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T R E N T R E Z N O R

Trent Reznor is an icon.

I first met him when I featured Nine Inch Nails in Ray Gun magazine and have always been a huge fan of his music and what he does. So I was incredibly excited to shoot him for the cover feature of this issue of MARVIN. We sent Matthew Schnipper out to Trent’s studio in LA for a face to face chat about the past, present and future. For someone who’s done so much in his career, it’s inspiring to see him continue to push himself. Trent really likes what we’re doing with the magazine and that really means a lot to us. It was great to catch up with him again. Elsewhere in the magazine, we speak to a new generation of pioneers with the likes of Scarlxrd–a musician with an incredible output, who’s credited with being one of the founders of trap metal. Santanu Hazarika, who’s carved out his own successful career as an inspirational artist figure in India, Canadian rapper bbno$, who’s showing the world how to smoothly move from global TikTok star to huge mainstream success. We shot Manchester’s Pale Waves in an old chandelier factory in London’s Soho just before their latest, much acclaimed album dropped and we caught up with Noah Cyrus and Queen Kwong about how both of their new albums have helped them in their respective recoveries. We also explore two episodes of the Sound & Driven series we do in association with Porsche, featuring Hayley Kiyoko and producer Danja along with the iconic Dave Stewart and his daughter Kaya.

MARVIN is a magazine for trailblazers.

Marvin Scott Jarrett

B B N O $

S H A N E G O N Z A L E S

T R E N T R E Z N O R

PA L E WAV E S

B E A U T Y S C H O O L D R O P O U T

S A N TA N U H A Z A R I K A DA N JA & K I YO KO

K AYA & DAV E S T E WA R T

T I M B U R G E SS

N OA H C Y R U S

S C A R L X R D

GRACE

FOR THE LOVE OF so many inspirations. Right now, I’m really into Stereo forming under The Pink Slips versus being a solo artist, In the midst of a swirling maelstrom of fuzzed up garage

Total, Broadcast, Wolf Alice, always M.I.A. And the muis maturity. Maturity in sound, life experience, peoguitars, grunge and pure rock n roll, you’ll find Grace ple around me. And respect for my craft. I am always

McKagan. We caught up with her in Seattle where she’s sic from the [Showtime series] Yellowjackets both the striving to grow and become a better performer, writer, busy recording new material. Along with LA, it’s a place music made for the show by Craig Wedren and Anna she knows well. “I grew up in the aftermath of grunge

Waronker, and the soundtrack.”

singer, friend, sibling, daughter and partner.” Basically, in Seattle,” she says about the influences of both West Coast cities. “Grunge was a very formative sound and Her latest single is something she’s incredibly excited about. “K-Town feat. Boots Electric” sees her joined an honest approach to her expression and resistance to classification.

feeling throughout my teenage years. I was yet another angry teen who deeply resonated with the loneliness and despair of grunge. Seattle has been the epicenter for so much epic music history from Heart to Nirvana. Obviously, so has LA. I am fortunate to have learned about music through the lenses of both history-dense cities.” You might recognize Grace’s surname. She’s the daughter of Guns N’ Roses bassist Duff McKagan. She’s not someone who shies away from this fact and has always been upfront about her immersion into true American rock n roll heritage. “I am so lucky to have grown up in a world where I was surrounded by music and creatives,” she describes. “You are in a way a product of your environment.” But it’s not something that defines her sound; she finds muses everywhere. “I attempt to create sonic experiences I crave. Music that I wish to hear and it’s just that simple! I pull from on vocals by Eagles of Death Metal frontman, Jesse Hughes, (aka Boots Electric). It’s a gritty, beat-driven song that they recorded during lockdown, passing versions back and forth online. “It was a dream come true!”– she enthuses of working with one of her favorite rock n roll singers. The track is the perfect backdrop for a drive through LA, paying homage to all the textures of urban life. “I’m so grateful for the experience to create art with some of my idols.” The video sees them racing along the same “Thunder Road” area of LA as John Travolta did for the infamous “pink slips” scene in Grease—a nod to the name of McKagan’s previous band, The Pink Slips. McKagan races in a convertible while Hughes follows on a motorcycle, dressed as Evel Knieval. She’s been in a band since she was fifteen and most musicians feel acute pangs of change when they venture out on their own. “To me, the big difference in per-

I believe that if you go into a project with the intent of trying to channel a certain spirit, it resonates inauthentically. I try to be as authentic to my voice and heart as possible, whatever that feeling or sound may be in the moment. To me, ‘rock n roll’ is a synonym for ‘authenticity’–it can be limitless in sound and experience. Johnny Cash is rock n roll, so is Prince, so is Peaches, so is Morphine and so is LCD Soundsystem.

Refreshingly open. A lot like Grace McKagan herself.

@gracemckagan

PHOTOGRAPHY by DAVID MUSHEGAIN

PHOTOGRAPHY by CHRISTIAN HÖGSTEDT

You know what really sucks? When you see a band you love hit the road and then a few dates in, they post a message saying their tour bus got broken into and all their equipment robbed. All those years of work, all that collecting and curating of a setup and then it’s all gone. That’s what happened to Atlanta rock band Algiers in Italy this summer. “Man, there better be some ill records coming out of Milan in the next few years,” grimaces co-founder Ryan Mahan, when asked about the primo equipment swiped from their van. “They got some good stuff, my drum machine, some dope outboard gear, amps, mics. It’s a cold world at the end of the day, so we just leaned on our community who helped us recover the funds for the gear. We just try to embed solidarity and our friends and fans came up huge. We love them so much.” The outspoken four-piece is made up of Mahan (bassist/keys), Franklin James Fisher (lead vocals) and Lee Tesche (guitar), who all hail from Atlanta, Georgia. They were signed to Matador Records while living in London, where they were joined by UK’s Matt Tong (drums), formerly of Bloc Party. Known for their deep political stances and advocacy of people who fight for their beliefs, Algiers’ music and visuals are awash with rage against all that’s unfair in today’s world. Are the worsening global situations around all of us any kind of inspiration? “For every generation the world is always the worst,” replies Mahan. “The biggest inspiration for us is those who fight through it with all their courage and strength. So it comes from a place of deep love and feeling…see where it goes.“ It’s no wonder they found kindred spirits in UK’s Massive Attack, collaborating on the Bristol band’s 2020 EP, Eutopia The first taste of their fourth record is the anticipated lead single, “Bite Back”. The imminent 2023 album has an all-star cast of collaborators but, tantalizingly, Mahan won’t reveal who they are. The whole project is being kept tightly under wraps. What he does say, only whets the appetite.

This record is the most hip-hop indebted/adjacent record we have made. Since day one, there’s a deep shared affinity for rap production and musique concrète techniques, fucking with samples…historical time and geographical space, to create something bridging and smashing genre. With this one, the literal and metaphorical nods are everywhere. Production digs deep to reference everyone from originators like Grand Wizzard Theodore, Nas, DJ Screw, RZA, DJ Premier, to current producers like Daringer, Lukah, Cities Aviv, you know. But hip-hop is also about the collaborations. So we built that in from the start. Our basic question was this: whose voice and approach would best serve the track?

As he remains tight-lipped about those collaborators, I ask Mahan how the mix of being from Atlanta but having a formative history in London has influenced them both as musicians and as a band. Has the UK capital continued to affect what they do, even though they’re barely in the city anymore?

This is for real an Atlanta record. That transnationalism, though, is always there. Man, we take our influences just as much from Black radicals in the US who saw their struggle in the fights against imperialism all across the Third World to British post punk or industrial folks who loved rap, techno and electro. A pretty wide spectrum, but oddly, deeply philosophically connected. Britain was at the epicenter of all types of wild cultural, political, religious and military colonial exploits. But then it is also the home of so much too: anti-imperialism, grime, jungle, drill, goth, punk, you name it. Shit’s been so real the past few years. Even before the pandemic–touring and grinding through deep-cut and backwoods markets, working a record marred with internal and external strife and just generally trying to stick to the mission in such a corrupt environment. The thick isolation of the pandemic only increased our desire to build, not only within our own camp but with other like-minded folks. So we hunkered down—in the A [Atlanta] and later the South Carolina forests, central Florida, Philly and NYC—to make something that reflected that desire to grow our community of collaborators and make more solid, the bonds we have always felt.”

@algierstheband

Y Uup and the office was one of them. We cleared

LA-based songwriter and producer, Yunalis binti Mat Zara’ai, known professionally as Yuna, was industrious during the pandemic. After a spending the best part of a decade on the road following her eponymous 2012 debut, working with the likes of Pharrell, Usher, G-Eazy, Tyler, the Creator, Pink Sweat$ and Little Simz, across three studio albums and two EPs, the alt-R&B artist wanted to do “something new.” Originally from Malaysia, she found herself back at the house she shared with her parents for a covid-enforced, 18-month stay and decided it was time for something different with the next record. The first thing was to produce it herself.

Going into the third month of lockdown, I started looking around the fixer-upper my parents and I bought a few years ago. My dad’s office had turned into a storage room and it was kind of perfect as a studio because it was on its own wing–in the most quiet part of the house. So, I had all these home improvement projects lined out the boxes, cleaned and vacuumed the room multiple times. I moved some desks together, got some hand-me-down gear from my friends who own studios...and voila! A home studio! I figured that I had to start learning how to produce, so I got on Twitch during the pandemic, made friends with amazing fans who have great producing skills and basically learned a lot from them. It kinda took me back to when I was 19, in my bedroom recording music on GarageBand, using my gaming microphone. It was awesome. I actually wrote a few cool songs in Malaysia!

Expanding her production skills has given her a new autonomy. “It’s allowed me to know what I like,” she explains. “Previously I felt like I couldn’t understand the terms and language to explain to the producer what I wanted to hear. And now I can. For example, if I feel like a certain sound in the mix is not right, I can create that sound myself and show it to them and they’ll understand it. I now know a little about how to mix my own vocals. It’s very liberating! It’s such a great skill to have and I learn something new every day. It’s a great way to write songs too. because you’re not fully dependent on someone to create an arrangement for you. You can do it yourself.” Her independent bent knows no bounds. She’s also created a new way of distributing fresh material to her official fan club, known as #yunationals. Her fifth record has turned the traditional album release on its head. Y5 has been split into four EPs and a final album, releasing continuously beginning November 11 , in th easy-to-digest collections that give each track room to breathe. For each of the EPs, Yuna has looked to different genres for inspiration, from soul and R&B, to guitar-based indie rock. Acting as primary producer across all the projects, she’s also collaborated with other songwriters and producers, including Brian Warfield and Maclean Robinson, Biako, Josh Grant, THE ELEV3N and Malay. The freedom to flit between genres and release music as soon as it’s been recorded has been an enjoyable experience: “I honestly just wanted to have fun,” she laughs. “Also I felt strongly about wanting to release music as soon as I was done writing and producing it. Why wait for another year to get a whole album done? I figured, I have these three songs done, I’m going to make music the whole year anyways, so let’s release them in different parts!”, she exclaims.

It’s a lot of work but I love it, I love all the songs and I am so happy that fans get to listen to songs that I made literally one month ago…so cool! I have some fans who hated the experience because they’d rather have the whole album than wait for a series of EPs but I wanted to try something different. When I make songs, I want the fans—old and new—to really digest them…put them on repeat without forcing them to, ‘hey, listen to all 15 of these songs now.’ Instead I’m only asking them to spend 10 minutes of their day to sit down, put some headphones on and enjoy the music. I know my fans. Since the pandemic, they’re dealing with a lot and so I’m happy to connect with them every two months or so to check-in and also share new music. It’s different but much more fulfilling!

@yuna

PHOTOGRAPHY by JESSE LIROLA

velvet reams

Not a lot happens musically in Boulder, Colorado. According to Demi Demitro and Baby Pottersmith anyway. The founders and two-thirds of rock trio The Velveteers hail from the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. “The scene in Boulder isn’t really my style,” explains Demitro, lead singer and primary songwriter of the three-piece. “It’s a lot of bluegrass, jam bands and mainly bigger bands just touring through. There have been moments in time where the DIY scene in Boulder pops off and something really cool starts growing but then, unfortunately, those DIY venues shut down.” Pottersmith agrees: “It can be a pretty bland music scene at first look. The best and most unique bands in any local music scene will usually be playing some tiny, basement, hole-in-the-wall house on a Tuesday night with a $30 PA that’s half-broken.” You get the feeling that the slightly unusual trio— Demitro on vocals and guitar and Pottersmith joined by dual drummer Jonny Fig—have bigger places to be than Boulder. The three-piece of snarling guitar and double tub-thumping rock n roll went international this summer as they performed at the UK’s legendary rock party, Download Festival. An eye-opening place for sure, Demitro recounts: “It was our first time playing a festival over there and it felt like it was right out of a movie. We played early so we didn’t expect anybody to give us the time of day but it was a great turnout. I love how much everybody in the UK appreciates music.” Pottersmith agrees:

I’d never seen that many people with black, metal shirts on, all in one place. I think we were the black sheep in a way that we’re not specifically metal or hard rock as a lot of bands that played. We weren’t sure how the audience was gonna react to us doing our thing–but it was lovely. Anytime we find ourselves in a situation where our name is being thrown around in conjunction with artists like those of Download’s lineup—who are such masters of their craft—it’ll always make us strive to get better so that we somewhat belong amongst them.

In 2021, they travelled to Nashville to record their debut album, Nightmare Daydream. The story goes that footage (from some of their live shows) made its way to Dan Auerbach of The Black Keys. He then invited them to his studio where he produced their record. “I instantly dug them,” he says. “They’re amazing live. Their videos are so creative and they just sound so powerful. Anytime you doubletrack drums on a record, it’s going to sound heavy. You put that together with this baritone guitar player, who’s so unique, and it’s bombastic. There’s nothing like them.”

Did an instantly recognizable Black Keys sound concern them? “That never really crossed my mind,” says Demitro. “We’re all pretty familiar with Dan’s production style and what a great and versatile producer he is. One of my favorite things about working with him is that he really gives his artists room and encouragement to be themselves. Dan does have a signature sound in the things he produces but it’s a great sound so we’re more than happy to have it be part of our album.” Pottersmith further details the experience:

Dan might have been more cautious about that than us honestly. We were mainly just excited to have the opportunity to collaborate with him. There were songs where I was just wanting to rip off drum sounds from specific Black Keys songs, cause I loved them so much. Dan would hear me out but ultimately he’d remind us to not shy away from the sound we already had. He brought out the rawest most honest version of our sound.

The band’s 2022 odyssey continues with a place on hard prog rockers Greta Van Fleet’s tour as openers. “I have to pinch myself sometimes,” Demitro says. “It’s been an absolute dream and we feel super lucky to be a part of it. Greta Van Fleet and their whole crew have been so amazing to work with and the audiences have been nothing short of magical.” This fall sees them busy playing arenas with The Black Keys and Band of Horses so what’s going to happen for The Velveteers in 2023? “I’m gonna lock myself in my room and see what happens,” Demitro laughs; while Pottersmith jokes, “we’re retiring from rock n roll to become social media influencers.” In many ways, The Velveteers’ journey has only just begun.

@thevelveteers

PHOTOGRAPHY by ROXANNE CARRASCO

Queen Kwong’s third LP, Couples Only is one hell of a catharsis. Catharsis from what we can all agree have been a pretty challenging few years. Actually, pretty challenging might be an understatement because two months after Queen (real name Carré Kwong Callaway) was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis and had to deal with episodes where her lungs can fill with blood—her husband left her. A few months after that and all her stability was gone. Home, cats, studio and eventually the entire life she’d built in Detroit. She then spent a year crashing with friends as she dealt with it all. Couples Only is the culmination of fear, frustration, grief and recovery. Recorded in just three weeks with longtime collaborator and producer, Joe Cardamone, Couples Only was (as are all her records) entirely improvised and recorded on the spot. Nothing was pre-written lyrically or musically. They crafted a song a day and eventually whittled it down to eleven tracks for the record. “I’ve always been committed to just letting whatever comes out, be what it is,” she explains.

And especially with this record, I think as things were coming out...with my creative process, I am in such a flow state...everything is in the moment. I’m very unconscious of what I’m saying. The first take is usually mostly jibber jabber, then by the second take, the words are there. I record basically one song a day from scratch. In hindsight I look back and I’m like, ‘wow, like I said that pretty bluntly.’ This record, lyrically, I was a lot more direct and less poetic than some of my previous songs. I was just saying what needed to be said. There wasn’t really any sugarcoating. There’s not much reading between the lines and I think that was necessary.

The record also features members of her support network on various songs. And what a network it is: The Cure’s Roger O’Donnell, Swans’ Kristof Hahn, and Blood Red Shoes’ Laura-Mary Carter all appear on the album. Fellow musicians they may be but most importantly, they are trusted friends. Carré hit it off with them individually at various Queen Kwong live shows, and they’ve all offered help and support throughout the rocky past few years, and with the recording of this album. “I feel lighter,” Carré says matter-of-factly.

It was such a purge. It was how I feel after I get off tour, where every day I’m just giving 100%. And every day I’m just purging everything out of me, so at the end of it I feel completely depleted. I guess I’m zapped in that way. I have just kind of puked up every last bit of whatever’s in me. It’s very physical.

It’s very emotional. It’s super draining. I give everything and that’s just what happens in the flow state. It’s not even an intentional thing. It’s just the only way I know how to do it. After I was finished recording, I was exhausted. Now that the record’s out, I just feel like I’m not carrying as much toxic energy and resentment and anger. I do feel like I’ve reclaimed my voice and that in itself makes me feel like I’m in a position of power.

It’s a tremendous amount of mental and emotional strain for a person to shoulder. Outpouring into a record helps but has it offered her a sense of peace? “I wouldn’t say ‘peace’,” she answers.

• @queenkwong
• PHOTOGRAPHY by STEVEN MEIERS DOMINGUEZ
• ONG

WORDS by PATRICK CLARKE PHOTOGRAPHY by JIMMY FONTAINE tune in

dropout

Rock band Beauty School Dropout have a special word for the kind of music they make. “Renegade-Pop” says singer Colie over video call, so named because “when we started the band our main goal was to push boundaries in every direction.” Explains bassist Beepus: “We’re trying to avoid this constant recycling, where it sounds like the same song has been made 50,000 times.” There are obvious touchstones to their work— pop punk, trap, emo and a touch of glam-rock—but they aim to extract something new from those influences. “Trying to use our favorite stuff to make our new favorite stuff,” Beepus puts it. That spirit is mirrored in their looks; the band are decidedly fashion conscious but in a way that they intend to blur the boundaries of genre conventions. “Some days we look British. Some days we look like we’re in a glam band. We wanna blend everything,” says guitarist Bardo. They are committed maximalists. “We’re big into worldbuilding, through artwork, merch and photoshoots,” as well as the music itself of course. “We put our hands on everything.” Put simply, Colie says, “There are so many rules in music, let’s break them. Let’s absolutely destroy them and create something cool and magnificent and sticky and catchy and see how far we can take it.” From the very first conversations they had about the band, “we were like, ‘we’re not stopping until this is in stadiums.’” Colie, Beepus and their drummer Michael had all been in a band which had fallen apart. Colie spent around a year songwriting for other artists and sketching out ideas for a project he could front himself. He ended up linking back up with Beepus down the line, “I was litmus testing different producers and when we met Bardo, it was instant synergy. The last piece of the puzzle.” For a year straight they spent almost every day in the studio, trying to get noticed via their work for other artists. When the pandemic hit in 2020, it threatened to torpedo the band’s early momentum. They had not yet played their first live show, and with opportunities to do so suddenly vanishing, they were forced to innovate. They bought out online adverts, initially in Brasil where rates are cheapest; they even picked up some Portuguese in order to communicate with new fans. They started uploading cover versions to TikTok. “The original inception of the idea was ‘let’s just keep making Drake songs until something happens,’” jokes Bardo, “but then it kept going. People were like ‘actually, their music is cool, we like their personalities,’ and we tried to interact with people as much as possible.” Against the odds, Beauty School Dropout gained a significant following. When they were finally able to play a show, clearing out the racks from the basement of their friend’s vintage shop, it was a release. “We threw an open bar and just raged so hard. We flooded the place in so much alcohol, that people were leaving stepping through puddles. The energy was insane,” says Beepus. It was satisfying to see their efforts online during lockdown pay off. “Quarantine gave us ten years of growth in two years. It was therapy times a million,” says Beepus. It taught them, for instance, about the value of constant interaction with their fans. They still run a thriving Discord server for them—who they affectionately nickname ‘dropouts’—where they organize movie watchalongs or videogames. “We talk every day with our fans, try to be humans and that’s all you can do. The best marketing is word of mouth,” says Bardo. Tech-forward, they’re also embracing the possibil-

It was therapy times a million

ities of web3 with the launch of a platform called The Dropout World, which Beepus calls “a step further into our world.” Offering exclusive content, merchandise, VIP entry to shows and parties and more. “Basically it’s about exclusivity,” says Beepus. “If you’re rocking with us, we want to rock with you.” The exciting thing, he goes on, is the platform’s flexibility. “The biggest thing for us is that we just want to use the technology that’s available to bring people into our world.” At the beginning of 2022, their efforts attracted the attention of Verswire, a label whose venture capital-style approach involves investing in and supporting acts according to their specific needs; as well as allowing artists immediate access to various revenue streams. It all aims to upend outdated industry models. This forward-thinking approach chimed well, the band say, with their ideals of Renegade Pop. Mark Hoppus’ involvement as a strategic advisor was a selling point too. “He’s my messiah!” proclaims Beepus, who grew up playing in Blink-182 cover bands. “He’s not trying to change us in any way, he just wants to add to what we’re doing and offer advice,” says Bardo. Hoppus and Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz, also involved with Verswire, would later appear as exasperated dads in the band’s hedonistic video for “Assassin”. “It was pitched to us as this new way to tackle the music industry,” recalls Bardo. “They wanted to look at it like a startup and we’re all interested in that world.” The band’s embrace of business, in fact, is fundamental. During lockdown, says Colie, “the thing that took the most drastic 180 was our lack of awareness about how to operate like a business. Having to figure out how to make a digital footprint and a culture with no merch, no music out, made us realize that if we wanna survive as a band, we have to do it a certain way.” For those of an old-fashioned disposition, it’s easy to dismiss Beauty School Dropout’s intense focus on business and marketing as somewhat cold, but there is a rawness and heart behind what they do that should not go overlooked. A few years ago, Colie was driving when a man fell from a building and died in front of him. “When it happened my first thought was that I had just seen someone take his own life,” he remembers. Colie has had his own struggles with mental health, “but it sparked a thought of ‘I don’t wanna do that to the people around me.’” Later he considered the possibility that it had been an accident, “but even if it wasn’t intentional, it was an eye-opening experience how brutal life can really be. I think it lit a fire under my ass to achieve the things I envision and make sure we take things as far as we can.” How do the three ensure their own mental stability, particularly when the band’s entire ethos is based on allowing their fans constant and intimate access? “It all just comes down to willingness, just as much as they wanna be a part of it, we do too,” Colie explains. “It’s not a thing we have to think about. We just exist in the ecosystem and have fun with it, because that really is the point, to have this space for our people; for them to resonate with us as much as we do with them. Ultimately, for all their ambition and business-savvy, it’s a straightforward love for the exchange between artist and fan at Beauty School Dropout’s core, says Beepus. “We call our fans ‘dropouts’ because we want anyone in our world to know that no matter how much of an outsider you feel in your own reality, if you come to ours, you are loved, accepted, valued and appreciated.”

@bsd.wav

• BLACK PHO
• NEVER TALK TO STRANGE
• ETHAN HANY

BY hard as he does. In the six years since he launched his music career as bbno$, he’s released six albums, four EPs and countless standalone singles. Another album Bag Or Die is out in October, with the next two already in the works. Today, he’s in London for 20 hours, ahead of a lengthy European tour. Less than 48 hours ago, he was finishing up a North American run in Toronto and there’s another planned for November. “If I had five of me on my team, I would be Harry Styles,” he says with a grin. With over three billion streams on Spotify, he’s not doing too badly on his own. If he’s feeling the weight of his grueling tour schedule, Gumuchian doesn’t let it show. Walking around North London, he clambers onto broken fridges (and makes the amateur mistake of looking inside) before flagging down a passing ice cream van. Moments latnothing better. It’s a very euphoric feeling. Nowadays,NO er, he’s inside learning the art of soft serve with enough giddy enthusiasm, that we’re changing the phrase “kid in a candy shop” to “Canadian rapper in an ice cream van.” “That was one of the coolest things I’ve done in a while,” he says a little later, no pun intended. “I’ve always wanted to see inside one of those. If you don’t ask, you don’t get,” he adds with a shrug. That relaxed yet ambitious attitude drives his funky, funny hip-hop track. “pogo”, his recent dream-come-true collaboration with Diplo takes heavy tongue-in-cheek inspiration from Lady Gaga’s “LoveGame” while breakout track “Lalala” is a deliberately “braindead” track. Released in2019,it’s been streamed over 800 million times on Spotify alone. “It’s bigger than most Drake songs,” Gumuchian says matter-of-factly before explaining how it was made on a low budget. “That doesn’t matter though. If you listen to it, it’s perfect. And perfect songs blow up.” As a kid, Gumuchian was always going to shows and wondering what the view was like from the stage but bbno$ was born after he “made a song with some friends while we were unbelievably high. The track was so bad, and we all knew it but I had so much fun actually making it.” To this day, he’s still chasing that same, carefree excitement. “Making a song and having fun, there’s

WORDS by ALI SHUTLER PHOTOGRAPHY by MATT HASS STYLING by CASSIE WALKER

Pants by SUPPLIER OFFICIAL, vintage polo by Burberry; belt, bracelet and sneakers his own

there’s more pressure cause this is my actual job but during covid, I set myself a goal of falling back in love with making music.” As with every goal Gumanchian sets himself, it didn’t take long to achieve. Bag Or Die takes inspiration from The Neptunes and features some of “the most intricate rap songs” bbno$’s ever made. “It’s full of fun, fast, catchy, I-don’tgive-a-fuck tracks,” he says. Lyrically, Gumanchian “just says stuff that sounds good. I don’t give a shit about the message.” Later, he describes his style as “saying stupid shit over beats” before calling himself “overrated. I don’t deserve to have a music career but God bless, I do.” “I usually only put three good songs on an album and then the rest is filler, because no one listens to albums anymore anyway,” continues Gumanchian. “But Bag Or Die is 15 really good songs.” Part of him hopes it’s “received with as much thought as I put into it,” the other “doesn’t really give a shit. I’m going to drop it, then move on.” He’s got a third collaborative record planned with American rapper Yung Gravy and is going to spend the start of next year writing another album. “I was thinking about doing something super different because I haven’t really reinvented myself in a long while. I get bored,” he continues, suggesting a “spacious, alternative rock” album. “The most important thing to me is putting out good music. Making different sounding records keeps you on your toes, keeps you up to date and keeps things entertaining. I make music to have fun with myself,” he says. “Wait, that sounded sexual…c’est la vie,” he shrugs. bbno$ is releasing Bag Or Die as an album rather than a series of individual tracks because according to various algorithms, you can only really release a new single every 21 days if you want it to make an impact and he’s got a lot of music to share with people. “I might as well feed the fans who want it,” he reasons. What bbno$ really craves though? Big, smash hit songs. He knows he could spend a year “really pushing one song” and forcing a hit that way but he prefers “rolling the dice. It’s just way more fun. Call me crazy, but I love me some validation and there’s nothing better than the good, old-fashioned validation that comes from your art.” He talks in depth about how he can use platforms like Spotify to analyze and pick apart every release (“the day at Spotify ends at 4:25 pm PST. If you see an uplift in streams on the 18 or 21 day after the song first th st came out, it means you’re doing something right with promo”) but admits that releasing songs is like “shooting darts… sometimes you hit high, sometimes you hit low. It’s a lot of unknowns which sucks because in most other businesses, there’s science behind it. Music is almost all luck.” There’s an authenticity to that though. “If a fan likes a song, they’ll listen to it again. They’ll show it to their friends. It’s as simple as that.” And people certainly liked “Lalala”. bbno$ knew it was a banger as soon as it was recorded but he wasn’t expecting it to blow up as massively as it did. Still, he dismisses the idea that he’s an overnight success story. “There are freak cases where an artist does blow up overnight but for the majority of us, it takes a lot of work.” The success of “Lalala”–“jaded me a little bit,” says bbno$. “It forced me to learn a lot, really fast. It really showed me that a lot of people working in the music industry are doing it solely for money. The artist is just a product to them. There was this one guy who I would love to name because he was a douchebag, but I’ve genuinely forgotten his name. He set up a meeting with

MU me and the first thing he asked was ‘did you produce “Lalala”?’ Dude, do your fucking research. I ate my eggs benny and left.” He admits it was “tough to follow that track up” but a year and half later, bbno$ had another absolute smash with “Edamame”. “I was surprised it took me that long to have another hit,” he admits. “I’m chasing the drag-

SIC definitely a time suck, but it’s also progressive as well.

on. All I want is hits.” Still, that doesn’t mean bbno$ will do just anything to get one. He only releases music he genuinely likes and he remains an independent artist. “It’s probably a little bit of ego but if a song is good enough, if you just make good enough music, it’ll blow up. I’m not saying my music is amazing but I’ve blown up at least twice now. I can probably do it a couple more times, so what’s the point of a label?” Especially when artists have access to platforms like TikTok. bbno$ describes the social media app as “a very important tool that a lot of artists don’t want to use, let alone know how to use. I think they’re dumbasses,” he says. Earlier this year he posted a clip of himself crying after getting roasted (“your goatee looks like an upside mushroom cloud coming out of your top lip, which is the only time something fire has come out of your mouth”) which got 28 million views. “Tell me, how many

ISALMOST radio interviews I would have to do to get that sort of reach? I do think it’s a bit regressive for society and it’s

Information can be spread so fast, but it also leans to where you want to go. If you’re right wing, you get right wing videos. If you’re left wing, you get left wing content. Me, I watch videos of frogs listening to Playboi Carti.” “My platform is just riddled with positivity,” says Gumuchian. “I think my music speaks to people who are like me. The people who didn’t really know who they were growing up. They come out to my shows to break free for a little bit and to feel understood. It’s really cool, cause I wanted to be a doctor and I wanted to help people. I broke my back when I was younger so I understand pain and its physical and psychological effects. I feel like I’ve helped a lot more people through my music than I would have as a doctor.” Talking about

ALL his long term ambitions, bbno$ wants more hits and to eventually open up a non-profit to combat the opioid crisis in America, as well as start a record label to help other artists. Gumuchian takes his music and career “super seriously, because why the fuck not?” but doesn’t treat bbno$ with the same level of respect. “I’m definitely in on the joke,” he beams. “I love reading comments with people roasting me cause dude, I’m rich. They’re probably not.” Online, the only comments bbno$ replies to are the negative ones. “If you’ve spent that long typing out a message because you hate me that much, I’m obviously going to reply.“ It comes at a time where a new wave of rappers like Lil Nas X and Jack Harlow are being celebrated for unashamedly being themselves onstage and off. “It’s just

LU easier to be yourself,” starts bbno$ before explaining how when he started out, people would ask him about putting on a larger-than-life persona. “I could, but that requires effort,” he’d reply. “It doesn’t sound like much fun either, does it?” It doesn’t matter which one of bbno$’s many songs you press play on, that sense of joy is unavoidable. “The only thing to do in life is to have fun,” he continues. “I understand that if I was a bit more focused on clout, my career would probably be a bit more successful but I don’t live that life. It’s just not me.”

@bbnomula

STYLING by LYN ALYSON MAKEUP by DOMINIQUE DELLAMIGORE HAIR by LAURA RUGETTI

Noah

Sweeping back to form with a host of new revelations about herself, the world and where home is for her, The Hardest Part is Noah Cyrus’ map back to herself as she tracks a path of self-discovery and shares the advice that got her there. Cyrus is here to bring you comfort with her latest record, with the intention that the songs she created to self-soothe and process a host of difficult emotions will also help us all do the same. Coming out of the pandemic and period of personal darkness, she is raw, honest and earnest about her quest to find solace in her own songwriting and emerging from isolation via the connections and collaborations in her work. “This record brought me back to life again,” she says over Zoom on a fine morning in LA. “It was an opportunity to be around people that are positive influences on me and my world. Also, being so close and working so closely with people I admire so much was extremely healing for me.” It’s not just the relationships that the album allowed her to nourish that benefitted her though, Cyrus approaches her work with a clear plan and enjoys a linear process in her songwriting, as she puts it: “Having a WORDS by GEMMA LACEY PHOTOGRAPHY by DANIEL PRAKOPCYK

I’m learning how to be at peace with myself

NOAH wears Lace Catsuit by Sarah Regensburger, Pumps by Marine Serre

Sweater by Natalia Fedner, Earrings by MISHO, Rings by Jacqueline Garrity

I was isolating a lot routine and structure allowed me to find who I am, not just lyrically, but sonically, and musically, which was a very healing process for me.“ Certainly there’s a sense of scale and ambition in this record which surpasses her previous work, but in a gentle way that’s welcome and reveals further nuances of her as an artist. She describes this transition. “Initially the music had been pretty simple and I think we just found a way to elevate my sound and keep it simple without overpowering the lyrics.” Much of this was achieved with layers of sound which creates a rich subtlety to the record and allows for new discoveries with every listening. Another place the elevation is evident is in her lyrics, there’s always a wry, catchy humor to her titles, case in point “I Got So High That I Saw Jesus” but on this record, the lyrics are more evolved, reflective and observant. For her lyrics to act almost as a journal allows her to visualize moments she’s experienced and then to draw them into a more collective experience– it’s this generosity which makes her work so vulnerable and compelling. ”I am a very visual person so I’m really good at recreating visual moments that I’ve lived, and really being able to paint the picture. I can remember every single aspect of that situation, what the person smelled like, what the place smelled like, what it tasted like, what I heard, what I saw, what I felt, I remember everything.“ Another very tangible influence on her was Nashville, where her childhood home is, and that she views as a sacred place in many ways. “Nashville. You get off of the airplane and you get out into the country or, in my case the farm with my dad, and the air is just different. You breathe in and it’s light and it’s clean and it just feels different. I swear sometimes I’ll wake up in the morning and I’ll step off my dad’s porch and I’ll just sit there and I’ll take 10 deep breaths because I just don’t get to breathe air that pure. Whether that’s an emotional thing or a real thing, that’s how it feels to me to be at home with my family and the people I love.“ By contrast, on “I Burned LA Down” she takes us through a tour of the pain a breakup brings along with the brilliant visual metaphor of a city on fire. For her, the fires represent a lack of control “I was feeling that personally in my life, and poetically, it felt quite relatable to me and my feelings and how I felt out of control with this relationship I was in. As I was writing this song, up north was completely engulfed in flames. I related to it and was inspired by it a lot, but also of course that stemmed from fear and anxieties of climate change and what we’re facing right now too.“ Another gift she has is to bring a collective experience and make it tangible in a personal way for people. Something you’ll find, for example, with “Loretta’s Song”, which she wrote in honor of her grandma, recently passed away. The initial intention for the song was that it be a gift to her mom: “Something that could give her strength and something that she could use to feel close to her mom every single day, just by listening to the record.” She describes how thoughtfully she crafted the song “including reminders or messages that, I think Loretta would really want my mom to hear.” Part of this came from a sense of guilt at not being as available for her mom during a difficult time. “I was really deep into my addiction with downers and it caused me to isolate myself. I was isolating a lot already, but once… once grief came into the mix and a loss came into the mix that isolation went even further and I spiraled even more, so I wasn’t as present as I wanted to be.”

To focus on where she was though is not half as interesting as the journey she’s taken to where she is now, and it’s clear this record has really helped paved the way for her to find peace with herself and the world around her. “This record completely reconnected me with me. I felt like I was lost personally. I felt like I was lost spiritually. I felt like I was lost musically. I reconnected with myself and who and what I want to share, and what I want that to sound like and feel like, and what I want people to take away from it. I’m just very clear minded all around and can make decisions very clearly and I feel like I haven’t had that type of control in a long time.” Part of this stems from the personal work she’s done alongside this record, which she says now means she finds herself “the happiest I’ve been since I was a kid.” She talks candidly about her healing process outside of her work. “I know I neglected myself for a very long time, and so I’m really learning how to be at peace with myself and comfort myself. I was talking about this yesterday with Jay Shetty and healing your inner child is so important as well. My inner child was reaching out of desperation to be healed. So I’m really doing my best to do so right now, because, I know once I do that, I’m gonna feel a lot of growth in myself. So I’m working on that every day and this album was a huge start.” “This album completely saved my life. I think had I not had this record, I’m sure my recovery would’ve been successful but it would’ve been way more difficult, it just gave me so much strength to keep going, because I knew that there was something on the other side.” It’s clear the community she found in creating it was just as healing and some interactions were fundamental in shaping how she wrote. “I bumped into John Mayer and he told me about some of my songs he liked. He said ‘keep singing songs like this that’ll last the rest of your life and you’ll never really feel like you’re working. Just keep singing songs that are gonna last a lifetime.’” For him that represents success. “If you can just continue writing these songs that are going to not just be good in a year from now, or 10 years from now, or you write songs that make you feel the way writing July” or “I Got So High I Saw Jesus” make you feel, then your music is going to last forever.” These became her guiding principles for the record, as she puts it “for me, I just set out to keep looking for that feeling and to keep writing songs that gave me that same strong feeling. In doing that, I’ve written an entire album.” For Cyrus, working this way was not about just writing hits but also finding the truth in her work. “In essence, that advice to just keep searching, keep writing, keep working—it will help you make songs that are honest, that people will wanna love and listen to forever.” We discuss if there is something she wants her fans to be able to take away from the record and her response is immediate. “I hope that this record can give a lot of comfort to people. I hope it can bring people who are missing home or far away from home closer to that. I hope that this can bring a lot of peace and understanding to people. I hope it can help people get to know me.” If one thing’s clear, it’s that Cyrus has found herself in the making of this record and listening at home, we all just might get to discover her too.

@noahcyrus

Dress by Patou, Hat by Stetson, Rings by Laura Estrada Jewelry, Elevated Court Shoes by Vivienne Westwood, vintage; Necklace by Cavalli, vintage

WORDS by JOSH JONES DIRECTION by SHANE GONZALEZ PHOTOGRAPHY by JASON RENAUD PHOTOGRAPHY ASSISTED by TUI-CARO LISTER HAIR & MAKEUP by ANNA-SOPHIE VEGA

Shane Gonzales, founder of fashion label MIDNIGHT STUDIOS, is a good friend of the magazine so when we wanted to do a fashion feature set in LA, he was the first person we called. We’re delight ed he had the time in his schedule to create something great for us. “For this shoot I pulled several of my favorite styles from my new Fall/Winter

2022 collection titled, Candy Darling. I also selected some personal wardrobe items from my favorite modern designers, such as Givenchy by Matthew Williams, Balenciaga by Demna Gvasalia, and Kapital by Kiro Hirata.” Following a theme which reflects the subcultur al icons behind Andy Warhol’s iconic Silver Factory days in New York City, the spread also highlights some of the prominent superstars that influenced

generations to come. “Each look itself was a mix of what I just spoke about, but some key muses in the wardrobe include Mr. Andy Warhol himself in his confident, analytical and ambitious stature,” Shane says of the collection. I’ve also used leather and studs to mirror the cool, collected, mysterious composure behind The Velvet Underground and those who often shared the room with them. And the almost concluding muse of the entire collection, and the inspiration behind the title, is Ms. Candy Darling. When designing the collection, I looked to the confidence, fearlessness and talent that Candy portrayed while she was alive. A lot of the garments I designed in

BSA

this collection were a reflection of each muse and their personal wardrobe with hidden details inside and out; subtle hints of my personal views of that time period. I’ve recreated some styles actually seen on the likes of Lou Reed, Candy Darling, Warhol…but put a MIDNIGHT STUDIOS spin on them.” @shaneaveli

Wave

HELLO

A clanging sound reverberates around the upstairs of a terrace house (and former chandelier factory) in London's Soho, followed by a dragging noise across the wooden floorboards worthy of a horror movie. Poke your head around the door, though, and you won’t find ghosts or monsters but Pale Waves’ singer and guitarist Heather Baron-Gracie striking an intimidating pose for MARVIN’s camera, huge metal chain in hand. Moments later, next door, drummer Ciara Doran gets on the action by taking a hammer for their macabre prop. “The memes that are gonna be made with those photos!” Heather laughs once the shoot is over, tucking into a plate of avocado toast at the much less grimy Soho House. She and her bandmates are in good spirits and for good reason. We’re meeting a week before the release of their third album, Unwanted, a record that finds the four-piece—completed by guitarist Hugo Silvani and bassist Charlie Wood—stronger than ever. Unwanted is Pale Waves’ most personal album yet, with principal songwriter Heather delving into everything from her relationship (“Reasons to Live”) to regrets (“The Hard Way”). But getting to a place where she could write comfortably and openly about these aspects of her life has been a journey for the musician. “I really struggled with it,” she explains. “I’m quite a reserved person as it is. God knows why I chose this job! But when you’re a kid, you don’t really think about everything that comes with being a musician. You don’t really think about interviews and press, or even touring, WORDS by RHIAN DALY PHOTOGRAPHY by KI PRICE

I’m a princess, so gimme my crown.

in a way.” After learning to handle the extraneous parts of the job, she also got more comfortable in her own skin. Once that happened, she immediately found talking about her life in interviews and writing about it less intimidating. “I know who I am and if people like it, they like it. If they don’t, that’s totally fine.” As for most of us, the frontwoman has had plenty of time to reflect on just who she is over the last couple of years, thanks to the pandemic taking the Manchester-born band off the road for the longest period since they signed with the label Dirty Hit in 2017. Hitting the pause button might not have been in Pale Waves’ plans back in 2020 but it turned out to be much needed for them. “I was at a breaking point right before the pandemic,” Heather recalls. “My mental health was so fragile. We’d had four years straight on tour, and I didn’t know what stability was or what waking up in the same place was like.” Having normality—or at least some facets of it—not only helped her feel more at home with herself but also made her realize the band’s mode of operation needed to change.

We said ‘yes’ to pretty much everything at the start. We were like: ‘we want to be successful, and this is the way to do it, so we’re gonna do pretty much everything.’ But I’ve gotten to an age where I can’t push myself like I used to. I need to be more fragile with myself because I really pushed my body to its ultimate limits, hence why I’ve gone sober.

These days, she has a new motto to live by: Strive to be the best you can, but don’t overshoot and make yourself sick. It’s just not worth it. In the past, Pale Waves going so hard commercially led to the singer feeling more like a product being pushed than a human being. It left her questioning her future in music. “I’ve battled with myself a few times [about that],” she says, a wry smile spreading across her face. “Do I run away and live a nice little life in the woods in a cabin? I’ve had moments of ‘this is too much for me.’ I’m happiest when I’m in nature and when I’m isolated but I’m happiest when I’m playing music too, so it’s a constant battle.” The cabin hasn’t become reality yet but both Heather and Ciara have upped sticks and left their native England behind. They now reside in LA. The former to be with her girlfriend, the latter to take comfort and find acceptance. Ciara came out as trans and non-binary in February 2021 and has been sharing their experiences with transitioning with fans online since. “Ciara loves it in LA,” Heather says fondly. “With their transition and their journey, they feel more accepted there, and there’s more of a community there. They’ll never move back [to the UK]. I can’t say that for myself, though. I haven’t really found a place that feels like home yet.” The last few years might have helped Pale Waves find peace in themselves, but Unwanted isn’t sunshine and rainbows. Instead, it tackles some ugly emotions: jealousy, vanity and rage among them. Typically, these aren’t feelings women are given the space to express in modern society; which is exactly why Heather filled the record with them.

There’s such a difference in how we perceive the genders. A woman gets angry and she’s ‘a bitch’; a man gets angry, and he’s ‘confident’… he ‘knows what he wants’…he’s ‘not afraid.’ A man gets jealous, and that’s attractive or ro-

You want to be jealous? Be jealous.

mantic because he’s being ‘protective’. I wanted to break down barriers of those traditional ways of thinking and just say, everyone’s equal. You want to be jealous? Be jealous and let that person be jealous instead of labeling them as crazy.

The raw, vintage rock n roll of the track “You’re So Vain”—which boasts tinges of Joan Jett—opens with the singer purring in hushed spoken word: I’m a princess, so gimme my crown/Yeah, I’m gonna bring you, gonna bring you down/I tried my best to bite my tongue / But I listened to your shit for far too long. It’s quietly, thrillingly, seething and if you’re the target of its ire, probably a little daunting too. “That song is just a collective of experiences with people in my life that I’ve run into or are currently still in my life,” Heather explains. “Especially in the music industry, I feel like I’ve met a lot of people where I’ve just thought: ‘God, you’re such a dick’.” She rolls her eyes and pulls a look of disbelief. “Bring the ego down! Just because you’ve got a lot of followers doesn’t mean you’re the queen. A lot of the time, I just think, ‘I wish you could be knocked down a peg.’” Pale Waves are the latest in a new wave of particularly female artists who are reclaiming these kinds of frowned-upon emotions and expressions. Olivia Rodrigo’s debut album Sour coursed with spite, pettiness and intense teen rage. Halsey’s 2019 single, “Nightmare”, furiously railed against the idea that women should be smiling and happy all the time. For Heather, being alongside them is important to her. “I want to embrace [that movement] because there’s

God knows why I chose this job!

still such inequality in everyday life and I don’t want that to be there anymore,” she sighs. Unwanted also taps into the energy of the pop punk resurgence while heading into darker, heavier territory than fans of their sparkly 80s-indebted debut album could have expected back in 2018. This sound isn’t the final form of the band yet, though. “We’ve got a strong identity,” their frontwoman nods. “But I feel like it’s almost a new identity. The first album was very 80s, the second was very 90s and 00s, and this is very alternative rock/pop punk, but has that pop sensibility. I feel like when we go to the fourth album and push even more in that direction, then we’re gonna solidify the identity even more. I want to take it more like “You’re So Vain” rather than pop punk.” As the plates are cleared around us, Heather keeps her focus on the future, ambition surging through her words. “I want to be in big arenas. I want to headline festivals,” she says. Pale Waves might not be at that level exactly yet, but she’s confident it won’t be much longer until they are. “From our second album, we’re at a pretty good point, and we’re gonna grow even faster now because this album is our best album. Hopefully, our next album will be even better.” It seems foolish to think otherwise.

@palewaves

Trench C oat by RED S EPTEMBER

t r u t h

Trent

Reznor

WORDS by MATTHEW SCHNIPPER PHOTOGRAPHY by MARVIN SCOTT JARRETT STYLING by KAREN LEVITT GROOMING by JOHNNY STUNTZ

The anteroom of Trent Reznor’s home studio is as anonymous as a doctor’s office, save for the life-size sculpture of a banshee playing a keyboard. As I wait for Reznor, a guy named Jacob introduces himself and offers me a Fiji water from a big fridge. After a moment, Reznor comes from around a corner, shakes my hand and disappears back down the hallway. No one mentions the banshee but artwork lines the walls, most of which appears to be original work for various Reznor projects, including the iconic cover art for Nine Inch Nails’ 1994 masterpiece, The Downward Spiral by Russell Mills, which includes the artist’s blood. Five minutes later, Reznor comes back around the corner to lead me to his studio, a large room tidily filled with musical instruments. There are so many analog synthesizers packed with wires it looks like a server room. It’s lit in a James Turrell-esque blue and purple glow. He offers me a seat at “the commander’s chair,” a comfortable black recliner situated in front of a 10-foot long mixing board. It also stares onto a large video screen that he and his NIN bandmate, Atticus Ross, use to play films while they’re scoring them. Their work covers a wide array of cinema, starting with David Fincher’s, The Social Network (2010) to Sandra Bullock’s high-concept, Netflix thriller Bird Box (2018) to Jonah Hill’s nostalgia vehicle, Mid90s (2018). Hundreds of thousands of dollars of equipment is around me, and I carelessly put my water bottle down inches from away it all. Reznor is pretty nice about it though, when he politely asks me to move it to avoid any accidents. Dressed plainly in a fitted black t-shirt and dark blue jeans, he looks like a fashionable dad from suburban Pennsylvania, which technically, he is. Limber and relaxed, he looks at least a decade younger than 57, especially since he hasn’t really stopped working for the past 35 years.

Either that part of my life is over or I just die.

It’s a career most musicians would envy. He was only 24 when he released Nine Inch Nails’ debut album, Pretty Hate Machine (1989). It gave us “Head Like a Hole,” a searing synthesis of industrial, techno and punk with a disgusted Reznor bellowing out the provocation to: Bow down before the one you serve/You’re going to get what you deserve. Despite its blistering sound, the song was a hit. In its music video, Reznor looked feral and hot with long hair and dirty clothes. When he screamed, I’d rather die than give you control, it could’ve been about money, or parents, or school, or politics, but listeners heard something that resonated with them. That Reznor—while making such confrontational music—found such a wide audience, points as much to his aesthetic as to the strength of his songwriting and arranging. He’s a creative mega force but he’s also an incredible technician, able to coax layers upon layers of sound from an ever-growing array of machines. His lyrics, often plainspoken, are potent without being sloganeering. Not coincidentally, he’s also very good at rhyming. Most of NIN’s early work was about antipathy towards the world and its inhabitants. Take “Wish,” a single with David Bowie from their 1992 EP, Broken I put my faith in god and my trust in you/Now there’s nothing more fucked up I could do/Wish there was something real wish there was something true/Wish there was something real in this world full of you/I’m the one without a soul I’m the one with this big fucking hole. It reeks of disappointment, yes, but also of desire. Reznor makes plain his repulsion but he also seems desperate to find solace from it. You could map your own 90s struggles onto his music as needed. Whoever or whatever oppressed you, Reznor created anthems

Suit by Ashton Michael, Shirt by PRIVATE POLICY

Leather Bandeau Bag by JONNY COTA, T-Shirt by AllSaints, Trousers by BURBERRY, Boots by PRADA

in solidarity with victims about taking power back. The difference between him and his 90s alt rock peers is that their messages were about triumph and Reznor’s were about survival. For much of his young adulthood, Reznor struggled with drug and alcohol addiction. It fueled much of his music’s rage as he was as angry with himself as he was with the world. “When Nine Inch Nails revealed itself to me—back when I was in my early twenties—the fundamental part of it (whether I could see it or not) was to just try to be as truthful as I could with myself,” he explains. “I could write shit where I’m imitating. Or I could peel away the protection and the safety of storytelling and try to get right into it. Some people responded to the art direction, some people to the sound. But the people to whom it meant the most, could sense the truthfulness to it.” Nine Inch Nails’ third album The Downward Spiral was a stark statement of beauty. One that included Reznor’s most enduring lyric, from the song “Closer”: I want to fuck you like an animal. The album closed with “Hurt,” a quiet song that directly addressed Reznor’s heroin use. The vocals are almost whispered: The needle tears a hole/The old familiar sting/Try to kill it all away/But I remember everything. It’s an intense song, and one that’s taken a journey. Producer Rick Rubin brought it to Johnny Cash and encouraged him to record a spare cover. He did, and the resulting 2002 song, would come to serve as a farewell when Cash passed away a year later. What have I become?/My sweetest friend/Everyone I know goes away/In the end. When Reznor sings it, it’s a young man taking stock of mistakes; when Cash sings it, it’s an acceptance of death. Cash’s version, so much rawer for his failing health at recording, showed off the song’s strong bones. Even for those not interested in the sonic darkness of NIN, “Hurt” has since become a modern pop standard, covered regularly by artists of all kinds. David Bowie performed the song live; so did the British folkies, Mumford & Sons. Cash’s cover was named “Single of the Year” at the 2003 CMA Awards. Reznor got sober that same year. “The process of bottoming out for me was just one of complete surrender, of acknowledging that I needed help,” he said. “I just felt like I wasn’t swimming upstream anymore. It was a significant shift instantly.” Quitting drugs and alcohol is an enormous life change for anyone, but especially so for a musician whose work has often been propelled by it. Reznor worried he’d be drained of his songwriting power.

Initially, after I got clean, I thought maybe, maybe [I’d written] what I needed to write. And man, I hoped that I didn’t discover that because there’s no good outcome if that was the case. Either that part of my life is over or I just die. So, I waited a bit after I got clean, to dip my toe in, to see if—on top of this weird new life—I could still do other things that I used to be able to do. What if I wouldn’t have anything to say because it was all coming from chemicals or something. And that was a bunch of bullshit.

There’s a lot to learn, and I’m excited by it.

Instead, seeing his life through to the other side of addiction gave him an artistic weightlessness. He felt freer to compose more abstract music, something he’d previously found intimidating. “I got to a point where, ‘hey, if it doesn’t work, then it doesn’t work.’ Unexpectedly, I found it does work and I feel differently about it now because I’m not as afraid to fail.”

It was really fun to see the power of

Sweater and Pants by AllSaints, Holster by JONNY COTA, Boots by Dr. Martens what music can do

If something sucks and quite often it does, it goes in the pile over there. Maybe in a week, it doesn’t seem as sucky as it did. Or you know, maybe it is just a piece of shit. But sorting through that is part of the discipline of creativity. I had to learn all that. And then somewhere in the process of that, trying to also maintain some objectivity of keeping hubris in check.

In 2008, Reznor and Ross, released an instrumental Nine Inch Nails album called Ghosts I-IV. It’s 36 songs (38, if you include the two bonus tracks), most of them are around three minutes long. The pieces vary in style, some funky, some mellow, but they’re all impressionistic; largely made up of a free-floating mesh of dour, sparse piano and foreboding, buzzing noises. The precarious state of life he’d long been singing about was now hours of music without words, sketches of anxiety, distilled through feedback.

Do I feel like it’s valid to me? Does it feel real?

A few years later, when Fincher was working on The Social Network, he used tracks from Ghosts I-IV as stand-in music during production before officially approaching Reznor to write the film’s original score. Initially apprehensive, Reznor eventually relented and the finished product is a marvel. Animalistic at times and delicate at others, its small sounds express big feelings. The film’s version of Facebook founder, Mark Zuckerberg is a nebbish antihero who tries to project authority. Reznor’s score matches the mood, with brief moments of melody dragged down by the whir of a pensive cello. Zuckerberg is his own buzzkill; and the score is the sound of his uneasy heartbeat. Reznor and Ross won the Oscar for Best Original Score that year. A framed photo of them accepting it hangs in the back of his studio. In the decade since, the duo have released eight more feature film scores. They won another Academy Award for Best Original Score in 2021 with Jon Batiste for the Pixar hit, Soul. Reznor is noticeably more proud and effusive when discussing his scoring work. “It was really fun to see the power of what music can do collaborating with Fincher and his camp. Film was exciting...with your hands on the controls. Unexpectedly, we started winning awards and suddenly people were asking us to do other projects.” He and Ross say ‘no’ to more film projects, than ‘yes’—and proactively reach out to admired directors, though he declines to name any names. Most recently, they’ve been working on Italian director Luca Guadagnino’s upcoming cannibal love story, Bones and All, as well as the director’s next film. He is near giddy talking about it. “Luca’s new thing feels like it might be rhythmic and beat-oriented so I get to dust off my brain a bit. I’m trying to learn about four different drum machines and workstations–in ways that might be unique, just to see if something comes out. I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing completely. I feel like there’s a lot to learn and I’m excited by it.” Though he’s regularly releasing EPs and collaborations, scoring has become a passion. He keeps a steady Monday through Friday, 11—7, studio schedule and he raises five kids under age twelve. How does he keep it all balanced? “There was some soul searching about what sort of job [scoring films] was going to become. Do we want to try to get into a Hans-Zimmer-world...and start a factory up? My top priority is trying to be around for my kids and to be present. After doing a few more films, the conclusion we’ve come to is, it’s nice to have it as something else to do.” For the thing that takes up most of his time to be “something else” means he still retains fealty to Nine Inch Nails, despite not releasing a more traditional song-based album under the NIN name since 2013. In 2020, in the earliest, scariest days of the pandemic, he and Ross did revisit theGhosts project, releasing two companion albums in 2020, Ghosts V: Together and Ghosts VI: Locusts. What was it like to return to cutting studio albums after almost a decade of composing for film?

“The process of composing was, sometimes, working on music as flights of fancy... seeing where something leads,” he answers. “There was a growing pile of things that felt fun musically, that didn’t feel like they were going to turn into songs,” he pauses for a moment. “There’s only so many instrumental bits I can fit on a record without it feeling lazy. The goal is an album you can listen to, that’s not completely pretentious.” If not ‘completely’, exactly how pretentious should an album be? “There’s a percentage you aim for,” he replies. What is it? “It depends on how full of shit you are.”

The goal is an album you can listen to, that’s not completely pretentious.

The “truth” and “bullshit” dichotomy keep coming up during our conversation. Basically, truth is a moving target and bullshit is everywhere. He’s perfected the tortured genius persona. He can capitalize off of it or he can heal from it but nothing seems more painful to him than faking it. He was dismayed to find his mind wandering onstage during some recent shows. It felt to him as if almost going through the motions of performing. “What are we doing right now? What does the audience expect? Do I feel like it’s valid to me? Does it feel real? Does it feel like I’m putting on a costume, pretending I’m somebody I used to be? How much of it is nostalgia? How much of it feels relevant?” Voices telling him to be true to himself are healthier than the ones he was fighting in his head when he was younger but the process is still about confronting himself. It may be why his music, despite changing over time, is so effective as a soundtrack of catharsis. Apparently, he’s asked himself the right questions and is finally comfortable with his answers. “I’ve always tried to do what I thought was best for Nine Inch Nails, with integrity and truthfulness at the heart of it. I want to pursue excellence. And I want to articulate and express the things inside of me,” he explains. “I feel like I have something to say at this point in my life so I’m itching to put Nine Inch Nails’ new record on the front burner.” There’s a lovely late period NIN song, “Find My Way,” from 2013’s Hesitation Marks. It’s a slow boil of a song. Reznor has a mew instead of his typical growl. The piano tinkles. There’s the typical background noise but it feels more like a nice breeze than a looming storm. Lyrically, it’s sort of Reznor’s take on poet Robert Frost’s “two roads diverged in a yellow wood”: Well, my path has gone astray/I’m just trying to find my way/Wandered here from far away/I’m just trying to find my way/You were never meant to see/All those things inside of me/Now that you have gone away/I’m just trying to find my way. Earlier in his career, maybe this song was about escape. Escape from systems, or escape from himself. But after spending time with Reznor, I hear it in a new way. It doesn’t have to be about being lost. It can also be about discovery and about possibility. “You know, I’m a pretty cynical motherfucker,” he admits. “The glass can always be half full or half empty. Half empty is just a matter of perception. I would prefer not to feel that way.” @treznor

I’m standing in a bright airy photo studio in East London, drinking tea and shooting the breeze with Tom the photographer when we hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Call time for everyone isn’t for another forty minutes. The photography team only just started screwing light stands together. We presume it’s the studio manager arriving. Instead, “hello,” says a soft voice. We turn to see a tall, impressively built man, setting down a huge suitcase. He reaches out to shake hands. “I’m Scar. I’m a bit early.” The accent gives away his Wolverhampton roots, his hair is perfectly messed up and he flashes us a shining smile. You wouldn’t expect 28-year-old Marius Lucas Antonio Listhrop, aka Scarlxrd, to enter any room in such an understated way. As a pioneer of the trap metal scene—definitely not a relaxed genre of music—he’s got millions of followers, a fashion label called DXXM- LIFE, at least three alter egos and an incredible rate of output. Since 2016 (and this may change by press time) he’s released fifteen albums on his own label, Lxrd Records and twelve EPs as Scarlxrd, along with a handful of albums and EPs under his alts Taka Lxrd, SPRNKLZ and Lucas Hector. “With Scarlxrd it’s more obnoxious, tongue-in-cheek and literal. I say what I mean as Scar but with Taka Lxrd, I play with words and poetry and ideas. I think my best work lyrically, by far, is with Taka Lxrd.” Scar, as he prefers to be called when we sit down for the interview, has spent the last six years plowing his own furrow, building up an organic fanbase and not playing by the standard music industry rules. His first taste of real fame came in 2013 when he spent a couple of years as a YouTube personality known as Mazzi Maz, and earned a sizable following before deciding to focus on music, first as vocalist with the nu metal band Myth City and then as a solo artist/rapper. As well as being a vanguard for trap metal, Scarlxrd was identifiable from his insistence on wearing a mask in everything he did early on. Then, in 2020, just before the pandemic really took hold, he made the decision to take it off—just when everyone else was putting one on. “Oh man,” he laughs uproariously when asked about the timing of the choice. “People thought I could predict the future. People said ‘Scarlxrd, he’s ahead of the curve.’ I’d made a song called “6 Feet” and then we had to social distance six feet! They were like ‘this guy, he was trying to tell us something; he is the future–tell us more!’ People think I predicted the pandemic. Listen, I can’t confirm nor deny that I knew about the pandemic. I’m not saying I’m a prophet,” he pauses. “But I’m the closest fucking thing,” he adds before bursting into laughter again. Along with losing the mask, Scarlxrd has changed his whole aesthetic. Things are more stripped back and simple. Take, for instance, this photoshoot for WORDS by JOSH JONES PHOTOGRAPHY by TOM OXLEY

SCARLXRD wears G Link Necklace by GIVENCHY, Choker and Mesh by DXXMLIFE

MARVIN. There’s no entourage, no hair and makeup or stylist. He’s decided to do all that himself, hence the huge suitcase, which he can’t wait to open to show us his brand new Balmain sneakers. “I got them in every color” he joyfully admits, holding them up like brand new puppies. Once he’s filled a clothing rack and put on his signature, chunky Givenchy silver necklace, he expands on the decision to remove his mask. “I felt like that image and aesthetic [started becoming] my main selling point,” he explains.

It was the headline. Whereas as a creative artist, as a musician, I wanted my music and my art to be the headline. The aesthetic holds hands with the music and complements it. When you wear a mask and you don’t say anything about it, people come up with their own theories and their own ideas. Which aren’t necessarily true! People thought I wore the mask to hide my face, to hide my identity. No, the mask was there to communicate the idea of a certain image and a certain vibe. When I first came out with that image in 2016 with the song “Imnxtamess” no one else looked like that. It was a unique way I could express myself through clothes. I’d strap belts and stuff around my legs, create my own look. As time went on though, it became less unique. It’s like when you hold something light for a long time it becomes heavy, it becomes a burden. Not to say that the image was a burden, but I felt I could see it becoming bigger than the music. So I took the mask off and everyone who thought I was hiding something realized I wasn’t. They were like, ‘damn motherfucker, he’s good looking too.’

His hometown of Wolverhampton and nearby Birmingham is steeped in music history, especially with metal bands. Black Sabbath, and their iconic frontman Ozzy Osbourne, Judas Priest, Napalm Death and Godflesh all come from the area. Maybe it’s something in the water there. Does the heavy music history influence the younger denizens? “My band, Myth City had a lockup in the same place that Sabbath would rehearse,” he shares enthusiastically. “I think the most influential things are things that are in plain sight. You don’t think they’re influencing you. It’s not conscious. So growing up in Wolverhampton, that influence of musical history was just in the air. If I’d grown up in the Caribbean, on

Vest and Pants by DXXMLIFE, Underwear by SUPREME

DHI

AN ES

Shirt, Vest and Mask by DXXMLIFE, Sneakers by BALMAIN

beaches smoking weed? I tell you, I’d be making reggae. I think your environment speaks to you in ways that aren’t always aware of. I’d spend so many hours of my life in that lock-up with my band and we’d bring in all our influences. I would 100% do a collab with Ozzy. I’d do that in a heartbeat. Ozzy, hit me up man,” he laughs. In January 2016, he released his first single under the Scarlxrd moniker, “Casket”. The production for the music video was slick, using all the experience (and money) he’d garnered from his YouTube career. “I know my angles. I know the lighting. I know how to edit. I know what’s going to fly and what’s not,” he explains. “I’ve learnt so much, and I think it shows in what I’m doing. I bought a drone for that video!” He filmed it one night in Wolverhampton, outside the British mainstream fashion store, River Island. The location chosen “because the lighting was so good! We couldn’t afford the big lights back then so we went down to River Island where the shop light was so good!” Later the same year, came two more album releases: スカー藩主, an eponymous debut in October, followed by Rxse two months after that. There was a laid back feel but definite hip-hop vein running through them both. But then in February 2017, he released his third albumCabin Feverand things changed. The sound was much, much heavier and the vocals were screamed. An edge had crept in. What happened in those few months between “Casket” where he was happily dancing outside River Island and Cabin Fever, where it was like he was outside the gates of hell. Scarlxrd laughs at the analogy but quickly becomes serious.

I missed being in a band. I missed heavy music. I missed it all. I was going through that for the first time in my life. Before, when I was in a band, I’d be going through shit, your classic shit that you go through and you write about. But that year, life was on Expert Mode for the first time and everything felt like life or death. I was in the darkest place I’ve ever been. I can’t even say all the things I’ve been through because I still haven’t even processed it all. It was a traumatic year and you can hear it in my sound.

Earlier in the interview, he’d mentioned having to sell all the lenses, drones and equipment he’d accrued with YouTubing so he could eat and make rent. He’d gone from being pretty successful to having nearly nothing. Was music the only thing?

That was it. I found an outlet. Music was the only way, the only thing I had. I was in a place where I didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want to talk to anyone. And when you’re like that, people get the idea and start to drift away. The only people I would speak to were Danyl and Vorn, my camera guys. Other than that, I was kind of a recluse. That’s why my sound went like that. It was me. I was at my most aggressive, darkest and most vulnerable. I was hurt for sure. I was dangerous, man. I used to get dressed in my whole Scar fit and just sit in my living room. I didn’t even have electricity so I just used to sit there. Fuck knows what I was thinking about but I sat there. I would sleep in that outfit and I’d just be. It was dark.

There’s an incredible work ethic with Scarlxrd. He’s so prolific that he can’t actually remember the exact amount of records he’s released. But he’s always known hard work. Well before YouTubing, Scar was a child model. “I was the face of [UK sports chain] JD Sports when I was teenager. I loved it,” he chuckles. “I was actually speaking to my manager and telling him I want to get back into commercial modeling. You’ll see me doing Calvin Klein or Balmain man! I’ve got a portfolio of when I was a kid model. I looked like a pretty girl.

I absolutely killed it. I’ve always been working.” When he started YouTubing, he earned just under four dollars his first month. But he saw the potential and knew that with perseverance, he’d start earning real money. “I think of it as a mixture of genetics and the need for attention from strangers,” he explains of his productivity. “Doing YouTube was so fun because every time I’d post, I’d get that dopamine spike of a 1000 comments and 80% of them were from girls. Give me attention! My work ethic is good because I get validated from it. What doing YouTube has taught me is that it’s not about the medium, it’s about the art.” In today’s world “it’s the Wild West” he says, when it comes to releasing music and art. Artists can seamlessly move between on and offline platforms. They can release music on OnlyFans, play concerts on Twitch and then hit up a festival IRL. “You can make one song and put it on ten different platforms,” he explains.

Algorithmically and machine-wise—and I don’t want to sound like a tinfoil hat—but right now we’re creating music for AI. For a machine. The machine feeds back what we put into it. And what we put into the machine, is to be successful. So the machine feeds back what success is and, with sounds in particular, people start to tailor their work for the algorithm. But the algorithm is just a machine. So they’re tailoring music for a machine to pump back to you. We’re living in the Matrix. It’s fucking crazy. That’s why I see the importance in detaching and making dope art. Making stuff that I enjoy and not what I’m influenced to enjoy. I started my own subculture 100%. It has no name but you can see it and you know it’s there. The second it gets a name is the second it dies. If I have too much around me and I start to feel like things are out of my hands, then I won’t enjoy it anymore. I’ll get reckless and I’ll destroy myself. I can’t think of anything worse than living safe. I’m an independent artist that puts my entire life on edge. Things could change at any moment for good or bad and that’s the adrenaline of it and the best thing about it. Sometimes I sit at home and try to think of what I could do to totally destroy my career and whether I would be able to come back from it. I think I probably could. We get influenced so easily now because we spend all our time on screens. People talk like they’re on Twitter and dance like they’re on TikTok.

He tells a story of the huge influence two sets of cousins had on him while growing up. On one side of the family, they listened to the likes of Limp Bizkit and Korn and on the other, 50 Cent and Eminem. It was a healthy regimen of musical inspiration but it would be one particular album to first excite and frighten him: Slipknot’s eponymous 1999 debut record.

Me and my brother used to sleep on bunk beds. I remember I played “Eyeless” and I’d grab one of the poles of the bunk bed and head bang so fucking hard. I remember feeling excitement and energy through my whole body as I was doing it. I knew at that moment that no one could tell me anything. I remember I would go and see my cousins when they were MCing and they’d be rapping and I wanted to be like them so bad. I wanted to rap, look cool and have a slit shaved into my eyebrow. Then, I’d go and see my other cousins, who’d put me onto Korn and shit. Then I’d go home and play a rap track and straight after that, grab that bunk bed pole and go crazy to Slipknot or whatever. That bunk bed was fucked. It was all broken. I remember I kicked all the slats in. It wasn’t an aggressive energy. It was more that I couldn’t be contained. I was very fucking wild as a kid. I was drunk on attention. I wanted attention from everyone and everything all the time. I had to be the loudest in the room, everyone had to look at me.

He pauses, “I still am that fucking guy, clearly.”

@scarlxrd

PEO

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KAYA

WORDS by SARAH AWAN PHOTOGRAPHY by JESSE LIROLA

Anyone who loves music, loves listening to it in the car. Especially musicians. Whether instrumentalists, vocalists, producers, or engineers; listening to music in the car reveals when a track is truly “finished.” It’s also the motivation for our Sound & Driven series with Porsche. We film artists as they go around LA in a Porsche and talk to us about their work, as well as the creative process that drives them. For this episode, our Sound & Driven team shot two segments; featuring artists from both sides of the pond sharing their experiences in sound today, and SOUND AND DRIVEN yesterday. Singer Kaya Stewart and her producer dad, Dave Stewart of Eurythmics fame; and American soloist Hayley Kiyoko and her producer Danja, who she reached out to while recording her most recent studio release, Panorama. It turns out that the singer and queer icon wasn’t feeling her vision come to life. So she called up the producer to mega-soloists like Britney Spears, Justin Timberlake, Madonna, Missy Elliott, Björk, Usher and Mariah Carey to help her figure it out. As a lifelong fan of indie and alt music, Hayley was building up sound, instrumentals, outros, interludes—but nothing was working. Could it be because she was burying her own

GAVU

voice? Listeners, after all, want to hear her. “I think that deep down I always battled with really allowing my voice to be at the forefront,” she admits. “I was like ‘hey, I have these walls of sound. I love the songs but it’s missing this pop element that I really want and need.’ So we had a massive journey of taking these songs, completely pulling them apart and deciding what was necessary. I think as an artist, everyone can relate to ‘less is more’, but finding that balance is extremely challenging. He muted things and he created space for my voice to shine. And that’s it. I was hiding behind all of these extra bells and whistles that I loved, that I thought I needed, but I didn’t. And so the integrity of the music stayed the same but he allowed my voice to shine while also still allowing me to have my walls of sound and the thumping 808, snare and all the things that I love about music and composition.” The two met in person when Hayley flew out to see him in Miami after a few productive conversations. “I was telling him about the album–I basically had it finished but it was missing this level that I was really wanting to achieve. I didn’t quite know how to get there and so I was explaining to him what I was trying to accomplish. We vibed and he believed in my vision.” For him, it was clearly an exercise in simplifying some elements. “I was able to come with a different perspective, with no attachment because I didn’t create it. I just went based on how it made me feel. If this sound felt like it was too much, then I took it out. If this sounds interesting, then I highlighted it. If one sound was competing with another, I would let one decide which one gets its moment first. It’s not so much

13_Sound & Driven 76-83

I was hiding behind all of the bells and whistles that I loved.

ANJA

KIYOKO

about me having to actually create the music, but to hear it and understand the emotion and what it’s supposed to be. That’s what I did with Hayley’s project.”

car test. “I’m always talking about putting content into a context, which is, to me what life is about creatively. I was a songwriter but there always was the frustration of being produced by other people. In those days, no And what about the car test?

musician was really allowed near the board, you played your instruments, and you sat somewhere at the back

“The car test is one of the most critical points in and listened. But I kept wanting to put my hand up.”

the mix,” says Danja. “When you go to the car, that’s

Luckily for Kaya though, her father not only prothe make-it or break-it. Because you do all this work duced the record but was part of the inspiration. “My in the studio and it sounds great–it’s checking all the early memories, were listening to, and just being with boxes. But when you go to the car, something’s too my dad. He was always looking out for me and I just high, something’s too low, there’s too much bass and happened to go into music. If I wanted to be a soccer you have to make those adjustments. Most of us have player, if I wanted to be an accountant, it would have listened to everything we’ve ever listened to in our life, been the same relationship. He’s really in my corner in the car. The car sound system is important. Whethand we get along so well. I happened to fall in love with er it’s expensive, whether it is cheap, whether you enthe same thing that he did.”

hance it yourself, whatever the case may be, the car

Even though it can take many of us time to find test is critical. The record has to pass the car test.”

what we love to do, the love of music seems to have

Danja explains that beyond just a trial, some musibeen almost innate when Dave recalls her childhood. cians heavily rely on the car as almost another produc- “The interesting thing was Kaya—I noticed when she tion tool. “I’ve had some artists that do the whole mix in the car,” he reveals. “We’re always in the car. And that’s kind of the last resting place, sonically, for our music.” Certainly professional mixing and mastering sounds amazing on studio speakers but Hayley also likes to use the real-world to double check herself. “When I get a song mixed, I go, hey, I’ll let you know. I gotta get in my car.”

was very young—was given a little book and it was called Blues Poems. And I think she was about seven or eight. And my wife and I were going past her bedroom, and she had it open, she was singing them, like an old blues lady!” Kaya recalls. “My dad had put a piano in our living room. And I started writing my own songs when I was around 12 years old. And I think it drove everybody crazy, because I didn’t really know how to play.” But

“Artists gotta pass the car test,” laughs Danja.

Producers clearly have an ear for narrative and cohesion as we learned when Dave Stewart and his singer daughter Kaya, tooled around LA in their Porsche her dad was definitely intrigued. “She really started to do this all the time. And then play strange chords on a piano and sing very oblique, so-strange melodies.” Anecdotes in practically every language warn about the dangers of working with family. Sometimes

the closeness can be an obstacle especially in creative fields that are so subjective to era and taste. But Kaya feels fortunate to have had her dad as a collaborator. “My dad’s my favorite person to work with. It was nice to have someone, who totally understood from the start, why I started making music. And it was because I just love to do it.” Her forthcoming album, If Things Go South is a personal one. With a recent OCD diagnosis, she explains how the record was a way for her to deal with learning about her condition. “A lot of the album is about that. And from there forward was this journey of like, ‘alright, now I gotta figure out how I’m going to live with this and not let this be my whole life anymore.’” Of course she experienced anxiety and fear when she first learned about her condition but her dad gave her some sage advice to simply take a “write week” and process. She shut in, and had ten songs “blurting out” a few days later. Then, with her father strumming guitar, she simply sang from her heart straight to the mic. “She would just sing, sitting in a chair. She never got up and it all came out and then she realized what she was letting out.” Is listening to music in the car something that Dave or Kaya have done to perfect the sound? Like Hayley, Dave realizes the grit value of listening to newly laid tracks in a car. “In the studio, you’ve got perfect sound, and you’re altering everything and you think that’s it. But nothing is more exciting than running out to do the car test. It becomes probably the most important test of how the public are going to receive the music or the work that you’ve done”, he explains. “A lot of the first time I hear my music, is sitting in my driveway with a little notebook, and it solidifies the end of the session”, Kaya adds. We ask her about the best advice that her father’s given her about making music. “The second you stop loving it, it’s out the window.”

A car window at that.

@hayleykiyoko | @only1DANJA | @kayastewart @davestewarteurythmics

• SANT
• ANU
• HAZA

RIKA

Multidisciplinary art rebel, metal head, and world doodle champ Santanu Hazarika is clocking meteoric fame and inspiring India’s new-gen as one of the most wildly diverse in the game. The sun is going down in Mumbai as he slides into frame. It’s the middle of one of the hottest summers on record. And he’s back in his studio, fresh off the plane from a weekend on the beach in Goa celebrating his manager’s birthday amid a meteoric career trajectory that shows no signs of slowing down. He’s sporting a crisp black t-shirt and an infectious smile that radiates through pixels. Santanu has every reason to be happy. He’s off the back of creating India’s fastest selling NFT; it sold in a record 37 seconds and he’s back from a recent partnership with Porsche and is making his directorial debut with megastar partner, Shruti Haasan among a lengthy list of other illustrious creative collaborations. In a little over half a decade, he’s raked in the accolades and cemented his status enough to be inspiring legions of talented young creatives across India. His story is leading them to embrace their own uniqueness and follow their dreams. He grew up in the city of Guwahati in the northeast Indian state of Assam. “We’re only connected to the mainland by a small blob of land,” he says, explaining how his feeling of being an outsider goes back to childhood.

Assamese people look different. We have a different culture. Most people think we’re Chinese. I was always discriminated against. In fact, I was a misfit in every other category. I wasn’t that good at studies. I was not good at sports, and I was never into what the popular kids were into. All my friends were in hardcore heavy metal bands but I could never play an instrument, I couldn’t sing. I never fit into any of the molds, but I stood out as a visual artist.

His outlet was simple pen and paper. He had a talent for art from an early age. ”I always liked comic books and drawing. One of my first comic books was Spawn. “I was immediately drawn to the violent imagery. When I was five or six years old, I would go into all these comic bookstores, where they’d keep all the hand-me-downs basically, and I would go in and buy all the leftover comics on sale. I had no idea what the issue number or story was, but I’d buy the ones with the most violent or goriest covers and just liked looking at the images. It was very sexual. It was very violent. It was R-rated, basically. But whenever I would tell my parents

that I was going to the comic bookstore, they wouldn’t care. They’d think, ‘oh, this guy is going there to buy some cartoons, PG-13 stuff.’” Santanu’s folks were as oblivious to their son’s early penchant for subversive content as they were to his lucrative business hustle. He copied the most graphic covers and sold them for a fast buck around school to get his hands on more comics and fit in. Soon, he swapped sketching comics for drawing characters, like Eddie from Iron Maiden in various forms and his favorite album covers from Megadeth and word got out about his pen game. By the time he hit his teens, he was in high demand. “I was getting better at it. All my friends had bands. I always wanted to be in the band but I didn’t have the talent for it, so I thought maybe I’ll just make the album cover. I figured I’ll be in the shows like ‘I’m with the band!’” I did it for a few beers, admission to shows and purely out of love for the music. I loved the whole scene that was happening and now I felt like I contributed to it.” he beams. Growing up, there were a lot of issues with militants and terrorism in his hometown. There was poverty, drugs, and violence—the perfect combination for a punk mindset. “I would say that was my most rebellious time as a teenager and the one that’s stuck with me the most. It was the start of me discovering what the color black represented, and my love for it. As metal kids, we dressed in black all the time. We had a lot of independent shows happening in small, rundown venues. All packed with kids just wildin’ out. There was a lot of alcohol, a lot of substances. I was either getting into fights or beaten up in mosh pits, breaking barricades, crazy stuff.” Pen and paper were calling, but Santanu didn’t know how to answer.

I had no idea how big this art thing would get. I never believed that I could make something out of it because where I grew up and in the kind of society that I was living in...they had no exposure to it. They had no idea that you could make a living by being an artist, designer or visual artist. All this was a hobby and I was conditioned to believe that. In India, if I said to my parents: ‘I want to be an artist’, they would just whack me and say, ‘what’s the point of that? Do something more meaningful!’ and those are the kind of stereotypes I battled. I had to fight almost all my life. I had to prove that wrong.”

That time would come; but first Santanu followed his father’s footsteps and went to college to pursue mechanical engineering. “I was always into science. I thought I’d do good. But when I joined college, I started getting more exposed to art and what happens outside the little bubble I’d existed in. I slowly became aware of all the opportunities I could pursue with this talent.” But just as his mind opened, his creative spirit began shutting down. “I was miserable with my engineering degree be-

cause I really sucked at it. I had no interest in it. It was really bad. I was clinically depressed for three to four years and on medication. That completely stopped me from drawing and making art. It completely neutralized every emotion I ever had. I felt like a bloody robot. I didn’t like that feeling.” He confesses that he tried several times to get off meds, but his whole world would come crashing down. “I didn’t like the fact that I depended on something so much that was so synthetic and inorganic. The situation was really hard. Finally, I had to say to myself, ‘ok, I can’t continue doing this, pursuing engineering. I want to get into art and design, and I don’t know if I’ll be successful at it, but I know I can give my best if I start doing what I really like doing.’” Despite his abysmal grades, Santanu couldn’t get expelled from college if he kept attending, and he certainly couldn’t sit around drawing at home. So the only answer was relentlessly drawing in class. “I couldn’t simply bounce. But I completely stopped the meds and started drawing again. I lied and said that I was still taking them but I would just throw them away. Every day, I went to college, sat down on the last bench and kept sketching. I think the best years of my engineering study were then. I really had a point to prove.” He started reading up on metaphysics, philosophies and mythologies. Likewise, his art gravitated from anime and comic characters to his own creations. “I had learnt all the skills of drawing, which can be considered the alphabet of this visual language. Now, I started forming my own sentences. I started researching and getting more ideas. I started composing my own stories from the skillset I had learnt through mimicking others.” That went on for four years. “I was failing for sure. I thought I’d keep attending my classes, but I wouldn’t attend my classes. I was fighting back. I deliberately failed my exams so many times. There’s a rule that you have to stay in the examination hall for at least one hour before you can turn in your paper. So I would go in, be blazed, and just draw on my answer sheets—drawing, drawing, drawing. The professors would allow me to do it, if they could take all my answer sheets home. They liked my drawings so much, they let me get away with it. Otherwise, they could be really strict. If I were to have completed my degree, I think it would have taken me eight years, if you include all the retests I would’ve needed,” he jokes. Around the same time, a friend tagged him in a post for the Red Bull Doodle Art Competition and Santanu’s life would never be the same. He entered the national championships with an illustration inspired by a book he was reading called 7 Secrets of Vishnu by Devdutt Pattanaik. He summarized Vishnu’s philosophies in the drawing, took home the title as the winner, and secured a ticket to Cape Town, South Africa for the world finals. “I thought, ‘ok, maybe this is an opportunity for me to actually get out of this shit storm that I’m in right now’ and I actually never stepped foot onto campus again. They weren’t going to allow me to go to the competition because I wouldn’t have been able to take my final exams but I was like, ‘screw that.’” Around 40 countries would be competing in the Cape Town South Africa finals but Santanu was enjoying his national win well enough as it was. “Honestly, I didn’t care if I won. I just wanted a nice vacation! I had never been out of the country ever in my life.” With his bags packed,

I want to make clothes with KanyeI want to make clothes with Kanye

he finally told his parents his plans. “They didn’t believe me at first, like, ‘how can this scribbling around get you a national title?!’ I was like, ‘It’s happening. I’m going, sorry.’” Santanu returned as the global winner with an incalculable confidence that ignited his path to becoming a star of the art world. “I had to go and win a bloody world championship just to validate the simple point that I wanted to be an artist. But after I did, when I returned to India, I basically said ‘fuck you’ to everyone who said I couldn’t do it.” Few would put up a fight. Santanu signed his first art contract with Red Bull and, not long after, he was inundated with projects across a staggering spectrum of mediums. “I said ‘yes’ to everything, even though I didn’t technically know how to execute the project or even write a formal email. I only knew drawing, and with pen/ink, on paper. Everything else that followed, I learned on the job. I would have deadlines where they wanted a whole product design, a giant canvas piece, I would work hard and learn how in a few days, and just execute it.”

Fast forward to 2022, and he’s produced an immense portfolio of personal projects and flash collabs. He appeared on the cover of GQ magazine and had his first art exhibition featured in Rolling Stone India. He’s designed custom Stan Smith’s for Adidas accompanied by three-story murals in their flagship store, and created an exclusive collaboration with cult label Dust Of Gods. “I got into branding,” he says. “I got into making murals. I got into live shows. I recently collaborated on customizing motorcycle helmets. There’s been so many. I started my directorial debut with Amazon on a Hindi series called Bestseller that has my partner, Shruti Haasan in the lead role. I co-directed a music video. I made artwork for a Major Lazer & Nucleya single. I did an NFT collab with a rapper called Divine. Raftaar...Ritviz...MC Altaf...I’m doing album artwork for some of the biggest metal bands, hip-hop and pop stars in India right now. I was even commissioned to do artwork for the US bands Polyphia and Veil of Maya.” He barely takes a breath when describing what ex-

cites him. “I did a two-hour improvised set with a live jazz band where I painted the back of the stage. I did a whole abstract piece with the music. I shared the stage with one of the biggest Bollywood stars for a television telethon where I painted a tree live for twelve hours. I’m customizing gaming equipment. I designed the bus art for the [Rajasthan Royals] cricket team. A lot is going on.” On the topic of live performances, one of Santanu’s most prestigious collaborations found him painting a Porsche Panamera over three days in a performance art piece where he was the main attraction. “At one point, there was a whole fashion show around the car I was painting!” With a list like that, his greatest inspiration comes as no surprise. “I still really wanna make album artwork for Megadeth because that’s one of our (he and his partners’) favorite metal bands. I would also like to do one for Meshuggah, one of my other favorites. Among my biggest inspirations is Kanye. I want to make clothes with him. I love him. He’s just amazing to me. I can see a bit of me in him. I can relate to him, his vision, and how he stuck by it. Maybe one day, I’ll have the honor to meet or work with him. That’s one of my biggest dreams, actually.” Santanu has made himself an enigmatic force, impossible for the press to define. They’ve recently taunted the tireless artist by calling him a rapper among the many of their out-of-this-world titles. Always playful and rebellious, he quickly claps back, “just for the heck of it, I’m making a track. I’m already on it! Might just fuck with some of them press people.” When he isn’t making headlines, he’s drawing. He lights up when talking about all the works of art he’s creating. He’s incredibly hyped about a handful of global projects dropping next year. He’s begun painting with ink and acrylic inspired by Takashi Murakami. He’s gearing up to judge the Red Bull Doodle Art world finals and finally confirms that eventually when the timing is right, he might even cave to the constant fan pressure to create a comic book. As we close, it’s impossible not to ask him what he considers to be his most significant accomplishment thus far.

I get messages every morning from all these kids coming from small towns and cities where nobody gets them. Nobody understands art or their talents. Those messages really touched me because that was me! I feel like those messages are my biggest achievement. Not winning competitions or working with famous people or brands. For me, it’s just to inspire that kid in that town. Because when I was asked who I looked up to, I didn’t have an example from my community to show them. I have a lot to be proud of, but these messages are where I feel really inspired, humble and grateful. All of our stories and journeys and experiences are different. But the most important thing I can achieve, is if one kid can let their uniqueness be his artwork and use my journey as an example to their parents, their friends, society and say, ‘see, he made it, so can I!

@santanu_hazarika_art

“When I watch the weirder parts of [David Lynch series] Twin Peaks, those moments describe what my mind is like. Quite surreal and tripped out, and very blissful.” Tim Burgess is talking about his daily practice of meditation, but could also be describing Typical Music, his new double album. It’s a whirlwind of vivid, DayGlo songs, veering from Keystone Kops-y riffs, to droning mantras, to glitchy pop and the classic sound of the Laurel Canyon scene. The record overflows with ideas. Synths squelch and burble beneath Beatles-y guitars, Eno-esque choruses and guileless, bare-hearted lyrics. It’s a glorious, kinetic mess; seemingly opposite of the quiet, thoughtful-looking surfer with blonde tips and Doc Martens seated before me now. Brimming with so many musical ideas, I wonder if his prolific album is because of lockdown or just how he’s wired. “Both! In confinement I realized how active my brain actually is. I wrote everything on an acoustic guitar, all 22 songs–with all the changes. Just moving from corner to corner of a single room and when I was ready, I called in some friends to make a record.” The core trio of the record’s personnel was Tim, multi-instrumentalist Daniel O’Sullivan (of Sunn O))) and Grumbling Fur) and legendary English sideman, Thighpaulsandra (of Julian Cope’s touring band, Coil and Spiritualized). But, as befits a man with the best contact list in British music, there are guest artists on practically every track. Nitin Sawhney adds synths, Helen O’Hara of Dexys Midnight Runners plays violin along with Belgium’s Echo Collective orchestral ensemble. There are jazz touches courtesy of LA saxophonist Sam Gendel and gorgeous backing vocals from singer-songwriter, Pearl Charles.

We just wanted to fill all the songs with as many things as possible, almost like cartoon music, for it to be that exciting and colorful. In my mind the audience would be wowed by these songs, with these amazing Zappa and Sparks-inspired fireworks going off. With a song like “Revenge Through Art”, I was channeling Miami Sound Machine. I wanted to bring Miami to Monmouth. Or a song like “Curiosity” which goes into weird time signatures and throws a bit of French in there. I’m very open-minded in the studio. I just see what comes. I’m always saying, ‘yes, I didn’t imagine it that way, but it works.’ Ya know, Fugazi and Brian Wilson, how can these things meet? But they can and they’re brilliant.

The very last track, “What’s Meant For You Won’t Pass By You” takes a sort of Buddhist stance but he doesn’t strike me as someone who sits back waiting for the world to come to him. “That track was talking about someone not knowing if they were doing the right thing, and I was telling them if it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be. But you’re right. I go out and make things happen. Some of the songs are driven like that and some are manifestations. “When I See You” (an album highpoint, featuring a Kevin Rowland-esque, spoken-word description of the first glimpse of a new lover) is a manifestation about really liking someone, and hoping one day you’ll get together. It’s a love song for a friend being more than friends.” That word “friend” crops up all over the record. It’s a very un-rock-and roll word. Was that deliberate? “No, I think it’s subconscious,” he muses with a shake of his blonde mop of hair. “My friends are important to me. You meet a lot of people doing what we do and the musical community is a very friendly one in times of trouble. But I’m 55, and my circle of confidantes has grown smaller, so I loved making a record with friends. Making a record

WORDS by MAT OSMAN PHOTOGRAPHY by DAVID EMERY

FUGAZI AND BRIAN WILSON, HOW CAN THESE THINGS MEET? BUT THEY CAN AND THEY ARE BRILLIANT.

during lockdown, without the support mechanisms, took you back to the early days. And when I’m making records, I want to feel 18 again. I wanted all of the friendship and the fun and the ideas to be living and breathing in these tracks. It’s been a long wait to put it out, nearly a year. When The Charlatans started, you’d record something and six weeks later it’d be released, it was amazing. But this year, six months feels like the longest time...waiting to tour and meet new people and get new influences.” It not as if Tim doesn’t have projects to keep him busy though. Two books, five solo albums, nine Charlatans records, Tim Peaks—his own brand of coffee, and diner along with a co-owned indie record label, O Genesis. But over lockdown, it was Tim’s Twitter Listening Parties that took up most of his time. They were a genuine phenomenon that came from the simplest of ideas. At an agreed time, everyone puts on the record du jour and then the people who made the record, live tweet their recollections and thoughts about the tracks while everyone listens together in real time. From that niche idea, fueled by the lockdown need for community, the parties became massive. Every night, Tim oversaw two new parties with the likes of Duran Duran, Paul McCartney, Run The Jewels and New Order wanting to be involved. Iron Maiden even had 70,000 people follow their tweets. He describes the spectacle.

Yeah, they got huge. Even on the way to Rockfield [Studios], I had to pull over because I got a text saying Kylie Minogue wanted to do a listening party tomorrow. I was like, ‘oh fuck.’ I knew people liked the listening parties because I’d done them for the Charlatans but in the first month when Alex Kapranos [of Franz Ferdinand] and Bonehead [of Oasis] and Dave Rowntree [of Blur] did them, it just went crazy. And after a while we had Paul McCartney doing one. For the John Lennon one, we had Yoko and Sean, and Dhani Harrison and Klaus Voormann and John Leckie. That one was supposed to only be an hour long and it ended up being three or four hours.

All this is a long way from his teenage years growing up in the parish of Northwich. “At 16, I bought [New Order’s] Power Corruption & Lies. It was on my record player for a year,” he recalls. “It changed everything for me. It felt like serious music. They were from Manchester but they had hits. And they hung out in New York. I thought ‘fucking hell, it’s actually doable.’ And Tim Peaks and O Genesis were inspired by that Factory and New Order thing. But now I feel that I’m speeding up rather than slowing down.”

After the problems the Charlatans had, with [founding keyboardist] Rob going to prison and all that, I remember me and [current Charlatans’ guitarist] Mark sitting outside my flat in Salford, and me saying, ‘I just wanna be in a band.’ Because nothing was happening. Rob was in jail and everything was so slow. So there’s a sense of urgency now. I want people to say ‘wow!’ When we were making the record I kept saying, ‘wow, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard’ and I hope that transmits, and that just for a minute, someone else thinks that too. @ timburgessofficial

Editor-in-Chief: Marvin Scott Jarrett Chief Creative Officer, Design: Gary Koepke Chief Brand Officer: Geoff Cottrill

Executive Editor: Josh Jones Managing Editor: Sarah Awan Associate Designer: John Perry Arts Editor: Roger Gastman

Writers: Sarah Awan Patrick Clarke Rhian Daly Josh Jones Tracy Kawalik Gemma Lacey Mat Osman Matthew Schnipper Ali Shutler

Front of book profiles: Josh Jones

Photographers: Roxanne Carrasco Steven Meiers Dominguez Davis Emery Jimmy Fontaine Matt Hass Christian Högstedt Marvin Scott Jarrett Jesse Lirola David Mushegain Tom Oxley Daniel Prakopcyk Ki Price Jason Renaud

Thanks to: Alexandra Baker, Steve Barnett, Abbey Braden, James Boss, Crawford Byers, Corey Councill, Allison Elbl, Tom Frain, Adam Guest, Stephanie Gotch, Jaclynn Jarrett, Dan Jenkins, Juno Jones, Lauren Kemp, Noam Klar, Sunni Lekh, Alex Lunt, Larabee Studios, Pechuga Vintage, Rebecca Miller, Jo Murray, Adrian Read, Smashbox Studios, Sherry Saeedi, Jamie Sward, Cassie Walker, Ken Weinstein

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• MARVIN founders: Marvin Scott Jarrett
• Geoff Cottrill
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