Isaac Dunbar Takes Our Pop Quiz
office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
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office gave Isaac an impromptu pop quiz where there are no wrong answers... except, of course, the wrong ones.
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While much of Never Enough was created during Caesar's isolation on a remote farm in Canada amid the pandemic, the creative framework came to him while on a boat in the south of France. During that boat trip, he overheard a conversation where someone uttered the two-word phrase. Its meaning was already echoing in his head before he could articulate it. "Never enough," he says, sitting across from me on the velvet slate-gray wrap-around couch in the center of his studio.
He recalls feeling frustrated on that boat, grappling with the idea that something was never enough, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. The yearning to understand the meaning of these two words and what "enough" meant to him eventually revealed itself as the central drive of this album.
As an independent artist, intuition has always been integral to his music, both sonically and emotionally. Even though he is now signed to a record label, this aspect of his craft remains true. "It has to sound like me," he says, very seriously, before bursting into laughter about the album's naming. The tracklist evolved through three iterations in Canada, Los Angeles, and New York City before Caesar realized that he could continue to perfect the album or put a stop to his nitpicking, close this chapter, and move on. Never Enough is an ode to human insatiability, the innate human desire for more, and the realization that exactly where you're at is just as fine.
Get to know the Toronto native a little better below.
It’s been a while since you released a full studio album. How are you? What have you been up to the last few years?
It's been really great. Kind of like a roller coaster, but fun overall. I traveled a lot, saw a lot of places, met a lot of people.
Where did you go?
Majorca, Sudan, Jamaica, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Paris, Berlin — so many places.
When during that time did you start working on Never Enough?
2019 as soon as the world locked down, I was like, I got to do something, so I built a semi-studio in my house, and I just started cooking away.
This also feels like a new chapter for you in terms of tone, subject matter and production. What would you say defined this shift?
Joining a new label; heartbreak; breakups. I went through a lot of cycles before I settled somewhere that I felt was fair — moving forward but also giving people what I feel they want from me — to not alienate anybody.
How did lockdown impact your creative process?
A lot, because I was isolated, so in the beginning there’s definitely this hopeless feeling to the album. I’d have to look again but it feels as if it starts out hopeless with moments of despair throughout that lead into a gradual optimism at the end.
The title seems to evoke that initial hopelessness, which I, and I'm sure many others, experienced as well. How did you decide on those two words as the name for such a monumental project?
I think I was on a boat in Saint-Tropez at the time, doing mushrooms, and I was complaining about something, I don't know. I said, “It's never enough for this person or these people.” I can’t remember what it was, but a boat floated by, and it was called Never Enough. Then we started talking with the people on the boat, and they said they were from North York, which is basically Toronto. It's down the street from me, part of the GTA area, so that was just this full-circle moment.
Almost like synchronicity?
Yeah, exactly.
Aside from France, were there any other significant places you visited that influenced your perspective over the last couple of years?
Jamaica, New York, and probably Stockholm.
Part of your family's from Jamaica right? What about being there?
I love Jamaica. My father's side is from Jamaica. The first time I got to go, I'd only gone as a child, and then probably three or four years ago, I started going as an adult by myself. I brought my girlfriend at the time, and we just kind of did whatever we wanted — it was a completely different experience.
I understood myself, you know what I mean? I love it so much. They're so honest and emotional.
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When you feel inspired, do you immediately write a song down or let it play in your head until you find the right words?
Sometimes. Usually, if it's a strong inclination, I'll stop everything and grab a pen, or I'll pull up my Notes app. But usually, I'll have something slow cooking. Music is always flowing in my mind, which is why I was in my producer bag for a minute, but I also had writer’s block for a while. I think because of my lifestyle, being on my phone all the time… listening to podcasts. It's like, ugh. My inner monologue has been a little corrupted, so I'm trying to clean it up. It's either negative, “You're not doing enough, you're not doing this, you're not doing that… they want you to do this, they want you to do that” or reminding myself to stay focused. I pontificate too much all the time. I think that the lyrics are finally coming back to me.
How much of this album did you produce?
All of it. I played 80% of the instruments, all the bass on the album, most of the guitars, and most of the keys, but I also had Dylan Wiggins in there with me. I needed his guidance for sure. Although I know what I'm doing, sometimes my confidence isn't all the way there in that sphere. He's a better musician than me by far, but I have a clear vision, and I know how I want all the parts to sound. It helped to have someone else in that seat though. I’d ask “Yo, you want to play this?” Then he’d be like, “Nah man, you got this. Just sit and figure it out.” When he does make a decision that I don’t agree with, that's when I finally start to understand what I imagined. I definitely needed that push. Just someone to be there and believe in me.
Was the creative process more intuitive or collaborative?
It started out intuitive then turned more collaborative. I think that's important, especially working with a label. I woke up to that over time.
How do you make sure that what you create still feels like you?
I fight for myself, I’ve got to, but I also believe in compromise within reason. I'm pretty self-aware so I know I'm difficult naturally. What I create does still feel like me though, but like a packaged version, or else things would be even more chaotic than they sometimes already can be. Still, I fight to be myself every day.
Do you ever ask yourself, “Does this fit?”
I try to stay open-minded, but it's more like, “Is this me?” Am I telling the truth, or am I lying?
Is that what you think makes your music so relatable — the honesty?
I think so. Part of making songs people can relate to is accepting that you’re not special despite wanting so badly to be. I'm singing about my own personal experience, trying to be unashamed of getting specific because everyone has felt what I feel. Although I feel like the only one, that's not true.
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As someone who has been in the music industry for a while now and transitioned from being an independent artist to being with a label, has there been an underlying pressure to create?
I put the pressure on myself, honestly. There is a pull to put things out, but there’s more of a pull to get things together I guess because making the music is not difficult. It's everything else around it. It's marketing and presenting it to the world in a package that becomes stressful because sometimes I have to change what I like. My musical tastes are stable, but so broad, and what I like aesthetically and visually changes so much because I'm around so many cool people that are into cool things.
Do you ever struggle with perfection?
Yes, and fear.
How do you get away from it?
I jump. When I finally close a chapter on something I'm never quite happy with it. You know what I mean? For example, I could keep perfecting this album for another five years, but I’ve accepted that it’s time to let it be. It’s also so different from anything you’ve put out.
Do you ever worry that your audience is expecting something similar from you?
Yeah, I do and I rebel against it of course as with all things, but I also try to accept it. I oscillate between the two and try to land somewhere in the middle. But yeah it's very different. That's why I love that Jay-Z line. He's like, "N—s want my old shit, buy my old albums." You know what I mean?
For sure. CASE STUDY 01 and Freudian will always be there, even if people listen to this new one, they can always go back. When did you finally say, “All right, this is done; I can't do anything to it”?
I want to say six to eight months ago at this point. I basically knew I was done and agreed to a date. That was a battle because I have personally always thought that an album should never have more than 10 songs, but I just end up with so many – I'm at 15 now.
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You mentioned heartbreak earlier, which comes through especially in your singles “Valentina” and “Let Me Go,” with their general sense of longing. How would you describe heartbreak?
It’s not always so happy-go-lucky all the time. I guess that explains the nihilistic tone throughout the album. It’s like you get hurt, and then you're like, “All right, how am I going to operate in the world now? I believed in things I don’t believe in anymore.”
Would you say Never Enough brings us through that reflection?
Exactly. Yeah, it's a whole story for sure. When sequencing an album, I try and tell a story. I think that's the most important thing, but it always has to end optimistically, because I have a superstition that I kind of live out what I write. You know what I mean? Maybe not always literally, but for the most part.
Oh, really? Which comes first? The song or the lived experience?
It's like there are moments all the time when I will—it's so fucking corny. I do this in my head; I don't do this out in the world, but I’ll live through a moment and quote something I wrote in a previous album to myself, kind of like, oh. And then I realize it's kind of like everything's just cyclical, and I probably find myself in similar situations all the time because of my habits.
For sure, I feel like it’s the same with all things, just like love and heartbreak is part of the same cycle.
Yeah, it’s definitely cycles, which is what the last album was about. It’s all things always, but as an individual, singular being, you can only exist as one thing at a time, although all things are always simultaneously happening. You just go through seasons.
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Do you see yourself ever going back to writing love songs?
Recently, I found myself in another crush. I haven't had a crush like this in a long time. People were trying to push me into writing love songs for this last album, and I couldn't because I wasn’t in love. At least not new love. I was in a post-honeymoon phase of love, like, oh, I love this person but at the same time, I can't stand them.
That pull toward being close to what you desire and then once you get there, the excitement’s over.
Exactly. Yeah, this pedestal thing. It especially comes through with my first album, it's like I idealized the person that I was with. I treated them as if they were God, which is so unhealthy, but it is what I do. I feel like a lot of people can relate to that, the initial infatuation especially. Yeah for sure. And it’s like I felt this feeling before, I’m addicted to it so I try to find it again.
Are you already writing songs based on this new love?
I literally wrote a song this morning. I could see myself making another great love song honestly… I think I'm doing that right now. And I don't want to say I’m over this album, but I'm already onto the next thing and I'm excited for what's to come. I changed so much, so fast, so it's like I'm already over this. What's the next sound? What's the next aesthetic?
I feel that, I mean there’s the album, the pre-tour you just announced, the actual tour, what else is coming?
Definitely more of everything. More production, more songs. I want to go through a period of high output, so I'm going to do the whole thing — drop the album, the tour, TV performances, but I also want to do mixtapes and other albums. I was gone for a while, but I don't want to do that again. I have a lot to say. I just have to divide it all up to have complete, coherent thoughts and stay focused.
Are you looking forward to going on tour this time around?
Extremely excited. I think it’s going to be sick. I’m really excited to just be on the move again. It's like an adventure. It's really the kicker for tours — adventure. The performances are great, but it's waking up in a new city, meeting new people, doing new things.
What's your favorite part?
In the beginning, all of it. At the end of every tour, I always say, "I'll never do it again," but for the first three quarters, I love it. My favorite has to be the little romances. I’m always looking for inspiration.
If there's a lesson in all of this, what do you hope your people ultimately take away from your output this year?
That life keeps going and if you really love something, keep doing it, and take everything seriously, but also not too seriously. Live in the moment, and if you're not happy with something, it doesn't help you or anybody else to let that get you off what you're meant to do. You have to accept that there’s something you aren’t pleased with, and you're very capable of doing something you are pleased with. In the end, always keep trying to impress yourself.
Fans are eager to hear how Ox is evolving in his craft in OXygen, and are already noticing a maturity in his sound when they listen to Fast. Many praise his love for rage music through his experimental sound, playful flows and dynamic verses.
For the first time, Ox is collaborating with a single group of producers (Surf Gang) to achieve the entirety of OXygen. Ox is able to seamlessly collaborate with Surf Gang's producers Evilgiane, Goner, Harrison and Eera. The project will also feature collaborations with Pasto Flocco and RealYungPhil.
Drawn in by their ardor for live performance and commitment to revitalizing an enthusiasm for rock not seen in New York since the turn of the century, I sat down with the band in Allan’s East Village apartment. Although bedecked with an immaculately curated assortment of The Strokes vinyls, Jim Morrison posters, and biographies of Rolling Stones members stacked with seemingly deliberate precarity between amps and pianos, I’d be forgiven for thinking it was a rock exhibition in a cultural museum. Eager to talk to me about everything from the growing pains inherent to trying to leave their mark on such a rich musical canon to being pelted with eggs at backyard shows, here’s what one of New York’s premier rock bands had to say about their short yet eventful time on the scene.
I’m interested in the difference between playing house and D-I-Y shows versus venue performances, especially in New York, where the venues have such historical allure and some are even considered cultural institutions. Are there any venues that have stood out to you as performers?
Mercer Meeks— I'm going to say that I definitely prefer the venue show over the house show I've carried. I play a Blues Junior Three. It's a tube amp. It's pretty heavy, probably weighs about 15, 20 pounds, maybe more. I've carried it up nine flights of stairs before in a walk up to go to a roof to play a house show, and I would not wish that on anybody. It was a really cool show, but yeah, you're carrying a lot of gear up a very precarious spiral stairwell. No one helps you. It smells weird. It's slippery. There's a slew of oddities that comes with playing a DIY show, which is so much fun. I remember when we played the social club, too, I got hit when we were playing, and somebody ran into me, which was crazy. The power went out, so we were playing in the dark. So I think the venue shows are a lot easier to pull off and less stressful, but then you obviously have to bring a higher level of performance with that.
Lucas Allan— I think the thing that is interesting to me is there's a difference between the connection to the crowd from a house show or a stage show. In a house show, mostly there hasn't been a stage, and the connection to the audience–the same playing field is leveled. And like Mercer was saying, that also brings about stuff like getting hit in the face with shit or getting pushed around by the mosh pits coming at you, which is interesting because you really feel in the vibe of the feeling that you're curating with the music. You're a part of the mosh pit almost while you're playing with it. So that's kind of fun, but the connection of being on the stage–it's more of a professional feeling.
Dylan Cook— I think the one perk of venues in New York is a sense of being able to like play full loud and get the crowd going and everything, because I played a show in a backyard in the East Village, and when you play at a full band volume, it pisses everyone off in New York. We had eggs thrown at us and shit, so it's fun and there’s that spontaneity and freedom, but I think, unfortunately, New York is a bit pigeonholed to needing the venues just due to proximity.
Caleb Rubin— I think summertime or warm weather rooftop shows in New York City is a special feeling. But I think the venue stuff has the inherent respect that a lot of people in New York City have, just for the artistry of it all. I think we all love playing music and we do it because we love playing music, and to be up on that stage and kind of feel that sense of respect for the artistry as a whole is really cool. New York City has that— every corner you turn there is kind of an inherent enjoyment of people being artists and doing this because they love to like create things. So I think when you're at a venue, especially like the Bitter End or Mercury Lounge that we were fortunate enough to have played many a time, that has history or respect, to feel that respect coming at you is a really cool feeling.
I think it reflects something deeper about what kind of band you are. I'm not going to try to speak for anyone. Still, I think that the bands I've talked to that really prefer house shows really see themselves as primarily live bands and prioritize the feeling of the social atmosphere and the energy as opposed to maybe the technical, sonic aspects of their music. So I'm wondering what you guys think for you is the most important aspect of being a band, whether it's your recorded music and the quality of the sound or the performance and community of it.
LA— I think our strength is definitely our live show. Just playing live, we have a lot of fun, and I can't speak for the guys, but it's my favorite part about the whole thing. We try to take notes from our influences, great bands like The Strokes, Cage the Elephant, the Chili Peppers, Rolling Stones, we try to emulate that but not copy it. I mean, everyone's trying to sound like The Strokes nowadays, right? We love The Strokes too, but we wouldn't want to try to go down any lane that anyone's already gone down before.
CR— I think live shows are definitely our strength just because of how much we've done it. In the program that Lucas and I met, my dad's program, we had rehearsals and showcases at real venues like the Bitter End and Rockwood Music Hall. So, I've just been doing that side of being in a band for so long. The live shows are what keep me going, definitely. But also the rehearsal and writing time… I just love playing music with these dudes. Writing a good section when we're in a room just together, finally getting a song to feel right feels so good, and then playing that live, and feeling good about it is just like the ultimate payoff. That's absolutely why I do it. There's no feeling like it, in my opinion. The recorded stuff—we just have to put more time into that going forward. We just haven't done it as much, but we're all very excited. Jonathan is going to school for recording and producing, and he's a dope producer.
Jonathan Awad— At least when I play, and I think this is how it should be, I prefer to see people enjoying themselves. If I look at people and they smile, or there's something going on, their bodies are just expressing how they're feeling about the music, it makes me happy because it's the best job in the world to be able to express your art to people. It feels really good when they like your art. That being said, the emotions, ours, and the emotions of other people are probably the most important thing to connect for me.
MM— Yeah, building off of that, I think what Jon's talking about is that live performance is like a relationship because there are two parties. There's you as the performer, and then there's the audience who has to witness it. You get this very special connection because you're creating energy, really. It's art, but it translates in a live setting to this pure energy or a wavelength people can get onto. And then having people latch onto that and that real-time connection is like what makes it all worth it. It's a very magical thing. Because I remember we finished playing in North Carolina at Cats Cradle and we had this little talk and we said, there's no amount of money you can pay to anybody in the world to do what we just did. To feel what you just felt. As a performer, you can't pay anybody to purchase any item or anything that's going to give you that feeling of going on stage and playing to a crowd that you're connected with and are feeling you. That mutual understanding is I think what keeps us all hungry for the next one. When you finish a show that’s a good show, I just know for me, I have like this buzz that's like, I'm going to do whatever it takes, whatever it takes to keep doing this forever. I don’t have that all the time, but after a show, you get it right away.
I'm interested in what's drawing people to the format of making music as a band as opposed to as a group or a project. I feel like we're just exiting this era of a dude in a snapback standing at a laptop, so I'm wondering what you think is drawing everyone now to this instrumental return to form.
JA— A majority of the people that listen to music like to be able to relate to it, and there's nothing more relatable than a human being. If you disagree with that, I'd say there's nothing more unrelatable than a computer. If I'm taking a real recording and chopping it up and making it so that everything is perfect or the way I want it, you don't feel as much humanity with that performance as you do the original.
DC— Beyond the sonic quality of a band format, it's the difference between watching something dramatic or suspenseful unfold in a film versus actually seeing it with your eyes happening in the world. When you watch a film, you might enjoy the heightened sense of drama or the subversion of reality, but you know that whatever was supposed to happen is going to happen the way it was supposed to happen because it's been shot and edited. Something that has been released versus witnessing something going on in life, there's a suspense of not knowing the outcome. It's the same with live music; there is a sense that no matter how much they practice, mistakes can happen. You don't always know where things are going to go. As a performer, I know I value that. I don't think even if it was if I was making music that I really enjoyed, but all it was me hitting play on a laptop and singing into a microphone, it wouldn't have the stakes that make playing in a band valuable, and playing in a band requires a lot more time and specific focus and the ability to prepare yourself to perform. I think all those things are good for you as a person and they're also just engaging and entertaining to pursue.
LA— This whole indie sleaze 2000s vibe coming back… with it comes, just like any trend, the followers and the bandwagon, just like when there was every other kid in a snapback behind their desk trying to be a “producer slash rapper,” there's every kid now messing up their hair, getting some ripped jeans and putting a guitar on their shoulder thinking they're The Strokes, you know. It's kind of the same thing, but then there's also a really cool realness factor where it's bringing light to this vibe and music that it wasn't before and people are actually appreciating how fucking cool it is. And there's some really, really cool fucking music and bands coming out of that. And you got to, I mean, there's always going to be fakeness and posers and stuff, but I think you got to just really look for what good comes out of it.
MM— I'm not going to say I necessarily disagree with that, but I'm never one to gatekeep anything. I say let there be all the posers that want to play the electric guitar because I love the electric guitar and I believe in it and it should not die, and if people stop playing it for whatever reason, it will. It’s evening the playing field... you can be a great guitar player, but you can also be a terrible band member or vice versa. It's really interesting to see people who are very tight as a band and work as one unit. That's a special talent that electronic musicians maybe don't have to deal with as much, and I say this as somebody who loves electronic music and thinks it's really impressive, but there's something about being able to perform with other people live that has such immediate consequences and also such immediate rewards.
CR— I really like what Mercer said about evening the playing field. And I think for me, being in a band or just playing physical music with people doesn't even only even the playing field, but creates a new one. I feel bad for our generation right now, whether it be COVID, or growing up with the media being unavoidable, there's so much to be overwhelmed about and so much to put pressure on yourself about. Having that other place to go to creates a whole other output to express anything that you would want. It's a separate way of expressing things, and that can be helpful for a lot of people.
I want to go back to your thought about how our generation has been shaped by the media because I'm interested in how that's changed the music industry in the past decade or two. I guess the things that I’ve been wondering most are whether this traditional model of trying to get signed by a label is falling by the wayside and how social media and streaming services have changed the game.
LA— The media and social media have definitely made people's attention spans a lot shorter. A term we've heard a lot is “radio-friendly.” Everything has to be “radio-friendly.” Instead of the vibe of the song or how it feels or the lyrics, what's in the forefront of our minds is that it has to be two minutes and thirty seconds or else it's too long.
MM— On the bit of signing people, TikTok is an incredible discovery tool for record labels and for A&Rs all around the world. It's really good because you can blow up really fast with almost no following. Of course, your song is going to have to cater to a couple of things. It's going to have to be a very good TikTok sound and it should probably sound good pitched up and sped up. If you're more attractive, it's going to be more popular, but that's been around forever. Labels are seeing this and they say, oh, look at this—there's this huge pool of artists that have a talent, they can create something very catchy. But the problem with that is labels tend not to invest in the longevity of an artist because TikTok promotes virality.
So there's a new bunch of one-hit-wonder people because they didn't have the ability to see if they can continue to write songs at that quality for a long time or if they have any kind of longevity, and a lot of these artists have also never played a show before. They're blowing up from their bedroom. So it's a whole new kind of landscape.
I want to backtrack a little bit to live performances and being part of a New York scene of bands. I know you guys have toured before, so I'm wondering what has felt different performing in New York versus performing elsewhere.
DC— Playing shows in New York, the blessing and the curse of it are that there's a pervasive nonchalance to everything where it could be the biggest bill you've played or you selling the biggest venue you've played or some release show or whatever it is. There's going to be a quarter of the audience there just there because they saw a flyer, their friends texted them the thing, and within that is both an opportunity to feel like, “people aren't here because this is what I'm doing,” but then at the same time, you have the potential to get New York put on to what you're doing, which is really fun, and the recurring faces tend to be people you get to know well. One of the best parts about playing in New York is it's so easy to get together a group after a show and go get drinks. That part is awesome. But then, there's a lot of genuine appreciation for people coming to wherever whatever given American town and actually playing a good show and giving people a good time. I didn't grow up in the city, and I definitely know that when I was young and getting into music, having people come out to Minnesota and play was always super exciting and almost… hard to believe. Being on the end of playing those shows is kind of funny because a lot of the people who were there were like, “we'll come back the next time you're in town.” Whereas in New York people are like, “you'll probably see me on another show or whatever because we're always around.” It's definitely a contrasting vibe.
How did you come up with the band name, by the way?
LA— We used to be under a very stupid name... Early Retirement. People would ask us why we were called Early Retirement. We say, “that's the goal.” And it would just be a laugh or a grin, which I kind of didn't like. I just wanted it to be a simpler one-word kind of thing. There was this dude, my father's best friend, and an old friend of mine, too. He was very close to me, kind of like my godfather. His name was Michele Savoia and he was a fashion designer in the early 90s and late 80s. He was one of the coolest fucking dudes, like leopard-tattooed from his shoulder to his butt. He passed away around 2012 or ‘13. He was living on his boat in the Hudson River, and he was coming out of Paris Hilton's birthday party with a huge raccoon fur skin coat and slipped and fell because he was drunk as fuck, and the raccoon fur skin coat pulled him down from the truck and everything.
Is that a true story? Are you trolling me right now? I’m sorry I’m laughing.
LA— True story, I swear on my life. You can look it up. It's cool. He literally died in style. So I like and I felt like his name, the kind of person who he was, his energy is a very free-spirited, very fun thing. So I thought that fit with the band. I thought it was a cool way to honor him.
You can stay up to date with Savoia’s next shows @savoianyc or listen to “Bringing Me Down” on Spotify.