I sat down with Brooks in the sitting room last week and chatted all things consciousness, architecture, perspective, aesthetic, and genre. Hope you enjoy and check out Stardust!

Do you want your music to impact the consciousness of society?

Whether I want to or not, whether on a small or large scale, it's not quite up to me. I think we're all cups or vases or pots or whatever fucking containers. Consciousness just gets poured into us. And I think music is a particularly effective way of sort of communicating what the experience of being our particular shape is. It's good at communicating that. At least I find it to be.

When you sit down and you open Fruity Loops, where does the music come from?

I think the ideas come from outside of me. My process is pretty explorative, so I normally don't come in with music in my head that I'm trying to get down. It's more like I'll start fucking around on whatever instrument or with a sample or a serum trying to shape a sound from the ground up. And then whatever makes me feel something, whatever grabs my attention or sparks some type of emotion that I want to sit in more or explore more is what I go with. And so I think in a way the music draws a shape around my experience. What I am grabbed by or what I choose to focus on ends up reflecting where I'm at in any given moment. It contours the negative space, the emptiness.

Do you feel like there's a lot of empty space in your life, or do you feel like you're pretty filled?

I feel like it's all empty space. When you zoom in far enough or zoom out far enough, it's mostly empty space. The space between electrons, protons, blah, blah, blah.

Between galaxies and stars and shit. I think that's kind of part of what's magical about it. And about music too. I see it as very related to architecture. Buildings would really have no value if they weren't mostly empty space. They would just be blocks of wood. There's nothing wrong with a block of wood, but you can't really, like, put a bed in there. So I feel like music, it's mostly about that empty space.

How do you feel like your listening to music has informed how you create music?

I mean, it's probably the most influential thing. Listening to certain things as a kid or whatever, that's kind of the first thing that inspired me to want to make music at all. Just sort of imagining what it would be like to do that. I think it's the most important sort of skill, or at least the most fundamental skill of making music, is learning how to listen. Listen closely. Especially with this sort of explorative method that I use, because I have to hear what I'm doing. And not just hear it, but be attuned to what it's doing inside of me. And that's, I guess, where the prior experience of listening to music comes from. Because I'm always either consciously or unconsciously taking note of what feelings I feel drawn to, and what I want to explore more. When you listen to a song by David Bowie or whoever, and you're like, I want more of this. And maybe you can't find it somewhere else, so you've got to go make it, and you've got to go explore that feeling on your own.

Tell me about the last six months, and tell me about your album that you just dropped. What is this period of time, what's driving you now?

Well, when the last album was made I was mostly alone in my room at home in my dad's old house, which he recently sold. I had a remote internship, and then either during the internship when I didn't have any work to do, or after, I would just, you know, start fooling around with the guitar, looping a melody, looping a bassline, whatever, and then, you know, coming up with lyrics once the instrumental felt filled out. I think that album was very reflective of a more isolated state. It kind of reads as a journal entry. I remember my prompt was to just make it as simple as possible. To just use simple ideas to try to build something that just hit viscerally.

And then not over-complicate it or over-fill it. And that ended up being a reflection on a breakup I was going through at the time. And I think since then, the music I've been making, it similarly reflects the minimalistic approach I was taking. Although I think I've branched out a little bit as far as maybe taking more creative liberties with the vocals, you know, using more recursive methods of exporting either MIDI or audio and then fucking with it from there. So chopping it up, reversing it, doing iterative processes to obscure what it is you're hearing. But still trying to maintain that simplicity and spaciousness. And highlight the empty space.

Existentialism. What's your relationship with it?

I first got introduced to existential ideas as an angsty teenager. And for a while it definitely sort of precipitated this nihilistic attitude, nothing matters, we're all living our own reality, blah blah blah. I think I've since become less attached to some of those ideas. A lot of the guys who came up with that were, like, clearly troubled people. You know, Nietzsche seemed like he had his fair share of issues. I think those ideas can be helpful in removing yourself from the drama of your life and thinking about your existence in a broader scope. But I think where a lot of philosophy fails is that it's sort of removed from metaphysics, it's pretty materialistic, and so it's often pretty grim and bleak. And I don't know if it's actually that helpful in guiding you anywhere, finding your purpose.

So what guides you?

I mean, ultimately, I think, intuition. And again, in a similar process to making music, finding things that make me excited, that energize. Just trying to follow the energy.

Are you in other projects outside your solo music?

I'm part of LaGuardia Airport Collective. It’s a group of us, we started making music in my dorm room at college. It was just sort of having fun, making beats. And at some point, we decided to take it a little more seriously. And we recorded an album, released it. Me and one of the members became quite close as friends. And after he moved schools, we made an album on Zoom, kind of during a period where both of us were maybe a little removed from our immediate surroundings, but found connection making music online together. And we're currently in the process of making our third album. It's almost done, almost released. And then aside from that, I also collaborate with people on campus, sort of playing producer. Like they'll come in with ideas and I'll record their stuff. And if it's appropriate, I'll add my own flair. But really trying to get out of the way and let other people's musicianship shine. Give me the opportunity to record.

What is the experience like as a producer versus as an artist? Do you see them as dissonant?

I mean, they're slightly different roles. If I'm making music alone, I'm playing two roles as the producer and the artist. But as an artist, you're kind of the focal point. You're trying to find what the artwork is in yourself. Whereas as a producer, you're sort of running the session, trying to follow the energy, keep the momentum going, and help the artist kind of get out of their own way so that the music can take shape. It's less about what you can add musically and a little more just about clearing the path for the music to happen. Facilitating.

Do you like one of the roles better than the other one?

It depends. I mean, they're good for different things. I think I might be more well-suited for the producer role. I'm not a virtuosic talent as far as playing or singing or anything goes. But I think I find actually creating my own pieces as an artist to be more cathartic, maybe engaging. It does kind of come with more pressure, though. I feel like as a producer, there's less of my own shit and less of my own ego. I can just sort of focus on what needs to be done.

A complaint sometimes launched against artists is that they're too egotistic or narcissistic. How do you feel about attaching moral weight to this thing of ego? How do you feel about making moral judgments based on ego?

I mean, I think it's sort of the artist's job to be a little self-centered. I can certainly get in the way of art. And at that point, I'd say maybe it's time to re-evaluate your relationship to your own ego.

Ultimately, I think the role of the ego is to mediate the relationship between the conscious and unconscious mind. So there are certain things you don't want to be aware of all the time. That's why the ego is a really good thing. But at the same time, it needs to be valuable enough to allow new things to come to mind, to your conscious mind, so that you can change and grow. So I think being an artist is being able to have a uniquely flexible relationship with your ego, to where you can bring stuff up out of the depths and serve as that catalyst of evolution for the culture, for society, to put new things on the table and push things forward. But at the same time, as a person, you have to not overwhelm yourself with what comes up. It's a real dance. It's a real balance. I think some artists can have a little slack cut for them. It can be a lot of weight, especially in the commercial world and stuff. I don't know about that yet, but it seems like it could be a lot.

Where do you go to school?

Wesleyan University.

And when do you graduate?

In May. In three, four months.

So the commercial world is beckoning. How do you feel about this phase, this transition period in your life?

It can be a little scary. There's a lot of internal pressure to deliver on what I've told myself I'll do. But I think I've gained enough perspective at this point to know that as long as I'm creating art and involved in the scene, providing whatever it is I can provide to the people around me, I think I'll be satisfied. Obviously, we all want our spot in the limelight and our fair share of revenue. But what happens, it happens. If it doesn't, as long as I'm making art, we're chilling.

Tell me about that tension as an artist between caring about the art for art's sake and thinking about it as a commercial venture and having to think about things like revenue and fair share of revenue. Does that tension manifest in your music?

Yeah, I mean, I think sometimes I feel tempted to try to make music for what I think the audience would want. I think that's a trap because ultimately trends come and go. And if you build a career on being good at replicating a trend, you'll probably fade unless you're really good at hopping on the new trends like Drake. But personally, that's not what I'm trying to do. I think the most dangerous weapon any artist has is just their own sort of unique perspective on things, you know, their own personal shape, going back to the cup of water analogy. I think if it's the right time and place, it'll resonate and you'll get attention and your place in history. And if not, that is what it is. Maybe it'll be after your time. Maybe it'll just be for the people around you.

How do you want to be remembered?

I think I want to be remembered as someone who couldn't be pinned down. Someone who's good at shifting to the needs of the work at hand. And maybe remembered not for a particular aesthetic, but just a particular sort of perspective.

What’s the difference between aesthetic and perspective?

Aesthetic is a bit like wallpaper. If it's purely aesthetic and there's nothing behind it, I think it has a short shelf life. But I think there's just so much behind perspective, there's a whole story that goes into somebody's point of view. And the world's always changing around you. So if you're just tuned into your point of view and good at articulating it I think people might come to value what it is your position has to offer. And no matter what the style of the time is, it has a place.

Whereas once you've moved on from a particular style, what left is there to do if your whole artistic identity is wrapped up in one way of doing things?

So for you, perspective and longevity are intertwined, and articulating your perspective leads to something having more sticking power?

I think it can, yeah, especially if it's received like that, you know, because then people get interested in the person and what that person has to think or feel, you know, and so like, when people listen to Kendrick Lamar, he switches styles pretty drastically with every record and people still tune in and he does numbers. I mean, he has a good team around him. He’s part of a major label, whatever, but his perspective is uniquely articulate and he goes pretty deep.

So like, it doesn't matter if he's doing a West Coast trap fusion or whether he's doing jazz, funkadelic things, people want to hear what he has to say.

So how do you feel about genre?

It's mostly a commercial construction, it's easier to sell things if you can put it in a box. Also the whole racialized history of it, to put white people music in a box and black people music in a box and sell it to distinct groups. Obviously there's distinguishable styles that people have, you can't really draw a line between things. The further you zoom in, the more you realize that line doesn't really exist.

Do you see yourself as attached to a scene?

Literally speaking, I'm around a group of people. And a lot of those people do make music with similar aesthetics, similar structures, and sort of practices. Honestly, though, I think the scene that I'm a part of is a little less defined by the aesthetic, more by the people that make music. I make very different types of music, like our group LaGuardia makes like this unholy conglomeration of like a whole shit ton of internet styles, there's 808s and VST synths in one song, in the same song, there might be like a whole punk rock fucking part of it, with the guitars and Led Zeppelin sampled drums, that type of thing. My own personal music is a little more of an 80s indie rock revival thing, some elements of like Animal Collective and Bon Iver synth work. And other people that I produce for are straight ahead singer songwriters. So I think the thing that defines the scene I'm a part of is more just young independent artists at college trying to do their thing sort of DIY.

Do you see this time we’re in as a first or do you think music's always been DIY?

People always find a way to make music, like the jazz scene in the 40s, or even before. But I mean, those guys, they belonged to small communities, they were each mentored by someone who'd been there longer, and they'd go to the club and just do what they learned and play all the time. It was pretty DIY. Obviously, they needed a record company to record and put out the records, but underneath this is DIY. I think what's unique about now is we can distribute our shit on our own. The internet really opens up the door for you to get attention without necessarily needing corporate funding. I think that's what's unique about it. And the whole process, you can record on your own, and get a pretty good sound with fairly cheap equipment. I guess that's unique. I mean, people have always been making shit of their own. We just have the ability to commodify ourselves.

Do you see yourself as a commodity?

To some degree, my music. I know my phone and the companies that feed me content on my phone definitely see me and my data as a commodity. I don't know if I view myself as that yet. No, my image is not big enough to be sold and bought quite yet.

If overnight your song blew up, and you now are pushed into the public eye. What's the first and second thing that you would do?

The first and second things I would do would probably be start an investment account and lawyer up. And then, keep recording.

Who are your biggest inspirations?

I'm inclined to say that the people I make music with, like secretfaith, O5Geeek, and Luko M. A lot of the things that they do in their DAWs, and just making music, it's hard not to pick up some of those practices and sort of get influenced by their ear and hear my ear change along with it. So I'm inclined to say them. I've picked up a lot of some of that recursive stuff I've been adding into my music from secretfaith and just watching him sit down at the computer for 20 minutes straight, like he's exporting a melody and then exporting it 20 times and doing all this shit to it. So I've sort of adopted some of that. And maybe some of the spaciousness from Luko. 05Geeek is always hounding me about my drums, so I'm trying to channel him while I'm programming the drums and stuff. So go listen to them. But outside of that, I'd say Radiohead. I got really into their stuff freshman year of college and sort of fell off of it because I was like, oh, I'm not depressed anymore, I don't need to be listening to Radiohead. But I've kind of come back to it with less of a let me wallow in this feeling and more of just an appreciation for the artists that they were and also the value of the feelings that they express. I remember listening to an interview with Tom York and he was talking about it'll be a sad day when people don't make sad music anymore because then people don't want to know about that part of themselves anymore. And I think that's really inspiring. I think that making heavy music, heavy emotionally or heavy aesthetically, whatever, is important because you can't deny or repress every part of yourself that might be ugly. You kind of have to let it have a voice and come to some sort of peace or agreement with it. And then musically speaking, too, they're just top-notch. Especially an album like In Rainbows. Nothing's there that doesn't need to be there. The blend of acoustic and played instruments versus electronic program stuff is just beautiful. And I think their lyrical content is also really interesting. It's sort of poetic. You can't really say it's about one thing, but every time you listen to it, there is a clear message that sort of shifts along with you. So I think Radiohead's been a big inspiration as of late, especially In Rainbows.

What are three songs you want to leave the reader with?

Billie Holiday's These Foolish Things (Remind me of you). It's a heartbreaking tune. It's beautiful. It puts you at ease at the same time that it'll make you cry. It's just great. Second, I'll say Beat Connection by LCD Sound System. It's driving. Great for the dance floor. If you like that sort of lo-fi 2000s New York indie sound, you'll love it. Some people call his lyrics corny, but I find them to be earnest in a really refreshing way. And lastly, Replica by Oneohtrix Point Never.

He's the guy who scored Marty Supreme and Uncut Gems. And he's got a bunch of really experimental ambient music under his name, Oneohtrix Point Never. And this is from an album from 2013, where it's sort of a mix of really airy synths from a synthesizer that he's really fond of, I think it's a Roland or something, and then these sort of angular chops of eclectic samples. Sort of eerie, but beautiful and unsettling all in one.

Listen to Brooks Olson newest single here and thanks for reading!!

Brooks Olson Interview

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Brooks Olson Interview