Evan Willams Project Interview
Q: Can you talk about your history as a musician?
A: As a child, I was raised in a home filled with music; my mother, a piano player, led worship at our church and I was enlisted in piano lessons around the age of seven alongside my two older sisters Right around the time I started going to high school, I was inclined to make the decision to switch gears from ‘boring’ piano to the electric guitar, a choice which my father - who grew up playing classic rock music in his small Northern B.C. town - heartily endorsed. Even with all this time and investment, I never really took music seriously until I was already halfway through college, because it didn’t seem like the kind of thing I’d actually be good at. You know, I’d listen to all this thrash metal and it felt to me like that was so far out of reach, out of my wheelhouse. Only when a friend introduced me to Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats Vol 1 - that album still makes me shiver from how raw and unadulterated it is - did I actually stop and realize that this ‘musician’ label, this unexplored part of me, was something that brought me joy. Uncle Acid’s first record was all DIY, made with gear they found for free or cheap, and I loved it. And I didn’t want to keep doing what I was doing - I was a theater major, thinking I’d be an actor, and that artistic path wasn’t speaking to me anymore. But all I had was an old Line 6 Flextone II and an Epiphone Les Paul. Learning to produce music was a hurdle, too - I only played live up until now, and it was with my church band. Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess.
Then for, like, years, I was not in a position that I could devote any time to my music. Of course, I would really try to work on some ideas in my scarce free time, but even that wouldn’t bring forth anything of note. Really, it wasn’t until I was out of work that I found I could actually pursue my interests. Especially because work was burning me out. After somehow cobbling together a ramshackle piece of work I called Hatemachine - an album which almost nobody, not even my own family, listened to - I decided I needed to buckle down and really try and make something of quality. Dealing with the idea of “nobody cares about what I make” was disheartening at first, but I soon found it to be very freeing. That meant that I could really put myself into my work, that what I made could be something I loved, and it didn’t need to be anything else. Hatemachine was just an experiment, one that ultimately I was hoping would get approval from others. Instead of making something for approval, I chose to make something that spoke to me. So that’s what I still try to do.
Q: On your release 24 30 you mention the album deals with the question "What is a human life worth?” What do you mean by that?
A: That’s been something I’ve struggled with for a long time. How often do people think about their lives and come to the conclusion: “I am truly insignificant”? Each of us has inherent worth, I believe that, but in a world that revolves around money and status, it’s incredibly easy to forget. Certainly I will, as a creative person, feel like I am not actually contributing anything of value. You may look at others and feel like you’ll never ‘make it,’ that you’re wasting your time, as if deriving financial value from your work is what it’s all about. And you really can’t escape that - money is the be - all - end - all for most people. Nobody can live without it, after all.
If, then, money is the ultimate goal, and to be ‘successful’ is the only measure of worth, almost all of us end up somewhere close to zero. Definitely, that’s where I find myself. Everyone has their idea of success, but because so much of our lives have become public I think the concept has become homogenized. So many people - artists, musicians, etc - will think “I can’t make any money doing the thing I love, and I’m not wired to do anything else. Obviously, if I can’t make or do anything of actual value, then I am not valuable as a human being.” Under the circumstances, it’s a hard point to fight against. Like others, I consistently find I am falling into that trap. It’s not true, I know that. Some days, though, it feels true. Heading into 24 30, I was at my worst. Every day thinking “it’s not worth the time, it’s not worth the effort, you won’t succeed, your music isn’t good or even accessible.” Real talk: I don’t think “accessible” means anything. Either you make something that speaks to people or you don’t; but I think you need to start by making what speaks to you first and foremost, or you’re going to continue that belief of looking to others for validation of your work, and you’re going to miss out on something beautiful.
Q: What is the creative process like?
A: The process of making a song is a lot like painting. Having a vision is important, and it helps to have a theme or a riff in mind, but despite those a lot of the real art coms out during the work. Every time I start something new, I try to conceptualize it all finished and put together, but I often only have a bar or two written. “Dreams Dispelled” was just a song title, and nothing else, before I had even thought of putting it on the album. Eventually though, I just start trying things and see where they go. Most of my songs were done this way. On more than one occasion I’ll fully complete a song before realizing that I hate it and start over. Not a great feeling.
Creativity is one of those things I think you have to learn to look for. A song can be written, or it might reveal itself to you. Not infrequently, I will suddenly hear a song, front to back, in my head - usually when I’m trying to sleep. Then I’ll sneak out of bed and make a voice recording while I still remember the song. Definitely annoyed my wife a few times. It’s that attitude that’s key. Every time you get an idea, it must be treated as a gift; it’s your creativity revealing itself, and if you ignore it you will stop recognizing it when it comes; the key is to listen, and be persistent.
Q: How did you approach recording the album since it was DIY?
A: I really only learned to produce out of necessity. There are a few studios in my area, but they can be expensive, and I never felt confident enough in my own work to commit to that kind of financial expenditure. Luckily, I’m a total nerd, and I learn quickly. I know that, naturally, I will either be totally unmotivated or get so wrapped up in a project that I forget to eat, so I forced myself to make a schedule and set time aside each day to do a bit of work. Very difficult to adapt to at first. Eventually, though, I made the discovery that having the schedule worked wonders for me. Some days I’d wake up totally drained, but sitting down at my desk, getting into the swing of things, man! It’s like flipping a switch.
Now, I can play a number of instruments, but drums are not one. Yeah, living in a basement doesn’t help. Or the fact I have an older sister who’s so damn good at drumming that I don’t want to try. Unfortunately she’s not into the music I love to write, so I had to find an alternative. Fortunately, computer drums have come a long way. Obviously it’s not anywhere near the same as a real drummer, but until I can convince a drummer to record for me I’ve got to make do. Really that’s been my attitude, inspired by Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats: make do with what you’ve got. Eventually I’ll get even better gear. Vainly sitting around waiting for “the thing that’ll make me sound good” means waiting for a day that will never come. Eventually I might get a group of other weird people together and make some wild, crazy stuff, but if I can get the experience in and make some cool stuff now, why wait? Reach for the stars now, however I can, so I don’t have any regrets when I die.
Q: Moving forward, are you planning on keeping this project solo or possibly working with other musicians?
A: Definitely, I would love to find some like minded musicians and play my music live, but I’m naturally super introverted, and kinda narcissistic, and the music that I make contains so much of myself and my own experiences and feelings and fears - things I don’t often share with other people. Often I wonder if I would ever be able to let other people into that world. Not that what I make is actually all that important; really, I just have a deep attachment to it. On the other hand, I’ve never played my own music live. The thought of singing songs I wrote when I wanted to die in front of others is… kind of weird. Then with the vocal harmonies, I’m saying “so this thing I wrote when I was broke and suicidal, yeah I want you to sing along at this point.” Really weird. Yes, it’s probably just insecurity, immaturity, whatever. That’s still a bridge I need to cross at some point. Or I could keep “The Evan Williams Project” as my solo thing and have a totally separate band going, then at least I could keep my songs close to me. Haven’t figured it out yet.
I have dipped my toes in the ‘livestream concert’ pool recently, to friends and family, and I do really enjoy it. Don’t have to pack my gear to a venue, don’t have to see who’s watching. Easy set up. It will be interesting to see what happens when things start to open up again. There will be a lot of people in the same boat as me, I think, who have spent their time at home honing their craft. Whatever happens, I would love playing live. It’s one thing to say “look what I made” and share your music on Facebook or whatever. Lots of people don’t pay attention. Live music, though, hot damn. Feels like nothing else. It’s amazing, really, that there’s just something about live performance that makes you appreciate music more than just hearing it. Not many people follow me or share my stuff, but I get lots of positive feedback from live streaming. Definitely worth the effort.
You have to stay open to new things as an artist. Otherwise you’ll miss an opportunity when it actually presents itself. Under the right circumstances, I’d be open to a full band, but I’m happy right now, by myself, doing what I love.
Q: What else should we know about your music?
A: I love it when albums have gimmicks, easter eggs, or other secrets. Throughout 24 30 I’ve hidden a number of secrets and callbacks and stuff, all of which you can read about in the liner notes included with the album on Bandcamp. For now, all my music is free. Or, technically, pay - what - you - want. Until I actually have an audience I plan to keep it that way. Nowadays I’ve got three or so projects on the go. Doubtlessly, some of you might say, “won’t that mean they’ll all take forever to make?” Maybe.
Evan Williams isn’t real, incidentally; my name’s Scott, if you wanted to know that.
Q: Can you talk about your history as a musician?
A: As a child, I was raised in a home filled with music; my mother, a piano player, led worship at our church and I was enlisted in piano lessons around the age of seven alongside my two older sisters Right around the time I started going to high school, I was inclined to make the decision to switch gears from ‘boring’ piano to the electric guitar, a choice which my father - who grew up playing classic rock music in his small Northern B.C. town - heartily endorsed. Even with all this time and investment, I never really took music seriously until I was already halfway through college, because it didn’t seem like the kind of thing I’d actually be good at. You know, I’d listen to all this thrash metal and it felt to me like that was so far out of reach, out of my wheelhouse. Only when a friend introduced me to Uncle Acid and the Deadbeats Vol 1 - that album still makes me shiver from how raw and unadulterated it is - did I actually stop and realize that this ‘musician’ label, this unexplored part of me, was something that brought me joy. Uncle Acid’s first record was all DIY, made with gear they found for free or cheap, and I loved it. And I didn’t want to keep doing what I was doing - I was a theater major, thinking I’d be an actor, and that artistic path wasn’t speaking to me anymore. But all I had was an old Line 6 Flextone II and an Epiphone Les Paul. Learning to produce music was a hurdle, too - I only played live up until now, and it was with my church band. Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess.
Then for, like, years, I was not in a position that I could devote any time to my music. Of course, I would really try to work on some ideas in my scarce free time, but even that wouldn’t bring forth anything of note. Really, it wasn’t until I was out of work that I found I could actually pursue my interests. Especially because work was burning me out. After somehow cobbling together a ramshackle piece of work I called Hatemachine - an album which almost nobody, not even my own family, listened to - I decided I needed to buckle down and really try and make something of quality. Dealing with the idea of “nobody cares about what I make” was disheartening at first, but I soon found it to be very freeing. That meant that I could really put myself into my work, that what I made could be something I loved, and it didn’t need to be anything else. Hatemachine was just an experiment, one that ultimately I was hoping would get approval from others. Instead of making something for approval, I chose to make something that spoke to me. So that’s what I still try to do.
Q: On your release 24 30 you mention the album deals with the question "What is a human life worth?” What do you mean by that?
A: That’s been something I’ve struggled with for a long time. How often do people think about their lives and come to the conclusion: “I am truly insignificant”? Each of us has inherent worth, I believe that, but in a world that revolves around money and status, it’s incredibly easy to forget. Certainly I will, as a creative person, feel like I am not actually contributing anything of value. You may look at others and feel like you’ll never ‘make it,’ that you’re wasting your time, as if deriving financial value from your work is what it’s all about. And you really can’t escape that - money is the be - all - end - all for most people. Nobody can live without it, after all.
If, then, money is the ultimate goal, and to be ‘successful’ is the only measure of worth, almost all of us end up somewhere close to zero. Definitely, that’s where I find myself. Everyone has their idea of success, but because so much of our lives have become public I think the concept has become homogenized. So many people - artists, musicians, etc - will think “I can’t make any money doing the thing I love, and I’m not wired to do anything else. Obviously, if I can’t make or do anything of actual value, then I am not valuable as a human being.” Under the circumstances, it’s a hard point to fight against. Like others, I consistently find I am falling into that trap. It’s not true, I know that. Some days, though, it feels true. Heading into 24 30, I was at my worst. Every day thinking “it’s not worth the time, it’s not worth the effort, you won’t succeed, your music isn’t good or even accessible.” Real talk: I don’t think “accessible” means anything. Either you make something that speaks to people or you don’t; but I think you need to start by making what speaks to you first and foremost, or you’re going to continue that belief of looking to others for validation of your work, and you’re going to miss out on something beautiful.
Q: What is the creative process like?
A: The process of making a song is a lot like painting. Having a vision is important, and it helps to have a theme or a riff in mind, but despite those a lot of the real art coms out during the work. Every time I start something new, I try to conceptualize it all finished and put together, but I often only have a bar or two written. “Dreams Dispelled” was just a song title, and nothing else, before I had even thought of putting it on the album. Eventually though, I just start trying things and see where they go. Most of my songs were done this way. On more than one occasion I’ll fully complete a song before realizing that I hate it and start over. Not a great feeling.
Creativity is one of those things I think you have to learn to look for. A song can be written, or it might reveal itself to you. Not infrequently, I will suddenly hear a song, front to back, in my head - usually when I’m trying to sleep. Then I’ll sneak out of bed and make a voice recording while I still remember the song. Definitely annoyed my wife a few times. It’s that attitude that’s key. Every time you get an idea, it must be treated as a gift; it’s your creativity revealing itself, and if you ignore it you will stop recognizing it when it comes; the key is to listen, and be persistent.
Q: How did you approach recording the album since it was DIY?
A: I really only learned to produce out of necessity. There are a few studios in my area, but they can be expensive, and I never felt confident enough in my own work to commit to that kind of financial expenditure. Luckily, I’m a total nerd, and I learn quickly. I know that, naturally, I will either be totally unmotivated or get so wrapped up in a project that I forget to eat, so I forced myself to make a schedule and set time aside each day to do a bit of work. Very difficult to adapt to at first. Eventually, though, I made the discovery that having the schedule worked wonders for me. Some days I’d wake up totally drained, but sitting down at my desk, getting into the swing of things, man! It’s like flipping a switch.
Now, I can play a number of instruments, but drums are not one. Yeah, living in a basement doesn’t help. Or the fact I have an older sister who’s so damn good at drumming that I don’t want to try. Unfortunately she’s not into the music I love to write, so I had to find an alternative. Fortunately, computer drums have come a long way. Obviously it’s not anywhere near the same as a real drummer, but until I can convince a drummer to record for me I’ve got to make do. Really that’s been my attitude, inspired by Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats: make do with what you’ve got. Eventually I’ll get even better gear. Vainly sitting around waiting for “the thing that’ll make me sound good” means waiting for a day that will never come. Eventually I might get a group of other weird people together and make some wild, crazy stuff, but if I can get the experience in and make some cool stuff now, why wait? Reach for the stars now, however I can, so I don’t have any regrets when I die.
Q: Moving forward, are you planning on keeping this project solo or possibly working with other musicians?
A: Definitely, I would love to find some like minded musicians and play my music live, but I’m naturally super introverted, and kinda narcissistic, and the music that I make contains so much of myself and my own experiences and feelings and fears - things I don’t often share with other people. Often I wonder if I would ever be able to let other people into that world. Not that what I make is actually all that important; really, I just have a deep attachment to it. On the other hand, I’ve never played my own music live. The thought of singing songs I wrote when I wanted to die in front of others is… kind of weird. Then with the vocal harmonies, I’m saying “so this thing I wrote when I was broke and suicidal, yeah I want you to sing along at this point.” Really weird. Yes, it’s probably just insecurity, immaturity, whatever. That’s still a bridge I need to cross at some point. Or I could keep “The Evan Williams Project” as my solo thing and have a totally separate band going, then at least I could keep my songs close to me. Haven’t figured it out yet.
I have dipped my toes in the ‘livestream concert’ pool recently, to friends and family, and I do really enjoy it. Don’t have to pack my gear to a venue, don’t have to see who’s watching. Easy set up. It will be interesting to see what happens when things start to open up again. There will be a lot of people in the same boat as me, I think, who have spent their time at home honing their craft. Whatever happens, I would love playing live. It’s one thing to say “look what I made” and share your music on Facebook or whatever. Lots of people don’t pay attention. Live music, though, hot damn. Feels like nothing else. It’s amazing, really, that there’s just something about live performance that makes you appreciate music more than just hearing it. Not many people follow me or share my stuff, but I get lots of positive feedback from live streaming. Definitely worth the effort.
You have to stay open to new things as an artist. Otherwise you’ll miss an opportunity when it actually presents itself. Under the right circumstances, I’d be open to a full band, but I’m happy right now, by myself, doing what I love.
Q: What else should we know about your music?
A: I love it when albums have gimmicks, easter eggs, or other secrets. Throughout 24 30 I’ve hidden a number of secrets and callbacks and stuff, all of which you can read about in the liner notes included with the album on Bandcamp. For now, all my music is free. Or, technically, pay - what - you - want. Until I actually have an audience I plan to keep it that way. Nowadays I’ve got three or so projects on the go. Doubtlessly, some of you might say, “won’t that mean they’ll all take forever to make?” Maybe.
Evan Williams isn’t real, incidentally; my name’s Scott, if you wanted to know that.