Unghetto Mathieu, Silently Loud

Tell me how Shirt came together after All Day Gentle Hold!? It’s hitting for me right now because it sounds like you’re returning to your childhood and there are these very funny lyrics, like this blend of innocent schoolyard talk and heavier, real-world contemplations.

Porches— I started a couple of songs while I was waiting for All Day to come out, but most of it was written right after the tour we did with All Day Gentle Hold!. On that tour, we turned everything up. It was the first tour post-COVID, so everything about it felt miraculous and crazy. The live energy from that is what became Shirt. I was screaming and the audience seemed to respond to the more dissonant or heavier parts, which I was surprised by because most of the Porches’ stuff is vibier — at least the last three or four records have been pretty smooth. After the tour, I was less afraid to have it feel more unhinged and boiling over, tapping into these darker, creepier thoughts, sounds, and melodies.

I had to remind myself to stick to the plot — it was a weird place to inhabit for that long. Sometimes I’d listen back and be like, “Oh this is kind of a lot, am I really making this record right now?” But at the same time, I think it’s good to feel uncomfortable and to take a risk. To me it was important to not dilute it — I didn’t want to fuck it up.

It felt like a coming-of-age album, in a sense. Even listening to you now. There’s one song on the album, “Precious”, that I like a lot. You sing about the sky, which is so unpredictable. There can be a really clear sky and all of a sudden a storm and lightning will barge in, or fuck, a hurricane. The whole album feels eerily reflective of growing up and learning to accept the freakish nature of every day. 

There are some very naive, awe-inspiring things about the sky, and I feel like it inspires the same awe in adults — maybe just in a different way. On the album, there’s this push and pull with innocence, embodying these more childlike emotions but also being aware that it gets lost in some way, or not what one thought it was — wishing that I could see the world in the same way and struggling with the fact that I can’t. The more I talk about the album, the more I notice all these things at odds with each other, even sounds and genres that contradict each other.

What were you listening to while making the album?

I mean I was listening to Nine Inch Nails and Nirvana like I did as a teenager. I was trying to make essentially a rock album, but that sounds enough where it felt really familiar with some breaks that create this tension. I feel like it started with "Rag," "Sally," and "Precious" being sort of the heavier songs. At a certain point, I was so tweaked out that I was living in the world of Shirt and I made "Voices In My Head," which is sort of like a pop-punk anthem thing. I sort of imagined that song existing in this world, characters in the world of “Shirt” would listen to that song on the radio. Even though it was a little different than the other thing.

Tell me about this world you envisioned. Where did you record it, and did that help you escape into it?

Well, I think I got really caught up in this record. I've been renting a studio in Soho and it’s the first time I ever had a space outside of my apartment. It's in the basement beneath this cobblestone street, with no windows, underground. I honestly think that location had a huge effect on the themes and just being underground, stuff sounds different down there, like the bass. I could turn it up loud down there.

You could probably scream a lot.

I could scream. Yeah, I didn’t have to worry about the neighbors.

That probably felt good. I haven’t heard you scream like that on your past couple of records.

Not in a long time. Once I moved to New York, I ended my screaming career, which was cool, it made room for a lot of softer stuff. But yeah, I was closed off from the world down there, I had the space to dig deeper, to not see my bed or my mail or my taxes or the street or anything. I was crazily left to my own devices — it felt like a demented playground or something. 

I like to obsess over stuff and being in this space I got to spiral and get lost, so I guess that’s what I mean by inhabiting this “world” I was making… it’s not a concept album, but I feel like it has traces of that sort of feeling. That’s how I listen to it at least, it feels like a very different world than my day-to-day. 

Yeah, it's really experimental, but I don't think it sounds like another world. It doesn't throw me off that you move between genres and sounds. I want to say it's sassy, bringing all of these elements together that come with growing up, how things change, and how the way you look at things changes. Those core feelings are there and you capture that well, but there’s also this reluctance to be as emotive with age.

Yeah. It's less appropriate to act out or do something. 

On my first listen, I imagined you performing “Rag”, I feel like that’d be fun to experience in a crowd. What do you think the energy will be like for your upcoming tour in October?

I'm super excited. I mean I was also thinking about how it’ll sound live, the strobe lights hitting, being full of teenage energy and lost in the music. Again, it’s weirdly this post-COVID thing, to never be taken for granted again, how special it is to play live music. For a while, it was easy to get super lost and not think about the live show, which required more attention to the audience. I felt a return to that raw, tongue-in-cheek, snarky, and grabby energy, which felt good. I do think it’s what you were saying… what was it? Sassy?

Another thing you do really beautifully across all of your albums is your songwriting. It’s like liner after liner, and in this album, it's cool because you're still really vulnerable, pushing back in a different way sonically. 

I think it had to do with feeling more confident as a songwriter. A big part of it is accepting that I have all of these emotions. I felt allergic to watering stuff down, the uglier, weirder things most people feel from time to time. I try to learn about them by singing and presenting it in a cheekier way. I feel like that's where it grew with the lyrics. They had always been abstract and not meant to be taken literally. I feel like that goes for this one too. There’s still not one story or one thing I'm trying to say, but I do feel more honest with myself. I’m not omitting the darker side of things or trying to keep it all inside. Truly feeling like a maniac sometimes, I’m not just plugging my ears and telling myself that I don’t have these weird demented thoughts. 

We all have the weird uglies, and part of growing up is — hopefully — releasing the fear of judgment. It sucks to feel suffocated, because the feelings always finds a way out, and if you’re not committed to it, when they do, you’re stuck watching this weird half-living creature breathe.

Yeah, one hundred percent. That's sort of the goal with each record, to be a little more honest with myself or share as much as I can with the next, even if it feels over the top, or borderline inappropriate. Something felt necessary. Even to make a sixth album, when in reality it’s the 20th album that I’ve made. I know that I have to keep finding new ways to excite myself, and there were moments where I would surprise myself with what came out of my mouth, or what my voice was doing. Those were the moments that drove record. It felt good to keep myself on my toes. 

The last song, “Music”, is such a beautiful end to the album. It folds into itself and expands. You can hear yourself soften and explore, and it makes me feel like I’m in the room with you. You let yourself play and this lyric “let the music take control” — It feels like it took control of you, vessel-style.

Yeah, I felt that way with that song too. I weirdly cried when I wrote it. I had the first verse, and I was playing piano slowly, and it slowly came into place and I was like, “Oh… this is insane.” It’s definitely an emotional song, and I felt like it could only be the last song — like the first song, “Twisted World” kind of set the opposite tone.

For me, the whole record feels like a fever dream, a fantasy. You’re not sure what’s real or fake the entire time until the music crashes down. It’s obviously a very personal song, but I feel like if you didn't know me or Porches, in the context of Shirt, it works in a different way. Maybe you’re not a rock star, but a fireman, an astronaut, or a baseball player — some really cliche American dream thing. I see the smoking ashtrays and empties around [laughs], which to me felt like a nice way to ground it at the very end. Something really personal at the end of a manic episode of a record.

Real, and that translates. I cried. The album’s length feels perfect too. I’ve listened to it in full each time. I take it on walks.

That’s awesome, I’m excited. It feels like I’ve been waiting forever. The single release has been the longest rollout we’ve ever done. I can’t wait for it to speak for itself, because I feel like the people that I’ve talked to all get it in different ways. But yeah, it’s meant to be digested together, it’s like 23 minutes — I’m glad that it's not just another stinking Porches album.

Is that how you were feeling?

No, but I feel like there's a point in the cycle where I question everything, where I’m like, This never needs to be heard by a soul. I almost pulled the plug. It was mixed and mastered, and I didn’t talk to my label — I was talking to my girlfriend, I was like I don’t know if this can come out, which I feel like always happens in some capacity when I realize that I'm going to share something with people. You’d think I’d be prepared to make music for so many years, but there’s still no preparation for the moment it goes on Spotify. I wasn't worried that I made just another Porches record, I was worried that I made some sort of monstrosity, but I think that's part of what the album is. It’s ear candy in a different way. It's like you can’t sit back and relax.

No, it’s an album that makes me feel like I want to run and thrash around. A lot of my favorite music makes me feel like I'm in transit, spiritually or physically. These songs do that.

It’s like anti-stagnancy or something, that’s what I’m trying to stay as far away from as possible. Sleepy, bummed out, or in your head; I wanted this to be more physical.

Embodied.

I think the words help awaken your body and your brain. I wanted to get twisted too. I wanted to do all these house shows, and it ended up boiling down to this one show in Jersey last week. It's this 4-year-old DIY space with a one-inch stage. Playing the new songs in there was the best feeling I've had in so long. Finally, all the yelling and imagining people in a room, a band playing these crazy songs. It was a time capsule, from like 2013 or something. I’ve kind of been longing for that, whatever that restlessness is.

Like a rawness. I feel like for a while I’d be in these spaces where I’m like, "Why is nobody moving?" There's this weird lack of environment, I’m not sure, sometimes I just want to be sweat on. 

With the first record, Pool, I really wanted people to move, and then I did all the slower, less energetic stuff. Now, it’s weird, but I had the same thought, I wanted people to feel the energy of sweating and bumping into each other, squeezing into a space. It feels more resonant now because it is raw. It’s just a different time. It made sense then and makes less sense now. Too much shit is going on. 

Well, as we move through the world, we become increasingly exposed to all these shifting contexts. Even when we’re influenced by these worldly experiences, you’re still, as an artist, ultimately weaving together your individual experiences and way of interpreting it all. It moves through you and out. You’re always you. Just different times. 

Right. I've been lucky that I haven't been typecast into one sound relentlessly, and made something significantly different than the thing before. It's nice to express myself and get to explore different sounds and ideas nonstop while making music. Commercially, it would be in my best interest to pick a lane and stay in it or something, but no. It’s fulfilling creatively. I feel really lucky.