On appreciating raw material

The album you released in March is titled Nothing Sticks. Did the thought that “nothing sticks” come first, or did the songs?

I think it was in a similar way to my first record—I had these different songs that were floating around and I was looking for the connective tissue between them. Even though they were about the kind of disparate things that I was trying to process—whether that was a friendship changing, or a relationship ending, or not playing music in the same way with people—they were all kind of about endings or things that I was sad about ending.

There’s three different producers, including yourself, on this new record. How was navigating that?

I don’t know if I necessarily would’ve sought out having three producers. That wasn’t my intention as I was setting out to make the record. But it kind of just evolved naturally… I asked Gavin [Caine] first, who co-produced the last record with me as well, and he is so fantastic to work with. It’s really rare to meet someone who is that talented, has good taste, and is so nice and so humble. I think it’s something I did not take for granted, but didn’t realize how rare it was because we grew up playing music together. That is the friend that I was in my first band in middle school with.

Have you grown closer to Gavin?

I think we were both growing and changing in similar ways, from middle school and high school and then college, in terms of [our interest in] songwriting. We both started off as instrumentalists first, and then grew into songwriters. We were sharing a lot. We would listen to lots of Beach Boys and Radiohead in high school. And then both in college and afterwards, I was doing a lot of DIY stuff. I guess in my world, it was playing bass for different people and moving to Chicago, and it’s really lovely when we do come back together and we’re like, “This is what I’m into right now. This is the music that I’m listening to.” I think it’s actually beneficial to have someone you’re co-producing a record with who is drawing from almost a totally different toolbox, or has different influences that they’re pulling from and not just the same stuff that you have. I think it expands the possibilities and the palette that you have access to.

How do you know when it’s time to write a song?

I like to think of creativity as a faucet on a tap. You can turn it on or off at any point and it’s always going to be there. Sometimes I have this pressure of, “Oh, I’m not writing all the time. I’m missing out on something.” But it’s there. It’s like a river. It’s there when I need it, when I have access to it. I think what’s tough as an artist who works with a small label and doesn’t have a big team is I am doing a lot myself on the logistics end, booking shows and stuff. When I’m in that zone, when I’m in the middle of promoting and releasing a record, it’s like my brain has no time to think about writing. I think it’s different for other people, but for me it’s like, “Nope. We just have to get through this and then we can have more time and space to be creative again.” I’m hoping that once my schedule clears up, it’ll be just time to write… [Creativity] is there when you need it, and it doesn’t have to be an inciting incident for it to happen. But if you need to tap out from it, it’s also okay. It’s not something to feel bad about.

You also work as a music industry professional. How does that affect the way that you think about your music, or the way that you kind of navigate songwriting and creativity?

I always kind of had an interest in the business side of things, but coming from this place of wanting to make the best decisions that I could for my art. I think there’s some artists that are like, “No, it’s learning about all that stuff that corrupts the art,” or something. I want to understand how to protect my art because it’s so important to me. I want to be the best advocate for myself and for my music. And I think that’s led me to try my hand out a lot of different things.

I was a talent buyer for my college when I was in undergrad and found my way eventually into this little pocket of sync licensing, and I feel really lucky. I work with amazing people who are also musicians and artists, so they understand. When I’ve had lower capacity to do work because I’m in the middle of a record rollout or I’m on tour, they have that flexibility, which I’m so grateful for. And what I like about sync compared to other parts of the music world, is it’s not always about the marketing or how many followers you have or how many tickets you can sell. So much of it has to do with the music itself, and that’s really rewarding. We also work with a lot of archival vintage music, so stuff that is totally off a release cycle, stuff that’s being rediscovered… I mean, anything technically older than 10 years is considered vintage. So we’re seeing some cool placements for a band that was popular and active in 2013 that’s now getting sync stuff. It’s a really nice reminder that [music can live] outside of the pressure of the release cycle. There’s a longevity to music and there’s a place for music, if it’s good.

Is there a process that you’ve kept since you started making music or is there an ethos?

I think something that has been really helpful to me in making songs is that the difference between a bad song and a good song is a lot smaller than I thought it was. When I look at some of these first lyric drafts I have, I would say 85% of it is the same, and it’s that 15%—a few lines that I’m just changing around, or some lines that are bad—that kind of are the difference between one and the other. [It’s good to be] okay with making stuff that is bad, just to get more of it down. And then you follow that up and really spend the detail work to shift it into that zone. Obviously I think it’s easy to overwork or overthink a song, but in general, the times that I’ve spent more time on those details, generally the happier I am with the song or the final product.

And at the same time, there are some songs where it’s like, “Oh, in that first hour when I had this idea, I wish I spent more time flushing it out more, and making tons and tons of bad lyrics so I had more to pare down from.” I’m trying to learn to be okay in that uncomfortable space where I see myself as a competent musician, or whatever, and I am making something that is bad—and that can be uncomfortable to sit in. I’m trying to become more okay with that. Because the times that I do lean into that, and do lean into just the raw, pure creativity, the better results I have, or the more material I have to work with.