasn’t the whole album, it was just White Flag, and I remember thinking to myself — Meegan and Allie and I talk about this all the time — Do I love this? Do I believe in this? Because I’m about to get what other people think. It’s this butterfly kind of feeling, but grounded in this fortitude of: I believe this. I mean this. So, it’s a lot of feelings. I mean, it’s so nerve-wracking to work on those things and then finally have them out. You just kind of give it away, and it soars. It’s crazy.

Would you say it was more nerve-wracking than when you released the first record?

Natalie: Absolutely. We didn’t have anything to lose when we released Native Dreamer Kin. At this point, with I’m Alone, No You’re Not, we had worked on music for the previous few years and had garnered a team and a small group of people paying attention, so you are curious what they’ll say. And there’s a whole lot more production on this, so I was anticipating people saying that it was too much and that it was a departure from the original: things like that.

How deliberate was the move into poppier territory?

Natalie: I would say completely, and not at all. When these songs came, it was like, “Oh, we need to dress them up in the clothes they were made to wear.” And we love pop music, so it doesn’t surprise me that a pop song came out. I love the pop form; I’m not ashamed to say that. So yeah, it wasn’t deliberate when we were going into the writing; it wasn’t like, “We’re going to make something with more pop sensibilities.” It was just once we happened upon these songs. S.O.S, for example, we just kept laughing. When we got out of that writing session, we were like, “This song is so great, but it’s so hilariously in that direction.” [laughs] We liked it, so we kept it and worked on it.

I recall, when you first released that track, reading some criticism on your social media with regards it being a pop song. Have you had much feedback like that?

Natalie: Yes and no. I mean, the Internet’s a crazy place, and people love to give their opinion, so if you want to find negativity, you don’t have to go too far, you know? [laughs] It’s just there. So, we anticipated people having that opinion, and that’s completely fine. I made the mistake once of — have you head of Reddit? Well, I was not familiar with the concept of Reddit until a friend told me that our Tiny Desk concert had gone up on it. I was like, “Oh, what an honour. How lovely.” But you go on there, and you realise that the entire thing is just so people can give their opinion, and a lot of it is negative. I was talking to a friend the other day about that feedback, and you have to be strong in yourself and what you think it is — if those people don’t like what it is: “Move along.” [laughs] You don’t have to stand there pointing fingers and saying it’s terrible; you can just not like it and go on on your merry way.

I wish it didn’t affect me, but he made a great point — my friend, Andrew, is actually who I was talking to about this — he said, “Well, it’s likely that those comments they’re making have to do with an actual questioning, like if it hits a nerve.” And I think that’s what it is. I think we all do, as you do with any decision you make in your life — you think: Oh, should we have done that? Should we have stayed more stripped down? But in the end, regardless of criticism, I’ll always come back to the fact that I love what this album was. And I know that if we want to do something different, we can do that in the future; it doesn’t all hinge on this one thing.

Regarding Reddit, I don’t think it’s exactly renowned as an embracing community of, well… anything.

Natalie: [laughs] Yes, exactly! That’s what I realised. I was like, “I shouldn’t be reading this.” They were making very personal criticisms about our appearance and our names. I was just like, “This is terrible. This is a terrible place.” [laughs]

On a more positive note: Is there anything that you are especially proud of on this latest record?

Natalie: Yes: so much. I love the diversity of the songs, honestly. I feel really proud of both Meegan and Allie’s writing. There’s a rawness to it that I don’t think the first album had. I listened through the album yesterday, and I was so stunned by it; I was so grateful.

Is there anything you left off of the album that, on reflection, you wish you’d included, or anything that could have been done slightly differently?

Natalie: Well, when we release the deluxe edition, we will have two extra tracks on it that are quite literally ‘off of the album’ at this moment. And the sequencing of the album will be different, because initially, when we collected the songs together, we realised it fell in this day cycle. What I mean by that is there were songs that felt distinctly like night-time, and songs that felt distinctly like morning. So, we had sequenced them in order of a day, starting in early evening with this worry of going into the night and going to sleep, then going into the night and the struggle, the things that you feel and that doubt that you face — I struggle with insomnia, so I have crazy thoughts at night-time — then the sleep, and then the morning and going, “It’s going to be okay, but I have to do my work today.” That was one thing that was different. The label was the one that had, not the final say, but we said, “Okay, yeah — we’ll go with your way.” And I think, to there point, it makes sense. If we have brand new people encountering our music, and it starts in this very subtle way, they’re not necessarily going to stick around to hear the rest.

That’s a concept that was hard for me; I didn’t want to sacrifice the artistic integrity of the work. But, I was talking to my dad about it, and he said, “No, no, no. Your pop songs are your front door. If you want someone to get in your living room, let alone your attic, and know all the deep things, you need to show them a front door that looks welcoming.” That has meant a lot to me as I’ve thought through, like, “No, you’re right — that’s a wreath on it is what that is.” [laughs] So, we started with those as the introduction to draw new listeners in; I’m not bummed by that strategy at all.

Last time we spoke, you mentioned, not in relation to this specifically but that you like to be in control. How difficult has it been for you to maybe relinquish some of that?

Natalie: I will say: what I just explained to you is the only decision that was made that was not our preference. To your point — [laughs] — it says something about my desire to control, because here I am talking about the one thing. But it’s been a really good partnership with them. I feel nothing but respected by our managers and our label — even more than I’m comfortable with, sometimes. For instance, you don’t think when you sit down to write a song that one day you’re going to be called upon to think of a visual production element to a TV performance. That never occurred to me! We’re on a phone call to the label, and they’re like, “Okay, guys, we’ve just got Ellen DeGeneres. What do you want the stage to look like?” And I’m like, “What goes into creating a stage? I’ve never thought about that.” So, they believe a lot in our creativity, direction and ideas — so much so that I’m having to give myself a masterclass on all these things so that I can be trusted, and have something to offer.

When you, Meegan and Allie discuss the album, how closely do your views on it tend to align?

Natalie: I’d say that we always come to a point of agreement. In general, we tend to fill these very specific roles that we’ve learned a lot about this past year. Mine is the role of impulsive, head first, ‘let’s do it, don’t think about the consequences’ kind of mentality. Allie is a little bit more measured, but usually enthusiastic and on-board, and Meegan is calculated and considers potential harm in the future… thankfully. [laughs] She’s more the brakes of the situation. So, you can imagine what dynamic ensues from that: in amazing ways, and in ways of tension. We need it all though.

As far as the album goes, it’s such a crazy thing because it’s not static. I have a different favourite song all the time, and sometimes I don’t like certain songs at all. It’s just like anything else: you just constantly have a relationship with it that’s changing, and I think that’s true of all three of us. For the most part, we line up, but if someone’s really like, “This song isn’t hitting me anymore; we need to do something”, then we listen, and we change it — we don’t bull-headedly move forward. If you’re looking for a percentage, I’d say eighty. [laughs]

Last time round, I asked you what you hoped to communicate through Joseph. In response, you spoke of always wanting to start your writing from a place of hope, with the idea that we’re not alone and will prevail over what pushes against us. You also said, however, that whilst you wanted that to be the banner, the message didn’t always feel like a truth in the moments of creation. Which makes me wonder: How good a feeling is it that White Flag, a song that clearly does represent the ideals you spoke of, has kind of become the band’s signature at a time when your reach and popularity has risen so steeply?

Natalie: That’s a great question. It is wonderful, but it’s not the whole story. I’d say that sometimes it’s hard to sing something triumphantly when you’re not necessarily feeling that. It’s been really humbling to me, especially lately, how many people have messaged us and said, “This song has been important in this trying time.” … I’ve felt rather defeated by what’s going on, and it’s been a challenge to feel that sense of resistance and hope against the darkness. So, it is a really humbling experience to have a banner that goes above you. You can’t just go in and half-heartedly sing, “Burn the white flag.” [laughs] You can’t. You have to scream it with your whole being, and it’s a mental exercise to really embody that each time. But yeah, it is thrilling to get to say those things, and to be a war cry against so many people’s obstacles. It is very humbling.

We have had some of the most moving emails. I had a person write to me and say that he had just heard it on the radio, liked the sound of it, but wasn’t really paying attention until the words ‘I’d rather be dead than live a lie’ came out. To me, I’m like, “That’s a very simple lyric; I probably borrowed it from a thousand other people”, but he said, the second that he heard that, he knew he had to tell his parents that he was gay. He’d been hiding that since he was thirteen — he’s in college now — and he knew that he couldn’t keep it in anymore. That was his moment of realisation, and to be a part of something like that is so astounding to me. To get to incite that moment for someone. It’s so humbling to know that that song goes outside of us, does it’s own work and becomes something for someone else. It’s amazing.

That was a very roundabout answer to your wonderful question.

It deserved a roundabout answer, really, didn’t it?

Natalie: [laughs]

Sticking with White Flag: Has it been strange to see the song endure for as many months as it has?

Natalie: Has it? [laughs] What’s funny is, I don’t feel like I have a frame of reference. Honestly, Jamie, I’m constantly going, “Is this doing what you wanted it to do? Label? Management? Are we where you thought we would be?” So far, so good, but I admit I don’t know enough about how it all works. I’ve just been on the outside seeing certain things explode, or not. I guess, I’ll just respond by saying, “Has it?” [laughs]

My frame of reference is that it’s still finding it’s way onto radio playlists, and it’s the song that you’ve tended to perform in your TV appearances — ranging from Jimmy Fallon last summer to Jools Holland towards the end of the year. Looking at it from another angle: Have you felt as though you would like to move the focus to another song?

Natalie: [laughs] It’s funny, I’m just learning so much about the business side of it. Coming from you or I, who are a part of this story and have seen it from earlier moments, it does feel like that. But the impression that I get from other people is that they’ll see one of those things, and they’ll not really care that much because they’re not invested. Or they’ll start to care based on one, and then they pay attention to the rest. What I’ve been told is: it’s not happening over and over for most people, except for the wonderful early-adopting tribe that has joined us. People will just see one or the other. It’s some fact that says it’s a certain amount of impressions, and then it becomes known to someone in their psyche.

So, I think occasionally. But we even found a way to switch it up. TV performances… Hmm. The sound, when you listen back — it’s just horrific. It’s absolutely horrific what a TV does to the sound of a song. Oh, man — it just reduces it. But we have tried to make it new and change the arrangement a little bit.

I did notice that you’d done that, and I think it reflects well on you that you would make the effort to do it.

Natalie: Oh, thank you. It’s really for us so we don’t get bored. [laughs]

With regards the sound quality: did you feel the same way about the Jools Holland performance?

Natalie: Oh, my gosh! No. Jools Holland was my favourite. I mean, obviously, all of the American TV was such a massive honour — Are you kidding me? — and Jimmy Fallon was an existential moment in life for all of us, I think, but Jools Holland was so special. And it could have been they put us at a table and kept refilling our wine or something — [laughs]– but oh, my gosh, that was such a special night. Listening back: the guitar sounds thin, and there’s just these very tangible sonic things that you’re like, “Well that doesn’t come across exactly as it felt.” But I think, at the same time, it does, because there was something extremely special about that night, about that place and about that performance. It honestly did feel like there was a desperation about it; it just felt so real. And it was also the trio, and I usually don’t like that song as a trio, because it sounds more like a Mumford rip-off than an interesting song without the production but, really, there was a moment — I can’t even really describe it. It was special. There was a good response.

Everyone usually gets a stage on Jools Holland, but it kinda looked like they just plonked you in the middle.

Natalie: They did. [laughs]

Last time we spoke, you mentioned the danger of running yourselves into the ground, but I imagine your lives have only become more hectic and more intense over the past eighteen months. Have you been able to take a step back from it all and properly rest?

Natalie: Yes. We’ve had the last five weeks off. We did a two week thing in December, but in fact, we cancelled some dates in an effort to preserve our health. We learned our lesson the hard way, actually. That’s funny that I was saying that back then (August 2015) because what was ahead was really crazy. I really learned my lesson as far as being full sail ahead — that being my inclination in life in general. I realised that’s just my rhythm, and it’s an unhealthy rhythm: to go until you have less than none. When you bring other people into it — for instance, my sisters and my husband — these people that are giving beyond… It’s not healthy for even one person, and then drafting other people into that — I really learned my lesson. I mean, we had to do a lot of those things, and I’m so, so happy that we did and they’re done, but we have a different approach going into the new year.

You may have just answered this next question, but what is the most important lesson you’ll take from the creation and release of this record?

Natalie: Our focus for the new year is to have the vision ourselves and be in charge instead of letting everything just happen to us. So, that’s an exciting new perspective. My dad told me this story that is a little bit heavy but really interesting. He said that he had a friend who was speaking with someone in charge of an Air Force group — I don’t know military terms — and in the interview this man asked him, “When you sent men out to battle, would you know, somewhere deep down, who was going to come back?” He paused for a minute and then said, “Yeah, I did.” He was asked, “How did you know?” He said, “The men who strapped themselves into the plane, I knew that eventually, whether it was this time or the next, it wouldn’t work. But there were men who would strap the plane to their own backs, and those men I knew I would see back here.” And I am so overwhelmed with that idea: like, you are the cosmic force moving a thing instead of being carried by this thing that’s out of your control. That’s been a perspective that this process has taught us.

Has the process of making I’m Alone, No You’re Not, or the finished work itself, changed your perception of Joseph?

Natalie: Completely. I mean, has being a year older changed your perspective of being Jamie? [laughs] That’s how it feels. Every new experience is altering how we see it, and there’s been such dramatic new experiences. I guess if you’re asking how it’s changed, I would say: Where do you want to start? I can’t even pick out one way that would seem more important than the others. [laughs]

What do you hope the record has revealed about Joseph as a band?

Natalie: I hope that it revealed that we’re willing to be truthful, we’re willing to be vulnerable but not in a shock factor way, and that we have the full range of feelings: despair and doubt and fractured sense of truth. Not every single feeling has an answer. Not just the triumphant battlecry or the dutiful love song, but to also have songs like Hundred Ways that are this ‘I really don’t know and I feel lost.’

Finally, what does I’m Alone, No You’re Not represent to you?

Natalie: I would say I’m Alone, No You’re Not represents what I hope is sophomore year of high school in this journey of, “Okay, we were really earnest and we really meant that, and we did everything to the best of our ability and made every decision that we could have made — now we take all of that into the next experience.” In sophomore year, you start doing sports and start proving your way to the older kids, but you’re still a sophomore: you don’t have any clout yet, really, but you’re getting there. That’s what I hope it means.

The post Natalie Schepman (Joseph) appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Jeremy: I started guitar when I was really young, and throughout high-school I played in a band. We parted ways, I moved to New York City, and that’s around the time I started singing and playing folkier stuff. I met Jesse, and we decided we’d start singing together. The band I was in was more of a pop-rock type thing, and it wasn’t so much my style. I didn’t sing in it, so it was good when I was just playing guitar, and for a while I enjoyed doing it. I got into Bob Dylan around the time we were splitting, and I realised I preferred folk music. That’s about the time I began writing more, and it seems like it all unfolded at the same time: I changed my style of music, I left the band, I moved to New York City. It’s just a big turning point in my life.

Jesse: My dad is very into music, and he wanted me to play guitar, so I had some guitar lessons when I was little. But I didn’t really keep going with that, and I got more into writing lyrics: I like writing poems. I found open tunings and started putting the poems to them, put out an EP on my own, and then obviously the second half of the story coincides with him (Jeremy).

And how did you wind up playing music together?

Jesse: We saw each other playing solo at open mics in the city a lot, and we got to be friends. We sang some cover songs together and realised that we sounded nice, then started thinking about trying to write songs together.

Jeremy: We actually failed at writing songs together at first. We tried a few times, and it just wouldn’t work out. Then, it happened.

So, what is your songwriting process?

Jesse: We do it all together, for the most part. We’ve been trying to make it happen, because you can’t always wait for the inspiration to come, but a lot of times we just feel in a certain mood about something we’ve experienced and try to sit down and get it out. He’ll be noodling around on guitar with a melody, and then I’ll figure some words out for the concept of it.

Jeremy: The trickiest part, I think, is — because we sing at the same time for the most part — finding two parts that suit our ranges. Sometimes, if her part’s too high or something, maybe I’ll just sing what she was singing an octave lower, and then she’ll take what I was singing. So maybe we have to switch the melodies around. It’s a puzzle figuring out what fits best.

Has it been difficult to share songwriting duties?

Jesse: It hasn’t been. I think we’re trying to figure out new ways to explore being an individual in a writing partnership, which is tricky, but we’ve never had any issues.

Jeremy: It can be more frustrating, because you do have to give up some stuff. It’s a compromise, but I think we both agreed that, when we write songs together, they’re just more complete songs than when we write separately, so it’s worth it.

Do you connect quite quickly to each other’s ideas?

Jesse: Most of the time it connects very quickly. Occasionally, there is something that one of us will think is corny, and then we fight about it. [laughs]

Jeremy: Well, apparently I have a hard time taking criticism sometimes. [laughs]

Jesse: Yeah. [laughs] But no, for the most part it’s very easy, because we have balancing strengths, so it’s not like we’re trying to fight over something that we’re good at — we kind of fit each other.

Jeremy: That’s the reason why we work so well: because we both have different strong suits.

And what are the differing creative qualities you think one another bring to the table?

Jesse: He is king of harmonies. It’s not easy, and it takes a lot of work. I didn’t even think of harmonies, really, before singing with him. He can come up with them really quickly. It’s easy to come up with some harmonies, but he comes up with really complex ones.

Jeremy: To simplify: she’s more lyrical, I’m more harmonic, I guess. That’s just naturally how we are. We both enjoy the opposites, but those are our strengths.

How have your talents for those particular aspects of songwriting developed?

Jeremy: I’ve always been drawn to melodies, I think, and I enjoy classical piano and stuff like that. I don’t know the technical stuff, I don’t read much music; a lot of it’s even an accident. I’ll just fish for notes that sound cool next to each other and, sometimes, it’s just all guessing. I’ll work something out that I think sounds cool and original enough.

Jesse: I personally know that my proficiency in it has grown a lot.

Jeremy: I guess she wasn’t exposed to as many harmonies.

Jesse: I didn’t put in my Beatles time like he did. [laughs]

And Jesse?

Jesse: For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved rhyming. I’ve found little poems and songs I wrote from when I was very small. My mom always had hundreds of books around and the literary gene definitely got passed along to me. I turned a room in my house into a little makeshift library from books I’ve collected at antiquarian sales over the years. Sitting in that room devouring the minds of different authors sparked my love of words. It became less about the stories and turned more into an obsession with sentences: sentences that feel like an ice storm in your stomach when you read them. They are my favourite discoveries. I love dissecting my favourite songwriter’s, poet’s and author’s words to figure out why the ones that overcome you, do. Everyone has questions about existence. What’s incredible is when an artist, in one verse, paragraph or single sentence, can connect to that question deep within us and give an answer, even if we don’t know what it is. Ideas are electric. Words contain within them millions of experiences, connotations and sensations. I’ll spend my whole life appreciating those who use them well and try to uncover a small part of their mysteries myself.

Which writers do you find most appealing?

Jesse: Bob Dylan is rightfully the king of getting words out of his mouth in an enunciated, cool, crazy way, but I’ve been reading Faust, and that’s the most elegant wording I’ve ever read, I think. That’s what I’ve been trying to get into. Obviously, that’s the most ridiculous example of high literature, but he (Johann Wolfgang Goethe) is amazing. I read more non-fiction, actually. Songwriters: Laura Marling; she paints cool pictures with her songs.

And Jeremy: Who is the inspiration behind your love of melody?

Jeremy: In a band: The Beatles. They’re my dad’s favourite band, so he played them for me since I was really young, and I’ve always taken inspiration from them. Lately I’ve been listening to The Moody Blues, a bit. They’re a sixties band, and I find it interesting how they incorporate pop and classical and rock. The Beach Boys. Brian Wilson is just a genius, and I loved how, on Pet Sounds especially, he composed a whole album by himself — all the instrumentation — and I just find it so fascinating how his brain heard all these separate parts and could put them together. I think that’s what composers strive to do.

Okay, so is there a particular mood or environment you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Jeremy: Peaceful environments.

Jesse: Yeah, an environment is really important to me. I can’t feel like I’m giving my brain the best space if the room is hectic or messy. I’m a very visual person; I like colours to be cohesive and I feel like, if stuff’s off, then my brain’s process is going to be off. I don’t know if that’s good or not, because I’ll stop and say, “I can’t do this right now”, even though I probably could. But yeah, it’s important. We like candles — we have candles lit right now. Mood’s important to writing, definitely.

Do you ever have clashing ideas about what’s needed in order to be at your creative best?

Jesse: I think more with sounds than visuals. He can handle constant noise. He wakes up in the morning and wants to put piano concertos on, and I’m kinda like, “I can’t handle this right now.”

Jeremy: She needs more quiet than I do. We both like to be in a field, even though that doesn’t happen very often. We enjoy that mood.

Jesse: We share peacefulness as a part of the creative process.

Does an intense period of writing affect your mood?

Jesse: I’m very much a believer in creative flows throughout the year and allowing there to be a period of time where you just digest stimulus: to give you stuff to think about. And that can be a really terrible period; you can feel kind of depressed that you’re not producing songs or art. But then, after that period of time, everything starts coming out, and it’s absolutely the best feeling ever.

Jeremy: Yeah, I can agree with that.

From what I’ve heard thus far, your sound seems quite stylised; the melodies and harmonies bring something different to what might be expected of your sound: something interesting.

Jeremy: We appreciate it. Really appreciate it.

Jesse: We really want to turn it into more of a band feel, and we don’t just want to be a male-female duo. Because we both have very strong musical backgrounds to bring to it. I think Fleetwood Mac is kind of a close comparison to what we will try and emulate in terms of a group.

Jeremy: They’re a little too commercial and that, but…

Jesse: Yeah, but I think moving forward it’ll be less focused on singing together. We’re not trying to be a standard male-female duo; it’s more like a standard writing partnership, I’d say.

Jeremy: On the recording, that’s the first time we played with a band; before, it was just us two.

There’s an intriguing atmosphere about it all too, I think.

Jesse: That’s awesome. It’s all the candlelight rooms we’ve been writing in. [laughs] A lot of people ask, at the end of a couple songs, if we have any happy songs to play. Which, we really don’t. Even though I would consider them happy, I feel like we do have kind of a dark, weird aura around the whole of it.

Jeremy: I guess we’re drawn to the mysterious: weird sounds, weird words.

How easily does creativity come for you, and how long do your initial ideas take to develop?

Jeremy: I have an issue with wanting to just keep starting a bunch of different songs and then never finishing them. My mind wanders too much; I get bored with one thing, and I just want to move to the next.

Jesse: I think the message or idea that something stemmed from in a song is one of the most important elements — even more than the chords or the music. If I don’t feel like it’s coming across then I can get frustrated. We’re both creative constantly, and we leave a lot of things behind if they’re not working.

Jeremy: And it takes energy to get something. We might have the creative drive, but if we don’t physically have the energy to make it and put it all together… It takes a lot out of you to finish a song. You need a lot of self-discipline to keep getting songs out.

Are there any other creative obstacles you’ve faced?

Jesse: Just not thinking it’s good. You get frustrated and then you stop, when you should really keep going through it.

Jeremy: Another thing is: my voice isn’t developed so much. I still have a lot of work to do on it, so sometimes it’s hard to sing all the things that we would like to sing together, and I need to work on that.

Jesse: Yeah.

Jeremy: That’s the number one thing I’ve been working on: just getting it stronger.

I love Jesse’s reaction to that. It wasn’t like, “Oh, no no; you’re being too hard on yourself”, it was simply, “Yeah.”

Jesse & Jeremy: [laugh]

Jesse: I mean, we’re in this to be good, so we have to keep each other on task. [laughs] Yeah, I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice. [laughs]

What is your greatest motivation for creating?

Jesse: I like thinking of songs as their own little world, and you get to kind of repackage your life, and what you believe, in the tiny little world of a song. I’m fascinated with that idea, and just want as many tiny little worlds as I can create in my brain to exist in the world. And to see how other people’s tiny little worlds take in my tiny little worlds. The mix of it all. And meeting people. There are just so many amazing people creating stuff, and being able to talk to people about it is really the best part, I think.

Jeremy: I think for me it’s really a selfish reason: I just feel the best when I’m creating and working towards getting better at writing songs. It’s just where I feel most at home.

Do you have any fears that your creative endeavours bring more to the surface, or allow you to confront?

Jesse: I think we both struggle with the 21st century; I don’t know if we necessarily belong in it. We are a little averse to social media; we aren’t really the type that wants to express ourselves all day long through pictures and tweets and stuff. The farther along we get with this, the more we’re realising that you kinda have to do that. So, the more we’re creating, the more fearful we’re getting about diving into that.

Jeremy: And to have a successful group, it really is a business you’re opening up. We’re not so much business people…

Jesse: I feel like I’m okay at it.

Jeremy: Okay, you’re okay at it, but I’m terrible. You could live your life and just create all the time…

Jesse: But that’s not the only thing you have to do.

Jeremy: It doesn’t mean that anyone’s going to end up hearing you, and that’s a realisation I’ve come to. It sucks…

So, the dynamic seems to be: Jeremy being kinda like, “Yeah, we’ll just create”, whilst Jesse’s like, “No, we need to do this properly.”

Jesse: [laughs]

Jeremy: That’s exactly how it is.

Jesse: [laughs] The reason why it works for us to write together is because we have very opposite qualities. So we’re never fighting over things… I mean, unless we are. [laughs] We’re figuring it out.

So, can you see yourselves seeking help with the business side?

Jesse: I am kind of a control freak about stuff, and it would be hard for me to let somebody else handle our image.

Jeremy: You need to be careful, because there are a lot of people out there who are trying to take advantage of you and get all the money they can out of you.

Jesse: We have a couple of friends who pay monthly to get their music submitted to places that will write reviews. We’ll read their reviews and it’s like, “Why would you care if someone wrote that about you?” It seems that they just fill in the artist name and then change the adjectives.

Jeremy: And with labels: I’ve had a couple of friends sign to indie labels, and the contracts are ridiculous. Both of them were dropped, and they had no say; it’s just like, “Okay, we’re done with you. This isn’t going how we want it to go, so, whatever.”

Jesse: The music industry: I don’t think anyone knows what’s happening right now. The artists, the record labels; everybody that’s involved with it is just trying to navigate the new way that everything’s happening. It’s scary. I think our entire families are like, “Why are you doing this?” [laughs]

I think it definitely pays to get as proficient as you can at the business side of things, just so you don’t need to spend money unnecessarily or rely on other people with potentially ulterior motives.

Jesse: Definitely.

Jeremy: Earlier, Jesse said that I can’t go to sleep before I make one Facebook status. [laughs] “You need to post every day.”

Jesse: [laughs]

Okay, so what are you most fascinated by?

Jesse: Just blanket?

Jeremy: … We like blankets.

Jesse: [laughs] No, but you mean, like, anything?

Yes, but at first I thought you said ‘blankets’, too.

Jesse & Jeremy: [laugh]

Jesse: Never mind; that’s my answer…

Jeremy: Well, we live in the city, but we’re fascinated by simple things: like…

Jesse: Okay, this is your answer.

Jeremy: Having a farm one day.

Jesse: [laughs] This is not my answer.

Jeremy: Well, we’ve talked about this.

Jesse: But that’s what we’re most fascinated by?

Jeremy: Oh, okay. I don’t know what we’re most fascinated by.

Jesse: I would say I’m most fascinated by human nature. I love envisioning that there aren’t that many types of people in the world and how, in every culture, different people that we know: you can break them up into groups and where they would fit in history; who they would be. I like to think about that. I like the human mind, and I think every person should be able to do what works best for their brain. I’m really fascinated by how most people are limited in not being able to do it. I stopped going to regular school when I was fourteen, and I feel like it’s made me who I am. A lot of people never get to really figure themselves out. I’m fascinated by that.

Jeremy: … Um, I’ll take another stab at it.

Jesse: [laughs]

Jeremy: Well, I think the universe is so fascinating…

Jesse: [laughs / snorts derisively]

I think you’re overcompensating…

Jesse & Jeremy: [laugh]

Jesse: He’s taking astronomy and physics in college, so he’s not lying. [laughs]

Jeremy: I think religion is on the right path to understanding the universe, but I don’t think humans could understand what God is.

Jesse: We’re both interested in the earth, and life…

Jeremy: What it’s all about. I guess everyone’s drawn to that.

Jesse: And also: blankets… *reaches to side, picks up blanket*

You weren’t joking.

Jesse: [laughs] *reaches again, picks up another*

Okay, so what is it then that you hope to communicate to people through the work you’ll soon be releasing?

Jesse: Become an individual. That’s what the songs are. It’s us, as individuals, just giving that essence into music. Definitely, if I could ever give a message to someone, it would be to do things for yourself.

Jeremy: Music can have purposes other than just entertainment, and I think the best musicians offer more than entertainment. That’s a nice place to strive for. We’d rather not just entertain.

Jesse: Yeah. I mean, we’re not very entertaining anyway, so… [laughs]

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

Jeremy: A different path in life, I think. We enjoy different things.

Jesse: I think that some artists get really lost in the idea that it’s somehow a better person to be than someone who isn’t artistically inclined, and I just think it comes down to how your brain works. I’m very happy that mine likes doing that.

Jeremy: It feels, sometimes, that we’re not even living in this world. We kinda just go into our own little world and create and do our own thing. It feels good.

Jesse: A lot of people don’t really think it’s a job, even though it can be, so that’s definitely something that you have to figure out: how to make people believe that you’re doing something with your life. Which, you are, but it seems like you’re not.

So would you say that you feel somewhat disconnected from people who are not involved in music or art in some way?

Jeremy: It’s weird. Sometimes we’ll hang out and do our normal thing for months at a time, and then we’ll see someone else who we haven’t seen in a while, and it’s like, “Oh, this is how the world works.”

Jesse: I can’t remember who said it — I always know quotes, and then I just don’t remember who said them — but someone said, “To be an artist, you shouldn’t seek to judge, you should seek to understand.” So, I think, analysing people is a weird thing. You do it for art, and then you realise: Wow! It’s kinda hard to like people. [laughs] So that’s something that I think about.

‘It’s hard to like people.’ … Generally speaking, I don’t disagree, but I still think that statement requires further explanation…

Jesse: I don’t know how to explain that. That sounds very Augustinian, doesn’t it? Never mind; I redact that. I like everyone. [laughs]

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define who you are?

Jeremy: I’d say… ninety-eight-percent. [laughs] I think it reflects who we are as people, and that’s who we are in our truest form. It’s easy to act different in front of people just to fit in and be friendly, but I think, when we create music, we’re not trying to fit in or impress: we don’t have that mind. We kinda just create what we like to create, and I think it really reflects who we are.

Jesse: I think that, if someone listened to the songs and formed an opinion, I wouldn’t want it to misrepresent us, but I also like the freedom that you can have in exploring a different voice. If you take on a character in a song — if they’re evil, or way better than you are — I like exploring different ways of being. So, I think whatever you do around being a musician has to speak more, maybe, than your songs can for you. But, when it comes down to it, we wrote them, so… they’re us. [laughs]

The post thoughtdream appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Jesse: It’s a funny thing. When I was sixteen, seventeen years old, all I wanted to do was be a professional skateboarder. I was into extreme sports: hurling myself off of high places and moving quickly. I randomly picked up a job — a friend of mine was like, “We need someone to clean up an industrial warehouse for two weeks, and if you do it, we’ll give you x-amount of money and you can go and buy whatever with it.” At this point, I wasn’t working; I was skateboarding full-time — I was really going for that. I walked into a pawn shop in the hopes of buying another skateboard, and ended up finding a guitar instead. What was particular about this guitar was that it was left-handed, which I’d never seen before. Everyone in my family played music, and they were handing me these right-handed instruments — I just wasn’t capable of holding them. So, when I found this left-handed guitar, and I picked it up and it felt natural, I was like “I just have to buy this.”

So, I started playing this guitar and I was off-setting my extreme activities with it — winter was coming in, so I was stuck inside the whole time — and, eventually, I ended up having a tonne of teenage angst, what with finishing high school, starting college and me deciding not to go so I could pursue being… I don’t know… an artist or a skateboarder. I was just a real bohemian dude, and I just happened to play music at the right time that I was feeling stuff. I wrote a bunch of tunes that were not very good, but were the beginnings of me expressing myself. It was a totally not-sexy, very practical thing. I was just like, “I want to express myself”, and playing guitar was the only way I could really do it.

I’m really surprised by that, because it all seems very natural to you: being an artist — it seems to fit you.

Jesse: Man, that’s the whole trip about it. I only started listening to music when I was nineteen years old. So I was playing guitar, and it was based on nothing — I didn’t listen to music. I was learning what I thought you had to learn. I went through the stereotypical guitar riffs that you learn, even though I wasn’t that motivated by it. I was learning ACDC, Van Halen, Led Zeppelin, and I’m like, “This is what you’re supposed to do when you play guitar.” Then I started noticing that I’d spent a decade learning how to skateboard and no-one cared, it was expensive, and it hurts your body, but if I could play these crappy, classic rock riffs, suddenly people were giving me attention. And I think, at seventeen, being a little socially uncomfortable and stuff, I really needed that. So, it was just this fluke. I had no musical ability; I had no ability to sing, no ability to play music — it was really rough going for a long time, you know. But it’s one of those things where, I think, it was the sheer persistence of it. You can learn how to listen to music better, you can learn how to write songs better, and if you learn and listen to really good songwriters, you can take from them and figure out what they’re doing.

Yeah, the whole thing is kind of a trip. It’s pretty crazy that you think that, but I’m so happy. I wanted to make it look natural and easy, so I’m glad it’s coming off that way.

It really does.

Jesse: That actually makes really happy to hear, because for me, I’m still just trying to figure it out: just trying to listen to music and see if I can write something that’s worth listening to.

Do you feel at a disadvantage because you came to it so late?

Jesse: That’s the thing that’s curious about it: I think coming to it late was, ultimately, my most outlying quality. The recording industry was just about to change when I got into it. I got into the mind-set of: I’m not very good at this, and I’m coming to it really late in the game, so instead of making CDs and trying to sell them, I’m just going to put stuff out for free to try and make up for lost time. It ended up being really invaluable for my career: that I started to get everything done in-house — the recording, the production, the videos, the photos. I got into a mind-set early on of: I should just do it myself, because I can’t afford to hire other people to do it, and there’s no reason why I would — I’m not good enough yet to do anything.

So, all I started doing was becoming this prolific artist who was just writing, recording and releasing material all the time, and that ended up being super convenient, because now my internet presence is what separates me from the pack enough to get ahead a little bit. Now people are getting wise to it, but thankfully I was at it early enough because I was this overly logical artist who was like, “Okay, how do I cut myself from the pack, right now?” It didn’t matter if I was very good at singing or guitar or anything, because I was just putting out a free song every day. That’s all that it took to start getting a fan base, and then SoundCloud, Spotify, YouTube: all these things showed up, but I was already way ahead of the curve; everything was online already.

Anyway, being a seventeen-year-old and coming into it with no experience was actually amazing, because I was able to break away from an industry standard, and it’s been the single thing that has allowed me to do anything: that initial, “I don’t know how this works, so I’m going to do it a new way.”

Does songwriting, and making music in general, still appeal to you in the same way that it did in those early days, or are there now other elements that keep you passionate about your craft?

Jesse: That’s a great question. It is different. When you first start out, there’s this really thoughtless aspect to it that I miss tremendously. You are literally nobody, and no-one cares about what you’re doing. There were no metrics to compare anybody before, so when I first started doing music, it was just like, “Oh. I’m the only person I know who releases songs.” I knew other bands that were playing shows, but I didn’t know anyone who was releasing material and getting this really tangible rippling effect. I would put stuff on the internet, and people would listen to it on the bus or at work or whatever, and they’d come home at the end of the day and tell me about it. That was just so motivating to continue going with it. But now, everyone is putting stuff out every day; there’s this constant stream of really good, really fresh, really invigorating content on the internet, and although that is good in a lot of ways, it’s not as cool as the secret club, where I could make a song in two hours and put it out. I wasn’t competing with anybody.

Now it’s more fun because there are more players in the game, and so the game has gotten better. Home production has gotten really good. Home distribution has gotten really good. But it’s less instantaneously rewarding. You can sit on a tune for a long time, and when you put something out, you really have to put out something that you feel is special, because there’s a lot of competition, and there’s a lot of people who are doing it so well. You end up with a much more satisfying end result, because now I can make a living off of it; I can do this for a full-time job. But there is an element of: as soon as something becomes your job, and as soon as you start accepting income, you also have to accept the biases that go with that, because now you’re like, “Okay, I want to continue making money, so I should kinda do what I’ve already done.” You can’t help but over-think it a little bit, because now you’re like, “My livelihood depends on this.” So, that changes.

Does this have any bearing on there being certain songs that you no longer play, and others that you now play differently?

Jesse: When I play things differently, it’s usually because I’ve gotten better at music in that time. I’m really coming at music from such a disadvantage. The only thing I had going for me was a sense of rhythm, so my timing was good, and that was a good place to start from. But my chops weren’t very good, my ear was not good at all — if you played two tones, I couldn’t tell you the distance between them or what interval they were occupying. It was really, really tough. Even to this day, I’m learning all the time, but I’m coming at it from no natural ability. There are some people who pick up music, who just kind of have it, and I seemed to lack this inherent quality that makes people good at music; maybe it’s just a more advanced ear, in the same way that someone who’s good at cooking might have a better palette. Some musicians are just like that: they hear a song and they can just pick apart what the tonal quality is and what the stacking harmonies are.

Normally, when I stop playing tunes, it’s because I’ve become aware of what the tune is now, and I no longer play it because I’ve become musically sensitive to the fact that maybe it’s too similar to something else that I’ve written or something that already exists. Also, it’s totally in my own head, but usually there’s some element of: this song doesn’t represent me, what I want to say, or what my values are, anymore.

The tunes that I still play but have changed quite a bit – I have a tune called Half a Man, for example, that has changed completely in feel and tone – it’s more because my tastes have varied. Sometimes I consider putting out the same song every year, just so that can people can track what my progress has been. The last two or three years I’ve put out a version of First Day of My Life, by Conor Oberst (Bright Eyes), and I was thinking about doing another one just to be like: This is where I’m at right now. You can tell by the way I’m playing it and the way I’m singing it who I’ve been inspired by and what techniques I’ve picked up since I played it last. So, really, it’s this ongoing journey; I’m showing all my work, essentially. I’m assuming that a lot of people do this on the road. Normally, people pay their dues, get better on the road and then release their first album. But I was the opposite — I’ve been releasing music since day one — so you could see me getting better and changing. I think it has more to do with the fact that I’m not holding my cards to my chest at all; I’m showing my audience everything that I’m doing. That’s a huge part of it.

I kinda like that idea of recording the same song each year to show your progress.

Jesse: Yeah, it’ll probably happen. The only thing I get concerned about is the people who don’t notice the changes in the tune. Some people might just look at me and go, “This is the same words or the same melody, therefore it’s the same song. Why do you keep retracing your steps?” That’s the whole thing that’s tough about it: as I get better at music, as I listen to more complicated music and get into more interesting things, I worry that the audience will not pick up on it, and then I’ll accidentally alienate myself from my audience who like this very simple guitar and vocal thing. Meanwhile, I’m listening to Andrew Bird, let’s say, and now suddenly I just want to play all these weird classical song formations and instrumentations. I’m concerned that the audience will be disconnected. I am still changing and transitioning, and I’m worried that I might lose people along the way. So, there is an element of overthinking it, I think… as you can tell.

Okay, so what is the most important element in any song that you write?

Jesse: These are good, thoughtful questions.

The most important element in any tune that I write is… I hope that people realise that I’m writing from experience, and that I’m also trying to fit a very specific idea into a melody and a rhyme scheme. What I mean by that is that all the choices and words are very deliberate. I probably overthink it, but the most important thing is that I’m singing from a place of truth. Even more than that, when I have to write a bunch of songs, I force myself to go out and do things that are very uncomfortable.

Right before I wrote my first album, I went on a month-long backpacking trip into Europe. That’s the most gringo thing to do, but I was really a homebody; I’d never been on a plane before, I’d never travelled. I was really trying to put myself into it a hundred percent so that I could be really uncomfortable, which would make me feel stuff, which would then make me write stuff. My second album, I capitalised on a pretty traumatic break-up; I was like, “Okay, I’m feeling things; I should write some of it down.” And then the new record is just me getting into music for the first time: really listening to music all the time and meeting other musicians and having them exchange albums with me. You listen to it and it’s so good that it makes you so self-conscious about your own product. Then you start to be uncomfortable, and then you start to get better, and then you write more tunes.

All that being said, I think the most important element of the songs is that they’re all based in truth, and they’re all a product of being pretty uncomfortable: trying to put myself in situations that I’ve never been in before so I can feel new things. Which is tough, because I just want to not grow, ever, and be the same person; never develop, don’t become more interesting. [laughs] I don’t want to be more challenged by the universe and life. I don’t want any of that. Ignorance really is bliss, and I just want to live a blissful life, so that’s the thing: I have to go and force myself to be miserable so I can put out some good art. [laughs]

It’s necessary for so many artists.

Jesse: Yeah, sadly you just can’t sit in your house all the time, and expect to make really captivating art — it just doesn’t happen. Unless your art is representational of you being a homebody. But yeah, for me, it’s that thing of forcing myself to go and do the legwork necessary to write something, feel what someone else is feeling and represent that in a three minute pop tune.

And doing that initially was particularly hard for you?

Jesse: Yeah, that’s been the hardest thing of my whole life. I am the most stubborn and most set-in-my-ways person in the world. I think it has something to do with not going to college; it was choosing to be done with school at high school. You’re essentially an adult now, and every decision you make you have to really be committed and lean into it. There’s no-one else that can do it for you. Who can I look to to be like, “Hey, I’m a singer-songwriter in an industry that’s about to have an entire paradigm shift” ? How do I become successful?

The way that it’s gone… This probably isn’t the best case scenario — I probably could have made moves somewhere in the last ten years that would have furthered me — but the way I’ve done it has worked for me. Which has given me a sense of, “Okay, your instincts are correct; you’ve had some success in this and you have to trust your gut.” But, in trusting your gut, you will often not listen to what other people are telling you. For example, I didn’t drink until I was 23 — I’m 26 — and people were like, “You should probably drink; drinking is pretty great.” I was really sure; I was like, “No, I don’t want to drink.” At some point, I had to challenge my own belief system, have a drink, try and sincerely have fun. I did, so now I’m a casual drinker. It’s been the same thing with travel, it’s been the same thing with eating. When all you can do is trust your own instinct, it’s very difficult to then do things that go completely against what you think you should do.

So it’s been very tough to get out of my shell, because the shell by definition is what’s gotten me anything that I have. It’s tough to wander out and take from other people and their experience, while also still being able to trust in what your natural instinct is. This whole industry is virgin territory at this point; no-one really knows what anyone is doing. We all know that social media is a huge part of it, and streaming, Spotify, Apple Music; sync placement in movies and television — this is where the monetisation of music is headed, so we’re all going in that direction. But, for the most part, all you have is your instinct, and trying to figure out: What is a new, fresh approach on this thing?

You mention that with the new record you’ve had other people listening to your work, and that you’ve been listening to theirs. Is that an exchange of ideas? And if so, is that a new thing for you?

Jesse: Yeah, this is a new thing, and it absolutely is an exchange of ideas. I could, theoretically, sit at a piano and try and come up with every take on a song that I could imagine. Song composition, arranging and making it interesting is this gentle dance. For me, anyway, it’s this really delicate thing: you have all these preconceived ideas of what a song is, and what you’re trying to do is a fresh take on it: not sounding like anything that’s ever been made before and especially nothing that you’ve ever made before. But, in order to do that, you have to listen to a lot of music, and hear how other people are very cleverly putting their own twist on what is a normal, three-minute love song. I’ve been listening to a lot of Andrew Bird lately, and he does a lot of these really interesting time changes that sound really natural but are kinda out there. These tunes will have one bar that’s a little bit shorter so that the next one feels like it lurches, kind of; I’ve been inspired to maybe throw a few of those into my own tunes, because that would give me a new variant on the ‘intro, verse, chorus’ thing. In listening to a lot of new artists, I’m getting all these new takes on this thing that I’ve been doing for the past ten years, and probably will continue to do for another ten years.

And this is a new thing; that’s what’s crazy. I probably only started listening to music in the last year, like, really becoming a fan of just listening to music and being able to separate it from my job. I can listen to music now and just appreciate how good it is, whereas before, I was always listening to music in order to see what my competition was doing in a market. Lately, it’s been a lot more of a romantic idea of music. I’ve been leaning on people who are better than me to show me what they’ve found. They’re already ahead of me in the journey, so they’re like, “Hey, look: here’s this cool thing I’ve found.” So, by listening to the records and appreciating them and just really falling in love with them, you get to internalise these lessons that they’ve already learned. That’s kind of the secret of how they’re so far ahead: they’ve been doing that for so long, probably. It’s listening to the greats and being like, “What is great about this?” And accepting it. Not trying to lessen it. Not listening to it and going like, “This is pretty good, but it’s not that good, and here’s why.” Being able to put my insecurity down, just listen to it, and be like, “This is so great”, has been really healthy. I’ve been able to participate in this communal thing where we’re all sharing and taking from each other. It’s been fun. It’s been a trip. The music I’m writing now represents that; it’s more interesting, I think.

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

Jesse: [laughs] Yeah, there really is. I wish that there wasn’t. I’d love it if I was more of the like, “No, I just get up and I write for five hours every morning.” I’m trying to get to a place where I write every day and do it more from a place of: this is my job, and I put in X amount of hours per day. But normally, when I write, it’s two in the morning. It’s always on a nylon guitar, and it’s almost exclusively at two in the morning, accompanied by coffee, good lighting and a room that has a carpet so it’s not too reverb-y — it’s got to be a nice, quiet, dead room. It’s like your typical, romantic songwriting situation. It’s when the world has gone to bed. It’s when I can’t get emails anymore, and no-one’s on Facebook or Instagram. It’s got to be when the world has stopped functioning, and I can’t be distracted by people doing stuff; that’s when I can realise, “Oh, I’m actually really affected by this friendship, or a break-up.” That’s when you feel it. That’s when the muse shows up and you’re able to channel what I hope is a collective consciousness. So yeah: super late at night, super good lighting.

I can relate. And, for me, at least, the times I do kinda detect that initial suggestion of productivity late at night, it’s often about making a very deliberate choice to explore it — to fight through the habitual desire to rest, and instead just see what might be waiting beyond the often limited reach of the day.

Jesse: It is. And I don’t know about you, but there’s been so many instances where I’ve been like, “I don’t know if I should play guitar or not. It’s a little late; I should probably settle down.” Because I know it’s a whole thing. I know if I pick up a guitar, it’s a whole thing now. I’m engaging in an emotional activity; it’s going to be draining. But there are so many times when I’m so thankful that I did, because I’m like, “This song probably wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t done it this second.” It’s such a culmination of like, “Oh, it’s super late at night, so I’m going to listen to this artist, and that gets me playing in this key on the guitar, and I’m in this kinda mood so I play these notes in succession — and now I have a little melody going.” It’s so crazy: this product of this random moment. You just happen to pluck a few strings in a row, and you’re like, “Oh! There’s a little thing here”, and then that sprawls into something else. And sometimes those tunes define your career, and you’re just like, “I’m so happy I did that, because that got me 30,000 views on YouTube, which I know got me this person, because they said this is their favourite song, and then that person tweeted out my album and that was a big deal.” If you ever think: maybe I shouldn’t play guitar right now, it’s totally worth it to do it. It’s always worth it. Because even if you come up with one little thing, you don’t know if that seed could eventually end up being the thing that gives you all the shade that you’ll enjoy for the rest of your life.

When you’ve had an intense period of writing, how does it actually affect your mood?

Jesse: Right now, I’m really stressed and anxious all the time, because I can’t pick up a guitar without writing a new song. It’s annoying. I can’t work on any of this material, because every time I pick up a guitar, within five seconds I’m playing a new thing. I’m like, “Oh, this could be something really cool.” But you end up with fifteen to twenty ideas, and that’s the issue. Even the songs that I originally wrote in this period — the great emotional purge that I’m going through right now — are just being totally abandoned, because I’m like, “These aren’t good, they’re not representational of what I’m doing right now.”

But that’s not good. I had this tune called You Are Made of Stars that I put on the internet a few years ago — it’s been really good to me — but I put it up because I was sick of the song. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want to play it anymore, so I figured I would record a copy and put it on the internet. That way, if someone is into it, they can enjoy it, but I’m not going to look at it ever again. At least it’s out there, and who knows? People could like it… And they did like it, and then it’s back in my set and I’m playing it again because now it’s the reverse thing of people asking me to play it. It’s not the song that I didn’t like, it was the fact that I didn’t think people would get it. I was like, “This song is stupid. It’s too artsy, it’s too heady.”

Now what’s happening is that I’m not giving myself an opportunity to record and put out this material. It’s sitting too long. Almost to the point where it’s like I’m leaving it in the fridge too long and it’s going bad because I’m not doing anything with it. So, that’s the one thing that’s frustrating; I pick up a guitar, and I don’t want to let this song that’s coming out of me go to waste, so I write it down, but in that time, I’m not letting the songs at the top get used for anything. It’s this bitter-sweet thing of, like: it’s so great to be recording all this material, but at the same time, I’m conflicted, because I’ve never written a lot at once; I’ve always done one song, recorded it, produced it, released it, and then started another song. So, to have this many songs that I’m juggling at once is tough. Some songs are getting broken apart, and I’m using the verse, here, and the chorus, here, and the bridge, here. It’s this interesting thing of letting it all sit together, and they’re starting to blend into each other.

Again: very long winded. But all that being said: I’m a little anxious and a little stressed out. Because I have all this great material, but I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t stop writing.

It’s not an entirely bad problem to have though, right? Better than the reverse, anyway.

Jesse: Yeah, and I was in the reverse for roughly a year after I wrote my second record. It was kind of a pain to stop writing for a year and not know what to do, but it was also fun to play guitar. All I did was play guitar for the year. I couldn’t write a song to save my life. I think this backlog that was stuck in the pipeline is now coming out at full speed, and I just can’t control it. I think that’s what’s happening. So, I guess it’s a good problem to have, but at the same time, it’s still a problem. I have to figure out a way to capitalise on this energy that’s coming out of me. I wanna bottle it and save it so it can last me for the rest of the year — so I can release more material and not just be like, “Here are the seven best songs that I wrote”, and abandon twenty that could also have been great.

‘Could have been.’ That’s the whole thing: you don’t know. You put it on the internet and you let them take over. They will decide what is a good song and what is not. All you can do is get it ready and be like, “This is the best that I could do with it.”

And even more than that, you’re like, “Okay, should this be a song where I play acoustic guitar and vocal — one take, one microphone, just hit record and do it? Or is this a multi-track?” All my friends are amazing musicians; should I get clarinet and classical guitar, upright bass and cello? You’re never sure. And then you release the one that’s guitar and vocal, and maybe it doesn’t get as many plays as you want, so you’re like, “Oh, I should fully release this now.” We’re in an age where there are no restrictions; I can release as much as I want. I can do all acoustic albums, all electric albums, or both or none. It’s a tough thing. It’s definitely a source of anxiety. You just want to do a good job, and you just want people to enjoy it. You want to deliver to them in a way that will make the most people the happiest that you can. But at the end of the day, you have no control over that; you just have to make what you think sounds cool, put it out, and hope people get it.

Are there any common misconceptions that you feel people make about you based on your music?

Jesse: I don’t know that people even have that much of an opinion about me. I think the biggest misconception is that I’m very serious; people meet me and they’re surprised by how casual I am. They’re surprised that I’m just a goofy guy. Sometimes they’ll be surprised that I’m not very romantic about art; I’m more like, “Your art is valuable if people give it value by purchasing it and appreciating it. Otherwise, your art doesn’t have value.” But that’s okay; there’s nothing wrong with that. Not being commercially viable is not that big of a deal. You can just do it for yourself and really enjoy it. But that’s not my motivation. My motivation is not to make something and then not show it to people — the whole point is to show it to people; to participate in this collective creation. Because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: it’s just a bunch of humans who want to be like, “Hey, look — I made something! Isn’t this cool?” I feel like that’s the primary motivation for anything.

I think that art should exist in a market that wants it. So, right now, there are a lot of people making music. There are a lot of people making really good music. Therefore, if you’re going to participate in it, you’re going to have to really try, and really go for it. There is money, but there’s not a lot of it, so it’s this thing of: just because you do music, it doesn’t mean that you are necessarily supposed to be given anything. Don’t expect people just to come to your shows, listen to your music or sign up to your mailing list, if you’re not offering them any value. I think that’s a preconceived notion about me as well: that I’m this traditional singer-songwriter guy — I think it’s because I play this niche, artisanal, acoustic thing that I do — that I’m train-hopping: going from city to city and playing guitar. It’s more like market evaluation. [laughs]

But it might be that no-one has an opinion about me — that’s also very possible. [laughs]

Do you consider yourself a storyteller?

Jesse: Yeah, I consider myself a storyteller, but it’s not in the traditional sense where it’s like, “I’m going to take you through: here’s the setup, here’s the situation and friction, and here’s the release.” Rather, it’s just trying to tell anyone’s story. I’m hoping that I can release material that brings people together, or on a similar page for a moment. I’m trying to figure out a glue that will stick people together, just because I think the human experience is really dependent on us interacting with other humans. I think that writing a really good break-up song, love song or whatever: it’s a matter of choosing the right words, and having it be specific enough that people are like, “I can relate to this”, and obscure enough that they can put their own information into it. I’m just trying to provide people with a fill-in-the-blank situation for their own scenario so that they can feel as though I’m relating to them.

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

Jesse: [laughs] Yeah! All the time. That’s my whole life. It leaves me in a constant state of existentialism. Does any of this matter? Everything is so complicated and there are so many variables and so many things that I don’t understand about it. I’ll get into these really long conversations with people who I believe are much smarter than me, and I’ll try and get their impression about it so that they can kind of inform my opinion. It’s just part of it. I’ve opted to make a living by writing about the human experience, so I have to participate in that. It challenges everything that I know about the world, which is an exhausting gig. The examined life: that’s the one worth living, but it’s tough when life doesn’t imply that you’re going to be happy or comfortable all the time.

What makes you smile?

Jesse: The things that make me smile are the eureka or breakthrough moments that make me understand what another human is saying. When I go from being like, “I don’t understand what you mean”, to them paving a way for me to go, “Oh, that’s why! That is why they feel this way. That is why they’re so passionate about something that I don’t understand.” Those are the things that make me smile most: the kind of smiling where I can’t control it, where I’m grinning from ear to ear. It’s usually when something is explained to me and I understand it. Because I’m such a slow learner. It takes me so long to figure out what other people seem to understand, and so when I feel as though I can participate in the conversation, and I can understand why people are saying certain things, it makes me super happy. Because now I’m that much close to being relatable to other people. Again: so much of the happiness in my life revolves around just interacting with people — like this; what we’re doing now — and discussing stuff. That’s my favourite thing — when we figure out the Rosetta stone that allows me to speak someone else’s language, I’m in heaven.

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

Jesse: I gain an ability to express myself — which is critical. I can’t believe there are people who don’t make art or aren’t creative in some way. It’s like your body has a release valve, and it needs to get rid of feelings and stuff — move past stress and anxiety and all these things — and I can’t believe that there are people who don’t have an avenue to do it. And I’m not even saying be really good at singing or songwriting or guitar playing; I’m talking more about just having a way to express yourself. A lot of people, I feel like, can’t even talk. This is a really big conversation, but… I’m imagining someone who was born in a small town, who has a path that’s set out for them, like, “My father does this. His father did that. His father before him did that. We’re a blue-collar family. If you try and get away from the pack, if you try and become an artist or anything that expresses yourself, we’re gonna demasculinise you; we’re gonna associate what you’re doing with femininity.” If you feel like you wanna go to therapy because you have these bottled up issues, people will shame you for that: going and seeking out an avenue for expressing yourself.

So, it’s the ability to express myself, the ability to work through things, the ability to have one opinion, unpack it, and be like, “Oh, I have this much better feeling afterwards, and also, I don’t feel stressed or anxious.” Ultimately, the stress and anxiety that comes from second-guessing yourself and doubting things — the fact that I can live free of that, is unbelievable. I think being artistically inclined, or being inclined to want to do art, offers me this method of breaking through what is otherwise an impenetrable thing, which is your opinion. It’s like this thing that’s harder than diamonds that no-one can shift or break because you’re so worried about being exposed for not knowing something, or exposed for not being smart enough yet. It softens that, and it gives you an ability to reshape your opinions or shatter them entirely, and be able to have a better outlook on the other side of it. I really think that artistic expression is the fastest way to enlightenment, in the true sense of just being happy and present: not feeling stressed or anxious about circumstances that are out of your control. Just being able to go with the flow, and be happy with very little.

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

Jesse: A lot. Because the way I define myself as a person will never change; there’s nothing that can compromise that. But how my art defines me: that’s huge. I just want to be whatever my audience member needs me to be at that time. I don’t actually want to be ‘Jesse Daniel Smith: guy who’s putting olives on everything right now because he loves olives’. That’s too human. So, I want my art to define me one-hundred-percent. Because, sadly, if people meet me, I’m just a guy. But through the interpretation of art and the way I make tunes, if I can be something that they need then that’s great. That’s all I want to do for them: just offer them, not even the music or anything, but offer them this idea of me. Which is why, on social media, I try and keep it as close as I can, without exposing too much about my personal life, because I think that it ruins the mystique. I think interviews are a little different, because it’s a conversation about a subject specifically. But I see a lot of artists who go on Facebook and are like, “I’m having the worst week, and I got a ticket — my life is shitty and I can’t get a break.” You just become like a human to people. And they’re like, “Oh, you’re just a guy. I need someone who’s more than a guy; I’m looking for someone who has it figured out so that I can listen to their music and feel inspired, or feel cool or hopeful about something.” So yeah, I really want to be defined by my art. Quite a bit. Ideally: entirely.

The variation in response that particular question gets is huge.

Jesse: Yeah, that question — more than any of the others — must be the one that really separates people into groups in terms of, fundamentally, what kind of artist they are. I understand people being really uptight about being defined by their art, but I think I feel confident in that I know who I am. Good and bad. I’m just trying to do better than I did before: to show that I’m growing. And art is this thing I’m making that’s going to be interpreted in a million ways, and I can’t control that. As soon as you give it to people, you have to accept that one guy is going to think I’m just like a crappy hipster who’s a nobody, and someone else might be like, “This person is like a prophet, speaking exactly how I’m feeling right now.” And both of those are true, and both of them exist at the same time.

Because of that, trying to be like, “I’m gonna release an album that gets a million purchases — but don’t define me by my art.” It’s like: well, which is it? All you probably know about them is their music. You’re like, “Oh, I guess my opinion about Bruce Springsteen is that he’s an all-American, blue-collar guy”, but if Bruce Springsteen went, “No, I don’t want to be associated with that” it’s like: well, don’t sing about it all the time. The only thing we can do is put you in a box, because we’re going to do that no matter what. Anyone I meet I’m going to put them in a box; I’m going to try and file them. That’s just the way the human brain does stuff. So, if you don’t want to be defined by your music, you really have to provide a lot of reading material so that people can have an informed opinion about you.

I’m choosing to not take literally the part about putting people in a box and filing them…

Jesse: [laughs] You see the music stuff, but on the other side of the room I just have an elaborate prison system…

Okay: final question. How do you hope you’ll look back on your entire body of work?

Jesse: I hope I brought more to my community than I took from it. That’s all. If I can get one artist to not purchase physical CDs, I’ll feel like I’ve done something: to not only help the environment, but also introduce the idea that, if you keep your overheads very low — by not having a lot of cost — it’s much easier to be profitable and to be cash-flow-positive early on. If I can convince artists to abandon the old system and have a low cost operation, that, to me, is me giving back to my community. I’m trying to be the change that I want to see, by going like, “My next album is going to be solar-panel-powered, and have a completely carbon-emission-free recording experience.” Releasing it digitally, not having physical merchandise, and trying to keep travel and touring down. What I’m talking about is avoiding the milk-run, where I’m doing like seventy-five dates in sixty days. You don’t have to do it that way. There are ways of doing it where the whole process isn’t you going into debt — you can make art, and live comfortably, also.

I’m hoping people will follow me in exactly the way I’m doing it, and do it better. Show me ways that I could do it better. I really want to participate in this community of people who are about making art that doesn’t affect the environment, that doesn’t affect anybody else, and makes money; you can live off of it, be comfortable, do cool things and participate in the human experience, travel and meet new people. Do all the stuff that makes life and art worth doing. Otherwise, what’s the point of it? If your art is your whole life and it’s where all your money is going to for some great payday somewhere down the road — when you become John Mayor or whoever — man, that’s not life at all. You’ve bought into the people who make the CDs, the people who are in the music industry. You’ve bought into this illusion that this is the way you have to do it.

In the long run, if people can look back at my body of work and go, “That guy really gave back to this community of people”, that would be amazing; that would be all I ask: to give more than I took. That sounds like a bullshit answer, but I want other people to have the same quality of life and the same vigour for the day-to-day experience that I have.

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Ditte: I think I always had a lot of good music around me when I was growing up, but it was probably only once I started going to the open mic that Rosie (Caldecott) went to at Catweazle, saw her play, and thought: Oh, I could try that. I started listening more to people like Laura Marling, and just gave it a go and got really addicted to it.

Without having seen a friend performing, do you think you would still have done it yourself?

Ditte: Without having the space that Catweazle provided… I might have done it, but it might have taken me a lot longer. It’s such a supportive space, and it’s so open; you can do anything and people are so ready to listen. It was an education, I think, in the nicest way, and there’s a lot I wouldn’t have done without it. I wrote a lot of bad songs as well, and it was a space to get them out without being too much in the public eye.

Have you found there to be many venues like that, or is it a one-off?

Ditte: It’s definitely a one-off. I mean, there are some other open mics and smaller, regular gigs that I’ve been to around the country, but I’ve never found anything like that. It’s definitely really, really unique.

What led you to writing songs that are so unhurried and slumberous in style?

Ditte: I don’t think it’s something I set out to do; it’s probably just my personality. I think I’ve learnt that I’m okay with taking things slowly and just saying as much as I need to say. And that, probably, is what happens to my songs. I take a long time to write them, I take a long time before I want to show them to anyone else: until I’m really, really happy with them. So yeah, it’s probably just my personality made into song form.

Would you say it reflects the pace at which you live your life?

Ditte: I think it definitely reflects a contentedness. I know how to enjoy things. I allow myself to enjoy things. There are definitely a lot of parts of my life that aren’t slumberous and docile.

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

Ditte: I guess the melody more than anything; I think that’s what really draws people in, and is also what you feel when you’re singing. Then, you’re fitting the words around it. If it’s a really good melody, you can get away with strange words. A lot of the time I do have the words first, but I feel like they come alive once they have the melody. I think I’m always much more aware of what my words are than my melody; I can feel a lot more self-conscious about the words, and the melody frees them up. I always try to imagine what the lyrics would sound like without the melody, like spoken-word. I think there’s something about putting words to a melody which gives you a lot more leeway — there’s less judgement on them if you have a good melody.

Your songs don’t tend to follow a regular structure, similarly to Rosie. I wonder: is it a coincidence that you both veer away from the conventional pattern?

Ditte: Probably not. I mean, she started writing a lot before me, and I sang a lot with her at the beginning, and got used to her songs. Also listening to a lot of Joanna Newsom. She really opened my mind; songs can be ten minutes long and it feels much more like a story. It’s a lot more liberal, and I think listening to a lot of her really helped. And maybe an interest in a lot of different kinds of music — not just singer-songwriter stuff or pop stuff — kind of helped.

How easily does creativity come for you, and how long do ideas take to develop?

Ditte: I like doing a lot of different things — not at once, but in my life, like, in a week. If I was writing songs the whole week, I would fail; I think it would be rubbish. So, I feel like I always need a balance of different outlets for creativity, then also having normal life, like your job: the more mundane things. I really like having that variety, and the routine of it. As long I maintain that, the times when I do sit down and I’m like, “Oh, I’ve got a couple of hours; I’ll sit down and play the guitar”, I really maintain that excitement about it. I think having it restrained in that way… it’s like, you can never have enough time for it, and that kind of keeps the momentum up.

Do you deliberately set aside time for it, or is it a case of fitting it in on the fly?

Ditte: I think because I always really want to do it, I make time for it. It’s more like a ‘fitting in’. With my new project, I need to write a certain amount of songs by a certain time, which isn’t something I’ve done much of before. That makes it different because then you have to think more about the time-frame and be like, “I do actually have to get this done, I’m getting money for this” – which gives it a different edge, and I think that maybe makes me write in a different way, as well.

So, what is the new project?

Ditte: Basically, it’s to write a collection of songs that are about the North East. Two years ago, I was asked to take part in this project called Music In Museums: to write ten minutes of material based on the archives in this mining museum. So, I got this ten-minute-long song from that, and it didn’t go on the album because I thought it was too long to fit in, and also it was a different sort of style — it was more based on a character, so it was less of a personal song. I’ve always wanted to orchestrate it, because it’s got all these different sections in, a bit like a Joanna Newsom song. So, I’ve been trying for two or three years to get funding to commission someone to orchestrate it and do a performance, and, eventually, I got this funding called the Alan Hull award, which is a local award for local artists, and then managed to get some matched funding. At that point, I thought: I should probably make this into a full project. As part of this award, you get to do a gig at The Sage, so it suddenly turned into this big, exciting thing. It’s going to be four or five songs, a small orchestra and quite a few singers. So, that’s what I’m working towards at the moment.

I think with my usual songs, they’re not really meant for big, more theatrical stuff; I think they’re more just meant for a small pub or something, and that’s what’s nice about them. But these songs, I’m hoping, will be a bit more theatrical: more of a show. I feel I can do that because they won’t really be about me, as much; they’ll be about different characters or different events.

And this will be just the one show?

Ditte: Yes. There’s the possibility of touring it, but that will be another set of funding, I think. We’re going to record the live performance, so we’ll have that to pass around.

You sound excited.

Ditte: I’m really excited. I think it’s a nice thing to do after an album. There might not even be a physical CD or anything, so I feel a lot of the practical pressures are off — and I just want to be a bit more experimental with the songs.

Having taken much of the summer off from music, did you feel you needed something like this to get you going again?

Ditte: Definitely. I’m really glad I’ve got it. To be honest, I started getting a bit tired of the album songs, which I think is quite a normal thing for artists after they’ve made the album. I was playing gigs, and I just wasn’t feeling the songs; I was getting halfway through and being like, “Oh, gosh. I’m a bit bored… Are other people bored?” [laughs] Which is awful, and I always think if you get to that point you should stop playing, even though I think other people would disagree. I mean, I don’t get loads of gig offers, but I said no to a few, and just thought: I’ll have the summer off and then, come September, I can get back into this and really be focused on it.

Before you reach that point where boredom sets in, are there any other obstacles you tend to find yourself faced with — perhaps during the creative process?

Ditte: Worrying what people will think of the song before it’s finished. I always feel like that’s a real flaw. I think that comes when you have performed a lot — you’re really aware that at some point you’re going to be standing on stage singing to people and wondering what they think. I can often do that with the words before they’ve had a chance to settle. I hate that. Being like, “Oh, I can’t say that, because people will think this”, or something like that. I find that really annoying.”

What is your greatest motivation for creating?

Ditte: That’s a good question… I really enjoy a good song, I enjoy performing it, and I enjoy giving it to other people. I guess you could also say there’s a lot of catharsis in sorting out whatever thoughts need to come out of my head, but that feels quite separate to when you have your complete song and you start performing it. I definitely get a real buzz off of giving it to the world.

And what is it you hope to communicate to people through your work?

Ditte: … I don’t know! … I guess you want to communicate something of yourself in the hope that other people will understand and relate in some way — an empathy thing. I think a lot of people see the songs as really melancholy, which they can be, and then they look at me and they’re like, “But, you’re so upbeat! Why do you write those songs?” It’s almost like — and I think this might be the same for a lot of artists — your performing side, as the maker of the songs, is different from what you are every day. I definitely have had a lot of open and honest conversations with people who have listened to the music. Sometimes, it can cut through all the small talk, and it kind of invokes honesty in other people.

It must be nice to have that genuine dialogue.

Ditte: Yeah, I really love that: when people ask questions about the songs, or they say, “This song’s been really important to me.” Then, I feel like they’re really worth putting out in the world. I think it’s the really nice thing about making things: that you can put out all this stuff that is about you, but it’s doing something productive. I think it’s so important; it’s a really good thing for a person to be able to do, and anyone can do it. It’s a way of turning whatever your life is, or feelings are, into something visual, physical or practical.

What, if any, are the fears that your creative output brings more to the surface?

Ditte: Everything. [laughs] You can’t hide anything. Anything you’re subconsciously feeling, it always comes through in the end. Sometimes, I’ll listen back to my old songs and be like, “That makes sense now”, so I think everything comes out in the end.

And what makes you smile?

Ditte: What, anything? [laughs] I don’t know. I’m a very smiley person, I think… [laughs] Everything!

In which case — what are your interests away from music?

Ditte: Well, I studied art, but I think the art and the music crosses over a lot. It took me a few years to realise that art can be anything, and performance is a really big part of art. So, I started doing lots of singing within my art practice, and looking into storytelling: folk traditions and things like that. I was like, “This is just what my music stuff is about. Why does it have to be separate?”

I’m also really interested in working with children. I’m actually a childminder; that’s what pays the rent. Also, a lot of working in schools and what I was just talking about — the way that being creative is a way to cope with life. And that is for anyone. If I could do something, it would be to pass that on to younger people. There’s still such a block: that art is an elite thing, or music is a talent. Although you can have talent, that’s only a small part of it, and it’s about being curious and open — not being told you can’t do art because you can’t draw, or something like that. So I’m really passionate about that.

So what do you feel you gain most from being artistically inclined?

Ditte: I guess I feel like I’ve gained an understanding of myself: an ability to be okay with myself.

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

Ditte: I don’t know. That isn’t something I’ve thought about very much… I guess, not that much. I think it’s just a part of me; it’s not everything. It doesn’t have to be this massive thing.

It’s important, but it’s not the be-all and end-all.

Ditte: Yeah, and I think that’s probably part of how I always want to have lots of different things going on. So I was kind of wary of putting all the eggs in one basket: being like, “This is me! This is what I want to do.” Which I think some people find annoying, because they’re like, “You should push this as far as you can.” I just have this fear that that will kill it, or that’s not what it’s meant for. Touring all the time or having big contracts — I just feel like it’s not meant for that.

Finally, how do you hope you’ll look back on your entire body of work?

Ditte: I hope I’ll just be proud of it. I hope that the album I made will stand the test of time. I feel like it will. I feel like I chose those songs because they had lasted that long already. I can be quite critical of songs and be like, “I’m not singing that one anymore”, and forget how to play it. I feel like they’ve been remembered in my head for a reason. With this new project, I hope that I will feel like I’ve made the most of it in terms of exploring everything that I can do. I’ve been dipping in and out of some electronic music as well, but maybe under a different name. I think I want to feel like I have a varied body of work, and have really enjoyed it.

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