That’s what drew me to rock music in the first place – that sense of remaking the world on your own terms.
What we value about music and literature are the moments that they create in our minds when we encounter them.
I’ve always identified with the misfits.
My music is so often like a lullaby I write to myself to make sense of things I can’t tie together, or things I’ve lost, or things I’ll never have.
I like surfing; I bring a surfboard with me on tour.
There’s usually a rhythm and a melody in my head, and that creates an emotional state.
I like that gathering moment where the music is about to begin, that moment right there. It’s like jumping out of an airplane. It’s that moment when the lights go out and then you’re in it.
I don’t really believe in palm readers and crystal balls and tarot cards, but I respond to the need for them.
I respect Chris Carrabba as a songwriter and I also respect his past. He’s got this fierce, straight edge, kind of hardcore core. There’s so many songs that people are connected to and they all came together in a kind of DIY way, which I really do respect.
Luxury and Ostentation usually make me feel antsy, like I’m going to get a case of Gout.
But I’m not worried about seeking out the approval of others – that high school thing of joining the club.
Sometimes something will come along, and it feels easy and sometimes you’ll get 85 percent there on a song and the last 15 percent will elude you for three years.
It was a hard time for me to have a pure moment, to be present, to be here.
My music is my way to rearrange the world according to my own hopes.
There are songs I really enjoy playing. I like playing “Say It” live because it’s a long jam, kind of like shoegaze, so I do enjoy that.