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(Photo: Jake Chessum) |
Music has been in my family forever: My mom is like a female Neil Young, and my dad was in a band called the Pompous Fuckheads, just to give you an idea of what kind of guy he is. We jam. They don’t play anything corny.
When I was in bands in Charlotte, North Carolina, we would do shows in New York and I’d think, ‘If I lived here, I could always play here.’ So I moved last summer. I got a minimum-wage job at Urban Outfitters (though I’d rather people not know that) and started recording in my room in Bushwick. I love the warehouse scene in Brooklyn, which is like house parties in large creepy areas with old rusty pipes. I think music should be recorded at home and played in a warehouse. But a few months ago I was really broke and about to move back home. At the last minute I sent around some demos of my one-man band Beach Fossils—just for the hell of it, because I was leaving anyway. And then I heard back from the labels Woodsist and Captured Tracks who were like, ‘We really like this and want to do a record.’ So I thought, Oh shit, I’ve got to stay now. It happened just in the nick of time.
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