Being a self-taught guitarist and drummer, my journey into music production started back in 2014 when I was living in Borneo, Malaysia. I was very lucky that one of my teachers, a music producer himself, showed me how to do it. Traveling around Asia, hearing each place’s tune greatly influenced the vibe of my latest album ‘Silent Scream’ which is a collection of memories from there.
by Daniel Olert
I think, at heart, I was always a musician. I would always have a tune in my head and would spend my free time messing with an instrument or audio software. My heroes where rock stars. However, as I grew older, I felt pressure on myself – from both myself and from others – to fit into a certain expectation.
I wanted to live up to those expectations, so music became secondary. I pursued a degree in engineering to live up to those expectations, but I never felt like I fit in. I continued my musical development after classes as an outlet, but it wasn’t enough. Upon graduating, I realized that there was a difference between who I was trying to be and who I actually was, so I began a musical journey of finding myself.
Let’s start this with a little bit of math. What do you get when you solve the equation below:
The death of your innocence
+ the trials of adulthood
+ dark humor as a coping mechanism
That’s right! You get my album Dixie Plaza.
As someone who has always wanted to finally get myself together and make an album, I never realized that sometimes it takes your worst moments to create something that you are genuinely proud of in the end result.
by DT Jackson
When Beast Folk formed in 2018, we were not called Beast Folk. It was a melding of the minds of a few friends who frequented Darrell’s Tavern in Shoreline, WA. I was slated to play the Hybrid Festival in Everett. Being an acoustic performer engaged in an event that mostly revolved around metal was a jarring task of fear management. I needed a band.
We live in funny times.
The Artist writes his best song for seven years, suffers mental breakdowns, heartbreaks, crazy life situations, misunderstandings, self-doubt, rehabs, and other things that people might encounter in 7 long years. The song is finally ready. He records it. It takes a week. He releases it. Nobody buys it.
In the meantime, The Kid makes a beat on his iPhone; it takes him 3 minutes. He drops it. Someone buys it for $50, to rap about „bitches” over the mindless loop. The Kid buys more chewing gum.
Recently I had the opportunity to interview Greg Connors about his new single “Future Nostalgia.” As I was listening, I was so drawn into the track, which prompted further listening to Connors’ vast cannon of eclectic material. I found his songs speak to me in a familiar voice, both vulnerable and comfortable. His melodic, yet ‘cut the crap’, self-styled phrasing dances with a deliberately off-kilter, sweetly angular guitar motion.
“Are you gonna be ok speaking to him?” she says.
“Yeah sure, why?” I say.
“It’s just that some people totally freak out when they meet him,” she says.
I’m standing outside of a studio door at BBC 6 music, and the nice girl who is chaperoning me is asking if I’m gonna be ok meeting Bruce Dickinson.