Michael Romanowski

Michael Romanowski

Photo Courtesy of Michael Romanowski

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Mastering Engineer Michael Romanowski Talks Dolby Atmos Mix Of "Angel From Montgomery" And The Benefits Of Immersive Audio

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Romanowski spoke to GRAMMY.com about the song's double mix and master treatment and the differences between a typical audio experience and one with Dolby Atmos
Lily Moayeri
GRAMMYs
Dec 21, 2020 - 5:00 pm

When John Prine died due to COVID-19 complications this past April, a notable group of Recording Academy members quickly released its version of the revered songwriter's classic, "Angel From Montgomery," the following month, on May 22. 

Led by Michael Romanowski, a GRAMMY-nominated mastering engineer and trustee of the Recording Academy's San Francisco chapter, the aim of the release was to honor Prine, with revenues from the song going directly to MusiCares' COVID-19 Relief Fund.

Nearly seven months later, Romanowski and his formidable team of collaborators, which includes Tammy Hurt, Eric Jarvis, Susan Marshall and Jeff Powell, among many others, re-released their version of "Angel From Montgomery" last week (Dec. 16). This time, it's mixed and mastered in Dolby Atmos.

One of the forerunners in the immersive sound space, Dolby Atmos takes the surround sound concept to the next level. Where surround sound focuses on the two-dimensional sound axes of the standard left and right and the additional front and back, Dolby Atmos adds a third axis: height.

A 30-year studio and sound veteran, Romanowski is a leader in mixing and mastering immersive audio. In fact, he had already mixed and mastered the recording of "Angel From Montgomery" in Dolby Atmos at the same time he did the conventional stereo mix. 

Romanowski spoke to GRAMMY.com from the mixing and mastering hub of his Coast Mastering in Northern California about why "Angel From Montgomery" received the double mix and master treatment, what the differences are between a typical audio experience and one with Dolby Atmos, and how come we're hearing the immersive version so many months after the original MusiCares release.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

What's the difference between Dolby Atmos and other iterations of immersive audio? 

It started with quadraphonic sound [4.0 surround sound] in the '70s, which was an attempt to do multichannel with four corners with a phantom center image from the left and right and a phantom side image from the back and front. In the mid- to late-'80s, we got into 5.1 because of movies and games, and it took hold in music. In the '90s, we had Super-Audio CDs and DVD-Audio—competing formats, but same-sized discs. Ultimately, consumers just ended up listening to what was coming out of their computers. Now with Dolby Atmos, we've taken immersive audio a step further and added a height component, which is built on psychoacoustics and how the brain perceives localizations, frequency and height at different angles.

How does Dolby Atmos, which began in movie theaters, make the shift to consumer listening spaces?

It was originally geared toward the rake of the floor of the theater. Because the floor goes up, the back speakers are essentially the height speakers. That was a built-in feature—or a flaw, depending on how you want to look at it. 

Moving to music, when consumers don't have the right floor, and they're sitting in their living rooms or cars or on headphones, we still want to give them that sense of what's in front of them and what's behind them. All the localization cues that give us direction that tell our brains that we are in a space are enhanced by having a more dedicated ceiling system array. 

How does mixing and mastering in immersive audio lend itself to the consumer listening experience?

We're creating a sound stage and a place and an environment where the listener can feel like they're engaged in active listening versus passive listening. It's a way of having folks attentive to what they're hearing, to be present when listening to audio, rather than letting it be in the background or covering up kitchen noise when they're making dinner.

For a lot of folks, mastering has been relegated to finishing the mix. When we leave the stereo world and think about what immersive mastering is, you're adding not just two speakers, but 12 or 16 speakers. There are potential problems with translatability: phase problems, level problems, EQ problems, clashes, comb filtering, all sorts of stuff.

Do you have separate rooms at Coast Mastering for mixing and mastering in stereo versus in immersive audio?

Ninety percent of my work is in the stereo field, but we're starting to see overlap between the stereo component and the immersive component. The difference between a stereo speaker room setup and an immersive room setup is dimensionality. When you have a well-tuned stereo room, throwing speakers up can cause more problems like frequency response, reflections in the room and speakers' time arrival. 

I engaged acoustician Bob Hodas, who has been working with me for just about every room I've ever been in. When we designed the room, we already knew what the dimensions were going to be, scientifically: the room reflections, calculations with absorption, diffusion, height, bass trapping. We worked all that out in advance to make sure this was an effective stereo room and also an immersive room.

Were your fellow musicians who worked on "Angel From Montgomery" aware of Dolby Atmos when you were working on the song?

No. At that point, the conversation was, "We don't know what that is, but sure, go ahead." It gave great perspective to not blend the contributions, but pull them apart so we could envelope the listener in a very cool way, a chance to create a 3D canvas and texture that pulls you in even further. When you listen to music in a club or go to a show, you're not just listening in stereo; you're listening to the environment, the reflections on the walls, the localization. This gave us a really great opportunity to do that with this track.

Do you see remixing and remastering in immersive audio as a way to update classic recordings?

My intent is not necessarily the reworking of back catalog. That's cool, but we're given a fixed perspective in the back catalog. For us in the Recording Academy, this particular project is a way to inspire people who are creating music moving forward to think about the possibilities of what they could do to create this listening experience for the consumer, the fan. 

How does mixing and mastering in immersive audio have an effect on what's heard through streaming services, which generally have lower-quality audio?

If the consumer is playing it back with slow bandwidth, it's more important for them to hear something immediately than to wait a few seconds to allow it to play. In this instant-gratification world, you hit play, it's buffering and you have to wait five seconds or two seconds, you're already gone. Some companies send small data first to get you in and stay while buffering the high-resolution stuff.

This is something that is greatly expanded on by multichannel. If you've got 12 channels of audio, the encoding process becomes very particular. This goes back to mastering. By using multichannel audio, we deliver multiple versions of encoding layers of complexity and resolution, so there [are] less differences between the smaller low-resolution and larger high-resolution files.

Is this one of the main benefits of mixing and mastering in immersive audio?

Having a great mix and a great master is hugely important for lots of reasons, among them: future aspects of recordings. We got into the digital world at 16-bit/44.1 kHz recording, then we moved to 24-bit/48 kHz. As technology allowed us to get higher resolution, musicians that had recorded in 16-bit/44.1 kHz were locked into that. As technology and digital distribution evolve and resolution gets higher, you will always be limited to the top of what you got. You can't make it more resolute than it is. 

At the moment, Dolby Atmos is limited to 24-bit/48kHz. Most people are recording at higher resolution than that. I recorded "Angel From Montgomery" at 24-bit/192 kHz. We're locked in at 48K for now, but that doesn't mean that I'm not prepared for when we go higher. 

Will a non-audiophile consumer be able to notice the difference between the stereo version and the Dolby Atmos version of "Angel From Montgomery?"

When you listen to "Angel From Montgomery" in the stereo world, the phantom center image is right in the middle of your head. In the immersive world, we're trying to engage the listener in a sense of space. The music and the musicians are coming from all directions, rather than [from] two speakers in front of you. Stereo music can't recreate the same sense of environment. With "Angel From Montgomery" in Dolby Atmos, and the collaborative nature of the recording, we could better highlight each part that is additive to the bigger picture, rather than squeezing it down into two channels. This gives the listener a more active and engaging experience.

What I would recommend to folks is [to] take the time, sit and listen to things; absorb it rather than judge it or compare it. Obviously, people are spending a lot of time listening on headphones. The best ear training anybody can have is to sit and listen with other people and talk about what they're hearing. That shared experience causes people's attention to hear things they wouldn't necessarily think about or listen to. 

Why are you releasing the Dolby Atmos version of "Angel From Montgomery" at a different time than the stereo version?

We thought that if we put it out at the same time, the message would get muddied. On Amazon, you'd see two versions and it would confuse people. The stereo release was to get it out there to do as much good as we could from the start. Holding the Dolby Atmos release gives us an opportunity to revisit it, to draw attention back to the good the song can do, but also, the possibility of imagining the release in a different way and how that can inspire folks. 

What is your ultimate goal with what you're doing with immersive audio?

My hope is we'll get to a distribution model other than streaming, like HDtracks or Blue Coast Music that sell high-resolution multichannel audio where people are putting their own servers together. We're going to get to where people are going to have that ability without limiting what they're doing now for convenience. Don't lock yourself down with resolution, distribution and download possibilities. Go as high as you can because, as we have demonstrated for 100-plus years, the audio industry will be moving forward.

Behind The Record Returns To #GiveCredit To The Behind-The-Scenes Music Creators

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Harry Chapin

Harry Chapin

Photo: Courtesy of artist

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'Harry Chapin: When In Doubt, Do Something' Filmmakers Rick Korn & Jason Chapin Revisit Singer/Activist's Legacy At A Vital Time

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The new documentary looks at the life of the late GRAMMY-nominated folk singer and how his message of hope and making a difference resonates so strongly today
Ana Monroy Yglesias
GRAMMYs
Oct 21, 2020 - 3:40 pm

In 1972, not long after signing to Elektra, a 29-year-old folk singer/songwriter named Harry Chapin released his debut album, Heads & Tales, spawning the hit single "Taxi." Later that year, he'd release his sophomore album, Sniper & Other Love Songs, and receive his first GRAMMY nomination, for Best New Artist at the 15th GRAMMY Awards.

Just two years later, in 1974, the Brooklynite released his fourth album, Verities & Balderdash, along with his most well-known song and only No. 1, the deeply moving "Cat's in the Cradle." The memorable track also brought his second GRAMMY nomination, for Best Male Pop Vocal Performance at the 17th GRAMMY Awards.

Almost as quickly as Chapin rose to global fame, he began using his platform to make a difference in the world. With nudging and support from his wife Sandy Chapin, he and radio DJ Bill Ayers founded WhyHunger in 1975 to address the root causes of food insecurity and poverty. The "Shooting Star" singer, who died at just 38 in car accident, would spend the rest of his time on earth hosting and playing benefit concerts, mentoring rising artists, advocating in D.C. and raising money and awareness to fight hunger.

Now, with the release of Harry Chapin: When In Doubt, Do Something on Oct. 16, World Food Day, viewers get a deep dive into the inspirational man behind the music, along with the message that one person really can move make a difference when they put their mind to it. We recently spoke to the documentary's director, Rick Korn, and co-producer/Harry Chapin's stepson, Jason Chapin, about the film, what the great folk artist's legacy means to them and much more.

Watch: History Of: The World-Famous Troubadour In West Hollywood

Harry Chapin, When In Doubt, Do Something comes out soon, on October 16. What messages do you hope viewers will get from watching it?

Korn: Well, there are two messages with Harry's story. The most important thing is about his activism, his music, his way to really inspire generations of music artists, of people like myself. I think the most important thing for people to get out of this is it's a break from the craziness of what's going on in the world around us, it's a 93-minute escape into Harry's world, which is just so entertaining and inspiring. I hope that people look at it from that perspective. I know people that have seen the film have walked away from it thoroughly entertained and thoroughly inspired. That's what we hope people get out of the film.

Chapin: I'll add that my father's been gone for a long time, but over his 10-year career, he accomplished a lot musically. His music continues to be listened to by younger generations, which is great, but the humanitarian side, starting WhyHunger in 1975 and Long Island Cares in 1980 and being involved in a lot of other important causes and organizations, is also big. It's amazing that those organizations have grown so much and continue to help, literally, hundreds of thousands of people each year. If you think about today, hunger and poverty is a much bigger issue now, but, fortunately, because of my father's work and many organizations fighting against it, there's a lot being done.

The takeaway, I'm hoping, for those that see the movie, is that it's one individual who was motivated to do something, who inspired many others to continue to support what he did, but they also are doing great things on their own. It's really inspirational to know that one person can make a difference.

Related: Darius Rucker To Receive Harry Chapin Humanitarian Award At Music Biz 2019

I feel like that answers this question a bit, but I still want to ask it this way. Why did you decide to make a documentary about Harry Chapin?

Korn: Harry was unique in a lot of different ways, and if this was a story about another music artist that focused on their vices and the destruction of their lives, we would not have been interested in making the film. What interests us about Harry is his prolific creativity and his ability to literally move people, to save people. What really blew our minds when we did our research on Harry was he was so incredibly effective in fighting for the underdog.

He could write a protest song and you can do a benefit concert, but Harry was more than that. He literally got his hands dirty doing the work, and figured out what the root causes of hunger and poverty are and attacked them in every way. He spent a good portion of the most vital 10 years of his life just trying to help people, and that is unique in the world, particularly in the world today. That's why we made the film. We made the film because I think the world needs a little bit of Harry today.

Chapin: One thing I'll add, maybe it's not known to a lot of people, but my father was a successful filmmaker before he became a successful musician. I think film helped him really understand stories better and made him a much better songwriter. It's also just amazing, so many years later, when Rick and S.A. Baron [who co-produced the film with Korn and Chapin] asked if we would be interested in a documentary, it was special to me because there had never been interest in a film about him. They saw a different subject matter that others didn't.

Also, it's just the right time, because there's so much going on that my father was passionate about and committed to, and, as Rick said, there's so much negativity out there, but this is the right film at the right time.

Why do you feel like it's so important to share this story and these messages now?

Korn: I don't want to say we rushed it because we didn't, but we really worked hard getting this film out now because of all the divisiveness in the world. Harry's story is unique from any other music artist because he really inspired a generation of music artists. You look at Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel, Bob Geldof and Ken Kragen, all these people that created Live Aid and "We Are the World"/U.S.A for Africa and Hands Across America. Harry inspired these people in that way, and his music, on top of that, was just so moving and so incredible.

I want to follow up on something that Jason said about him being a filmmaker. One of the things that surprised me when we did our research, was that he was a filmmaker, and not only that, but an Academy Award-nominated filmmaker and documentarian, but we learned that was the way Harry wrote songs. It's very similar to the way a director writes a film. His songs are these mini movies. His storytelling feels like you're the character, one of those two people in the taxi in the song, "Taxi." And you always feel like the parent in "Cat's in the Cradle." He and Sandy just had a way of making songs that you find yourself in, and that's the brilliant part of his songwriting.

Explore: It's The One: 45 Years Of Bruce Springsteen's 'Born To Run'

Do you have a favorite story or anecdote from any of the artists you talked to while making the film?

Chapin: I was at the Billy Joel interview and he told us a lot of things that I didn't know. I learned that he opened for my father and years later, my father opened for him, and they had a nice friendship, and supported each other. And Billy Joel started talking about how people would think that "Piano Man" was written by my father, and he really loved the way my father wrote songs, and he was describing how much he loved the song "Taxi" and how it gave him goosebumps. And then he was talking about my father as a humanitarian, and he called him a saint. I think that was probably my favorite experience with this whole project.

Korn: Yeah, the Billy Joel interview was certainly a great one because I didn't realize how close Billy and Harry were, just on a human level. The reason for that, I think, was the fact that Harry treated everyone like your kid brother. The fact that he would support Billy, which was so rare in the music business then, and even now, it just broke down whatever barrier or competition they normally would have with each other. That surprised me.

My favorite interview—there's so many, because after each interview, you love everybody that you interviewed because they loved Harry. You can't make a movie just with that one interview, but the two that stand out for me is DMC [a.k.a. Darryl McDaniels of Run-DMC], because he taught us something we didn't know about, how he did "Cat's in the Cradle" [on 2006's "Just Like Me" with Sarah McLachlan] and they were one of the first rap groups. The fact that Harry was considered cool in the early days of hip-hop music blew my mind. He's a great guy. He's done so much for WhyHunger over the years, and he's just a really genuine guy, so I really loved that interview.

I have to say that the most entertaining interview for me that maybe I've ever done was Sir Bob Geldof, which ended up being a two-and-a-half-hour interview when my average interview is about 45 minutes. I literally asked two questions in the entire interview. He just went on and on and on. He would come back and say something about Harry, but then he would go on.

They all loved Harry. Harry changed their lives, just as he did mine. Harry came to my high school in 1974. Everyone in the school, teachers, coaches, janitor, everyone came into the auditorium, and he came running in and played for two and a half hours and talked about hunger and poverty, and it was the greatest lecture you ever went to in your life. It was inspirational.

Read: From Aretha Franklin To Public Enemy, Here's How Artists Have Amplified Social Justice Movements Through Music

What does his legacy mean to you?

Chapin: When I think of his legacy, I think of all the people that my father looked up to, and one of them was Pete Seeger, and I think he saw that Pete was doing great things over many years. He was completely selfless and hugely impactful. As I look at my father's legacy, it's the fact that so many fans can tell stories about meeting him after a concert in the lobby, so many fans talk about how they shared his music with their kids, and now grandkids, and the fact that he started these organizations and that continued to grow and help more people each year.

I think the overall, in terms of his legacy—he even says in the film that he wanted to matter. That's another way of saying he didn't want to be forgotten. The fact that people are still talking about him, people are still inspired by him is just amazing.

Korn: I'd like to tag on to that. When I think of Harry's legacy, obviously he was a great songwriter. Music is important, and his music is important, but when I think of Harry's legacy, I think of what is going on right now with this pandemic and the fact that what he and [N.Y.C. radio DJ] Bill Ayres and Sandy Chapin created in 1975—and Sandy and Bill are still at it—is still saving lives today. That is a legacy that is larger than life.

Can you talk a little more about WhyHunger's work and why specifically the issue of access to healthy food was so important to Harry?

Chapin: I think what's important to understand is that it was my mother who really nudged my father and said, "You should get involved in more things, not just do music." My father was interviewed by Bill Ayres on his radio show, "On This Rock," and they had instant chemistry. They started talking, with my mother at some of their meetings, they decided that they wanted to focus on something that would really have a big impact on a lot of people. They did a lot of research. They talked to a lot of experts, and they realized hunger and poverty was at the root of all of our issues, and if they tackled that, that could solve so many of our problems. They continued to educate themselves and talk to experts. They spent a lot of time down in D.C. talking to legislators, and they were really committed to being knowledgeable and informed and getting other people to understand.

I think what my father knew is that if you tackle hunger and poverty, you're also tackling social injustice, you're tackling women's issues, you're tackling racial issues, you're tackling so many root issues, and so I think it was very insightful for them to talk about that. It wasn't just about giving people food.

My father was very into being self-sufficient, so he wanted people to have access to education and work to become self-sufficient. At the same time, I think he wanted people to understand that people don't choose to be hungry or poor, that there were certain policies that were put upon them that created a lot of the problems, a lot of the barriers that they faced.           

I think it's also important to say that the fact that we still have a problem doesn't mean that we're losing the war. It just means that there are more people that need to get involved in order to solve the problem. WhyHunger's job is not to solve the problem, it's to help other people it, so it's a very grassroots focus. They do a lot of work with groups around the country and internationally to help support what they're doing and connect them to other organizations so that they can realize their potential and do even more great work.

What do you each see as the connection between art and service?

Korn: Art is service in a certain way. We have a livestream docu-concert coming out called Do Something and there's an artist participating by the name of Raye Zaragoza. Raye is a young artist/activist. She's Native American and she's all about the environment and has devoted her life to it. She doesn't just write the songs. An artist/activist is someone, in my opinion, who doesn't just write and perform great music, but as Harry taught us, they get their hands dirty.

If you care about the pipeline going through South Dakota and the reservations, you're going to go to protests. You're in Washington. You're writing motivational songs. It doesn't mean you have to write motivational songs, because Harry didn't have many protest songs, but he understood his nature and human feelings and empathy, and he had tremendous empathy. I think that's the connection, that's what makes an artist an artist/activist.

Chapin: Yeah, and my father and my uncle Tom [Chapin] did a lot of benefit concerts, and I know they had a lot of conversations. My father was always fascinated with Pete Seeger's philosophy about being an activist, getting involved, and he said it was because he got to work with great people, people who were very passionate and committed. My father and Pete Seeger and others, I think they were getting more out of the experience than they were giving to the experience, and it made their lives richer.

My father, he spent a lot of time in high schools, middle schools and colleges talking to young people. He always felt that young people were the future, and he wanted to know what they cared about, what they were interested in doing, and to encourage them to get involved. It didn't have to be hunger and poverty, but just get involved, to commit to something. It was all about letting them know that they could make a difference.

Lastly, a lot of musicians, I think, tend to be a little bit self-centered, but my father was very generous when it came to other musicians. He used to do these songwriting workshops where he would spend time with a group of up-and-coming musicians, those who wanted to learn more about songwriting and composing music. My father had these regular meetings with different musicians on Long Island. I think the musicians who attended really enjoyed the experience of learning from my father, but my father also enjoyed the experience of hearing what they were thinking and collaborating with them. I think that was also very rewarding for him.

Read: From Chicago To Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Here's Who Was Honored At The 2020 GRAMMY Salute To Music Legends

It becomes so much more than the artist saying, "I care about this, you should too." When it's like, "I really care about this. What do you care about?" it feels different.

Chapin: Yeah. I think it's a beautiful community when musicians collaborate and they do things together. I think that really attracted my father's interest, he just loved other communities, whether it was other artists or not. He was really into a lot of intellectual stuff. He did a lot of reading. He was intellectually very curious, and I think he also liked learning from other people and finding out what motivated them and what inspired them. I think that gave him a lot of, I don't know, excitement just to be around people who were very eager and action-oriented.

Do you think art can change the world?

Korn: You know, I think that music is, by its very nature, a healer. I'm not saying it can cure cancer, but it can help cure cancer. Maybe that's an overstatement. I just mean it that it's got that power. People get moved by music. I was working with a gentleman by the name of Carl Perkins, who wrote the song, "Blue Suede Shoes." We were flying over to London [in 1997] to do a benefit concert with Paul McCartney and Eric Clapton and a bunch of people, and for the island of Montserrat after a volcano eruption. I asked, "Why is it that it seems like music artists are always the first ones to jump in and do benefit concerts?"

Carl's response was, "Did you ever meet a great songwriter that didn't grow up poor or have some sort of difficulties in their life? They just tend to be more empathetic towards the common man. They write about it." From that standpoint, I don't know if they can save the world, but I think Harry in a lot of ways has saved lives, and I guess that's your answer. [Chuckles.]

Chapin: Yeah, that was well said, Rick. I can't think of anything else that brings people together more than music. It's a universal thing, and once you bring people together and there's somebody who plants a seed as to something they should all work toward or work on together, then anything is possible. We know, going back decades, whether it was Bob Dylan, Pete Seeger, the Beatles and their Concert for Bangladesh, or Live Aid or "We Are the World," we know when groups come together, anything is possible. They may not be solving all the world's problems, but they can certainly make a huge difference.

It's so true. I have to share, my dad grew up in Brooklyn Heights and went to Grace Church, so he knew all the Chapins. The first concert I ever went to was Tom Chapin—my dad took us to his shows all the time when we were kids.

Chapin: I'm so glad you shared that because that's where everything happened, at Grace Church. That's where my uncles Tom and Steve were in the choir. My father was a little older, so he wasn't as involved, but that's also where they met Robert Lamm from Chicago. John Wallace was also a member of the choir, and he ended up being a key part of my father's band. That was such a magical time back then, because there were so many musicians and they would all go into Manhattan and play at the different clubs and community events. Everybody wanted to be a musician or go listen to musicians. Brooklyn now is still—that's the hot borough in New York City. That's where the musicians want to live, and that's where they want to perform. It's a fabulous tradition.

Great to hear that you've been to some of my uncle Tom's shows. I don't know if you're aware, but my father had two GRAMMY nominations, but Tom won three GRAMMYs, so that's fun family history.

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GRAMMYs

Molly Tuttle

Photo: Zach Pigg & Chelsea Rochelle

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Molly Tuttle & Producer Tony Berg Discuss the Cross-Country Making Of Her New Covers Album

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Tuttle's new Berg-produced LP '...but I’d rather be with you' features the Nashville artist’s takes on The National, Harry Styles, the Stones and more
Dan Reilly
GRAMMYs
Sep 23, 2020 - 4:13 pm

At the beginning of 2020, when it looked like the year would be as normal as any can be, Molly Tuttle met with producer Tony Berg to discuss working on a new album of original songs. Then the pandemic hit, forcing the 27-year-old singer, songwriter, and guitarist to stay home alone in Nashville with no access to a proper studio, putting plans to develop her next LP on hold.

But Tuttle didn’t just wallow in isolation or pass the time making a sourdough starter. She kept in touch with Berg, whose most recent production credit was Phoebe Bridgers’ 2020 standout Punisher, and they figured out a new project: an album where Tuttle would home-record cover songs that had special meaning to her at various points in her life. Inspired, she taught herself to use Pro Tools and got to arranging and tracking, then sending her work to Berg, who was sequestered in Los Angeles.

That collection became …but i'd rather be with you, which was released by Compass in August. The 10-track LP features renditions of songs by artists including The National, FKA Twigs, Rancid, Harry Styles, Cat Stevens, and the Rolling Stones, all anchored by Tuttle’s powerfully shimmering vocals and virtuosic guitar playing. It’s a departure from the bluegrass and Americana that won her acclaim, but as she explains, 2020 felt like the right time to explore something new while returning to the songs that brought her so much joy. We recently caught up with Tuttle and Berg — who are still separated by thousands of miles — to discuss how the album came to be.

How did the process for recording this album start?

Tuttle: Tony and I had been talking about making a record and then once quarantine started, we had this idea to do it remotely and choose these cover songs. We both wanted a creative project to work on and these songs kind of stood out to me as ones that I wanted to put my own voice to. They were some of my favorite songs. It was kind of an unconventional way to make an album, but we both thought it would be a fun and interesting new project to work on remotely.

Berg: Yeah, we had a plan and then the world got in the way.

Tuttle: It gave me something to look forward to when I wasn't like screaming at my computer because Pro Tools was crashing. That certainly wasn't good for my mental health, but overall, I loved working on it. It was really gratifying to be able to share something with people during this time that hopefully helps people who are struggling.

How did you narrow down the list of songs?

Tuttle: That maybe took the longest out of the whole process. We went back and forth sending each other playlists and different songs. I think we decided early on that we had to only choose songs we both felt really strongly about and both really loved.

Berg: Well, I would send Molly songs by [Karlheinz] Stockhausen and John Cage and she would say, "Oh no, that's not going to go." [Laughs] It was, I'm not going to say effortless, but in the relative scheme of things, it was surprising how quickly and easily we agreed upon repertoire.

Tuttle: That's true. It was funny — I feel like we were looking for the same qualities in the songs and we ended up with such a diverse array of different genres that we were pulling from, but we wanted the same qualities: great lyrics, great melodies, interesting chords, and stuff that I could really put my own spin on. We were gravitating towards songs that sounded really different from what I do.

Berg: It's as if we met and then eloped. It was like this instant wedding.

Molly, you mentioned your misadventures with Pro Tools. What was that process like?

Tuttle: It was just that I'd never run Pro Tools before and I still don't have a great setup for it. I was going off my six-year-old MacBook, which I don't even think is supposed to run Pro Tools. My little house, all my electricity and stuff, was interfering but Will [Maclellan], who mixed the album, and Tony would walk me through stuff. There were hiccups along the way, but overall that felt pretty smooth. I wasn't doing anything crazy with plugins or like anything super advanced — just basically trying to get it to run.

Berg: What was interesting about that was, I think we both approached it with an unspoken dread because making a record is a social exercise. It's the interaction of players and the discussion of ideas and contacts and to be denied face-to-face, in-the-room experience, I found it a little daunting initially. By the second day, it was second nature.

What was it like putting the songs together with the backing musicians without being able to work in person?

Tuttle: I really trusted Tony and I trusted all the musicians because the people he asked to play on it were so wonderful. They were people I'd never played with before, but I was familiar with most of them. I just had to let go. I realized it was better if I didn't listen to stuff a lot until it was more fleshed out because there was a temptation to get really nitpicky with each piece along the way. My biggest concern was my own parts and that it would gel with everyone since we weren't playing altogether.

Berg: There's the great luxury of, as Molly was alluding to, if you're going to call Matt Chamberlain, Rich Hinman, Taylor Goldsmith, Gabe Nolan, Patrick Warren, basically, it's hard to f*** up. These are great musicians with a real history of sensitivity to song and to the artist.

Tuttle: There was the slight anxiety of, “I'm probably not going to hear these until they're all done. I hope I like it,” but again, I wanted to make this record with Tony because I knew he would choose great people. Then when he sent me the list of players and I was like, "There's not really a way that that's going to not sound awesome."

Did any track make you nervous to record, with the worry that the original artist would disapprove?

Berg: No, we were lucky, weren't we, Molly?

Tuttle: Yeah, no.

Berg: We heard wonderful things back from [The National’s] Matt Berninger, whom I know pretty well and I have huge respect for, so that was a relief.

Tuttle: That broke the ice because you sent it to him and he was the first one who heard the cover of one of his songs [“Fake Empire”]. Then the guys from Rancid have reached out to me and said they really loved the cover [“Olympia, WA”]. One of them got the vinyl and posted a video of him listening to it. I was like, "Oh, my God." Then Harry Styles, he started following me online and I messaged him and he said he had heard the cover [of “Sunflower, Vol. 6”] and loved it. He was the one I thought for sure would never hear the cover.

Berg: Of course, Mick and Keith haven't said a thing.

Tuttle: Yeah. We're still waiting on that one.

Berg: The nerve.

How much did working on this project help you both in terms of mental health during this overwhelming year?

Tuttle: It definitely made me reflect on what these songs have meant to me. I felt I was struggling being creative and feeling like I had purpose. It was comforting to come back to these songs and just revisit how I felt when I first heard them and what they mean to me now, then also have something that would hopefully bring other people joy. It really gave me a sense of purpose. And it was fun making the videos for them and having that connection with people still.

Berg: In what is perhaps inarguably the worst year in our history since World War II, the community that has stood up, in my opinion, has been the musician community. By that, I mean the quality of material we've been exposed to, whether it's Fiona Apple, Bob Dylan, Phoebe Bridgers, or Molly Tuttle, I think speaks to artists acknowledging their responsibility to do their best work in the face of adversity. Maybe it is collectively about hope that the orange imbecile will no longer be part of our lives in 45 days.

Tuttle: Yeah, it's overwhelming how much incredible music has been coming out. I've been listening to more music than I have in years.

Berg: On a personal note, when I was first introduced to Molly, I was aware of her as a guitarist. I'd watched some videos, but spending time with her, getting to hear her, I realized that as much focus should be placed on her singing and on the intelligence of what she brings to a record, because that shows the breadth of her as an artist. The fact that she's a world-class player, it's almost a given, but to learn that she sings as beautifully and intelligently as she does is something I'd like an audience to really be aware of. Her next album, I would like for her writing to be the focus of all of it, because that's where she really would excel.

Some of the videos you’ve put out touch on some weighty topics. What was the decision behind that?

Tuttle: Yeah, the “Fake Empire” video was the first one. We decided to put that out because we thought it was relevant to the moment we're in. That song, to me, feels like a wakeup call [to] people who have the privilege to ignore these things happening in our country. That was during the time that I was going to Black Lives Matter protests in Nashville and trying to get more engaged in the community, as I still am. We took a lot of protest footage from the ‘50s and ‘60s and put it with that song to kind of contrast the message of the song, the dreamlike quality with these really powerful images from American history.

How is Nashville these days? You had the tornado in March and then the pandemic hit right after, and there still seems to be a lot of fighting over safety precautions from the virus.

Tuttle: It's really bizarre. We had the tornado a couple of weeks before quarantine started. It's like people almost have forgotten about that. Now it's COVID, but people are still trying to rebuild from the tornado. A lot of businesses have just been closed this whole time because their buildings were destroyed and they couldn't reopen because of COVID. It's bizarre to see people packed into bars and restaurants. I drove by downtown and you feel like half the people aren't wearing masks. It seems really chaotic. A lot of people are frustrated. I'm frustrated that people aren't being safe. Then people on the other side are mad that they haven't let bars open to full capacity yet. I've seen pictures of bars completely packed with people not wearing masks and it's freaky.

Yeah, many musicians have said they won’t tour until there’s a vaccine or some sort of indication that things are safer. How do you feel about getting back on the road?

Tuttle: I don't know. I thought of the vaccine as the thing that hopefully people will be able to get and want to take. I don't know what's going to happen, but I feel like until there's a vaccine, I just don't want people getting sick at my shows.

But whenever it happens, like you said, musicians might be able to be the ones who can get back out there and maybe make us feel normal again.

Tuttle: Yeah. No matter what, there's still the music. It’s all really heartbreaking but it makes you realize what's actually important about playing music.

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Anjimile

Photo: Kannetha Brown

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Anjimile Opens Up On 'Giver Taker,' Sobriety, Identifying As Trans & More

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How a musical and religious upbringing, battles with addiction and a long road to gender identity shaped a gentle soundtrack for recovery and hope
Noah Berlatsky
GRAMMYs
Sep 18, 2020 - 11:35 am

"Buried under earth/All our living worth/How I long to be/blooming from your tree." Boston singer/songwriter Anjimile sings in an otherworldly tenor vibrato on "Your Tree," the first song of his debut album Giver Taker on Father/Daugher Records. The chorus sings back to him, "Nothing dies, nothing dies," as Anjimile's fluid finger-picked guitar is augmented by drums and flute. You can almost feel the tree unfurling and reaching for the sky.

Anjimile wrote Giver Taker in a time of political and personal turmoil. Most songs came together in and around 2016, while he struggled with addiction and his trans identity. But the album's mode is comfort, not chaos. Justine Bowe of Photocomfort and New-York based artist/producer Gabe Goodman join Anjimile to mix folk melodies mix with upbeat grooves to create gentle baroque pop. When on "1978" Anjimile sings, "I am loved/I am learning how to receive loving," it's music of hard-won gentleness. The year 2020 has, understandably, produced a lot of angry songs, but Giver Taker is soundtrack for recovery and hope—water in an arid time.

The interview below is edited for length and clarity.

I just wanted to start off making sure I know what pronouns you use?

They/them or he/him. Either of those is totally cool.

Your parents were born in Malawi, is that right?

Yeah, my parents were born and raised in Malawi. And they didn't come into the US until like the '80s.

Was there music your parents liked that you've been influenced by?

I think the biggest African artists that they listened to, or at least that that made the biggest impact on me is Oliver Mtukudzi, who's Zimbabwean. My dad used to play his album Tuku Music on car rides and stuff. And over the past couple of years, I've come to realize how dope my parents taste in music is. And this album and a couple of his other records have entered my regular listening rotation.

Could you describe Mtukudzi's music? I'm not familiar with it.

It is like a hybrid. I guess kind of like traditional Zimbabwe and percussive rhythms hybridized with Western US influenced guitar and pop melodies.

Your parents were Christian. Did you sing in choirs when you were young?

Yeah, from fifth grade and even acapella in college. But it was actually a school choir.  When I was growing up with my parents we would go to church every Sunday.  Curiously, the church had not only no choir but no music. And I remember being like, "This is wack!" And I feel like if there had been music in church, I might have grown up to be some sort of theologian or oriented to the church in some way, because I love music so much.

They missed a chance!

Yeah, honestly. It was a two-hour service. My parents are Presbyterian. I was like three years old to ten, and services were super, super long, like two hours. I feel like that's long for a first grader. You know, "Yawn, are we going to McDonald's?" I wasn't very engaged.

You're a lovely guitar player. How did you develop your style?

Well, I started playing guitar when I was 11. And I didn't really start learning to finger pick until a couple of years later. That's my predominant style. And it initially emerged because when I started playing guitar I had trouble holding a guitar pick correctly. And I don't think I hold it correctly even now.

Was there a reason you had trouble?

I'm not sure. I took guitar lessons for a year and my guitar teacher would be like, you hold it like this. And it just did not connect. And it still kind of doesn't. It would just fall out of my hand when I was playing and I was like, how hard am I supposed to hold this f**king thing?

So I always found it difficult to play guitar with a plectrum. And when I was in my late teens, I got introduced to folk music and I started listening to Iron & Wine. Their album Our Endless Numbered Days became a huge teaching tool for me in terms of learning how to finger pick. My guitar playing style is heavily, heavily influenced by Iron & Wine. And I think also a bit of Oliver Mtukudzi, with his electric tone. He played with a pick, but it's very clean, which I like.

The album is very gentle and uplifting, but you wrote it after some personal turmoil, while you were recovering from addiction.

So I got sober in 2016 through a treatment facility. I'm a recovering alcoholic. I live in Boston, and it involved me going out of state to enter a treatment facility in Florida. But when I went down there, I didn't really have a lot of stuff at the time. And I also just didn't have a suitcase somehow. So I brought a plastic bag with my clothes and I brought an acoustic guitar. And those are the things that I brought with me to Florida and I was there for a year.

And I was able to find recovery, get a job, start improving my mental, physical and emotional health. And I play guitar when I'm happy and I like to sing when I'm happy. And my emotions started returning and I just kind of started writing again. And I wrote a bunch of songs down there.

Something that alcohol or alcoholism can do is numb feeling. And so once I was able to get sober and stop drinking, a flood of emotions came back to my life. I think that that influenced the emotionality of a lot of the songs.

There's a bit of a myth in the music industry that getting sober can make it harder to create, but that doesn't sound like it was your experience.

I think people kind of get confused with the writer just drinking scotch while looking badass and the guy who just seriously has a drinking problem. There are a couple tunes on the record that I did right before I got sober. "Maker" and "Baby No More."

In "Maker," one of the lyrics is "I'm not just a boy, I'm a man/I'm not just a man, I'm a God/I'm not just a God, I'm a maker."  Is that song about being trans, would you say?

I think it's kind of funny because at the time, I wasn't really thinking much. I don't really remember very strongly writing that tune, if I'm being completely honest. But I remember listening back to it after I'd written it, and it just felt like something meaningful to me. And in retrospect, looking back now, it's just kind of wild to me that that song was even written because I didn't identify trans at the time. I was definitely exploring my gender identity. And looking back on it now I can see that it was a spiritual coming out, almost. A part of me very much recognized that I identified as trans and trans masculine, or like at least under the trans umbrella.

Was coming out difficult for you?

So before I realized I was trans, I was cis and a lesbian. I came out as a lesbian when I was like 16, 17, 18. And it really f**king sucked. It sucked being in Texas, and being openly queer. It sucked having really, traditionally Christian parents.

They were not super supportive?

No, they were not. It's been a long time so they've come a long way, but it really f**king sucked.

The album has a lot of spiritual themes. I wondered how your parents lack of support as Christians affected your own relationship to spirituality?

It definitely drove me away from spirituality. I mean, I never identified as a spiritual person until a couple of years ago. I was definitely like, "F**k y'all. F**k the Lord. This is wack."

It wasn't until I started getting comfortable with my trans identity and experiencing the miracle of a new sober life that I was like, holy s**t, you know, the sky is really blue. The birds sound really pretty. I became a hippie basically. I definitely believe that there's some sort of driving force of good and harmony in the universe and that informs a lot of tunes on the album as well.

You're not a Christian yourself though?

No, no. No shade, you know, but no.

Lastly, I wanted to ask you about the song "1978," which is kind of a love song. Is it written to someone in particular?

That was dedicated to my grandmother, who had an incredibly hard life. And I never actually met her because she died when my mom was pretty young. But my grandmother's spirituality has informed the faith of my parents. And even though it's manifested harmfully in terms of their past homophobia like it's also provided them with a lot of strength and clarity and wisdom. And I realize those things in the writing of that song.

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Chicano Batman

Chicano Batman

Photo: George Mays

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Chicano Batman Talk Creating Visibility For 'Invisible People,' Representation Of Latinos In Media & Repping Los Angeles

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The beloved L.A. psych/soul rock band dive deep into their powerful, danceable fourth studio album, 'Invisible People,' identity, racism and what the West Coast city means to them
Ana Monroy Yglesias
GRAMMYs
Sep 4, 2020 - 12:25 pm

There is real power in music that gets you dancing, feeling joy and thinking about critical human issues. That is exactly what Chicano Batman's music does—drawing you in with their groovy bass lines, warm and soulful vocals and all-around funky, sun-soaked instrumentation and aesthetic. With their fourth studio album, Invisible People, released May 1 on ATO Reords, they double-down on the funkiness and deliver their most powerful, rhythmic project yet.

Founded in 2008 in Los Angeles, the four-piece embodies the true beauty, creativity and diversity of the city they call home. Since the release of their self-titled debut album in 2010, the band has brought their infectious energy and vibrancy to countless shows and festivals through Southern California, the U.S. and abroad, with a (typically) active tour schedule.

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With their 2020 tour with Le Butcherettes put on hold until 2021, the group has stayed busy with virtual appearances on "The Late Show With Stephen Colbert," NPR's Tiny Desk, KEXP and more. They've also stayed engaged with their community despite quarantine, offering youth music workshop livestreams with the Young Musicians Foundation and a delicious fundraising taco at L.A.'s HomeState.

In conversation with GRAMMY.com, Bardo Martinez (lead vocals, keyboard and guitar), Carlos Arévalo (guitar), Gabriel Villa (drums) and Eduardo Arenas (bass) dive deep into the creative process and meaning behind their latest album. They get real about identity, racism and representation, and the marinization they have experienced as Latinos in the indie-rock space.

You guys dropped the fourth Chicano Batman album, Invisible People, just back in May. What was the creative process like on this album? How long were you guys working on it?

Villa: A few years?

Arévalo: [Laughs.] A few years. Yes. That's it.

Villa: A few years. Next question. [Everyone laughs.]

Arévalo: Maybe 14 months.

Villa: We had to go on tour, so, we had to stop a little bit. We had writing sessions, but we basically started in 2018.

Arenas: In 2018, we talked about different ideas we wanted to introduce to the new record, and we did a lot of demos. At the end we chose 12 songs. Everybody kicked in on this one and helped develop it, where in the past the Bardo wrote the majority of the songs. This time Carlos was kicking in stuff, Bardo was kicking in stuff. I would join up forces with them and throw in stuff. There were all these different combinations of things that happened that we had not explored in the past.

Martinez: Recording was a big part of it, us using our home studios to record stuff and vibe that way.

Villa: Carlos, talk a little bit about that moment where you came into rehearsal and you were like, "Guys, I know we have to do this album, but wait listen!" [Everyone laughs.]

Arévalo: I had my own little idea of what I thought the record should be in terms of a theme or a direction. That's something I would keep to myself on the past records and then just have my own personal goals for my instrumentation. But this time I shared it aloud to the group. That's choppy waters you can get into because you're asking a drummer to play drums a certain way or a singer to sing a certain way. Well, it's more recommending or showing examples of like, "Hey, could we try it this way this time and see how that goes?" That was a vulnerable place to be. But I've known these guys for so many years, it was time for me to be real with them and hope for the best.

They were receptive, everybody needed a little bit of time at first to just take it in. Once we started trying out these ideas, everybody else started bringing in other stuff they'd been wanting to try before, but maybe never thought this was the project to do that. So, I got the juices flowing creatively for everyone. It was cool.

Martinez: Yeah, this record was a lot of push and pull, as it's always been with our music. It's four dudes in a band, so everybody's pushing for whatever ideas they had in their head. I mean, Carlos was pretty straight forward. He was like, "Well, we should make something we could dance to, danceable music." It was a great idea. It brought us into the late '70s and '80s in terms of aesthetics, in terms of sound—it was new territory for me. It was a lot of fun. It's a dope realm that we eventually got to.

Villa: It was definitely fun to create. The whole process was just fun, fun, fun, and a lot of communication. We learned a lot. We're always inspired and happy to be working with the team so it really, really paid off. You can hear it in the music. If you compare the Chicano Batman discography, you really hear that this album is so different from the rest. It definitely has that element of dancing—for the first time we're doing a lot of 16-notes. [Mimics fast drum beat.]

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Carlos, that idea you came in with, was it "dancing" music or something else?

Arévalo: I had started a little DJ night as an excuse to play records that I was collecting on the road with being on tour—you hit up shops in Michigan and you find amazing 45s that are just so overpriced in L.A. or that you can't even find them. I was playing once a month at bars and exploring what music has that universal appeal to people, that makes them want to get up and move or sing along. It's a cool way to experience music when you have the sound system at your behest. I was controlling the PA and it's bumping, I could control the bass. I could see what was going on from the mixer. That inspired me.

There's so many 45s that I love. I would play stuff like Talking Heads' "Naive Melody," Tom Tom Club. I'd play Prince's "Erotic City," that '80s music that had amazing songwriting appeal, but simultaneously were hit records. I feel that doesn't go hand-in-hand all the time anymore. Now, you have writers that get together to make a song sound exactly like this other song so it can be a hit and make money. It's about capitalism and it's about getting that publishing. Back then, it was more so you can make an art piece that was also danceable. It was really appealing and inspirational to me.

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When did you finish the album? Since you were working on it on and off, was there a period of time where you huddled up and finished all of it?

Arévalo: Yeah, so we started writing the record, like they said, in January 2018. And then we demoed it when we could and we started amassing demos amongst all of us. We had little sessions in between touring and we finally started recording the album in February 2019 at Barefoot Recording, which used to be called Crystal Industries. It's where Stevie Wonder recorded one of his epic '70s trilogy albums, Songs in the Key of Life, those amazing records where he found his synthesizer voice. So many hit records were made there. Sly Stone worked out of there and George Clinton. So, we made Invisible People there for two weeks and then Bardo flew to New York for another two weeks to do vocals and some overdubs. Then we had to wait a year to put it out.

Martinez: Well, it got mixed and we put all the music together. Leon Michels produced it. He definitely put his hand in the sound of it. He's an amazing producer [he's also worked with Lee Fields, Aloe Blacc, The Carters and others] and has an amazing hip-hop sensibility. He knows how to make everything knock. He definitely added some amazing vibes, and then he passed it over to [five-time GRAMMY winner] Shawn Everett who mixed it. So, that was the whole next process of, "okay, well he got the music" and we were in the dark for a week or month or so.

Once we received it, I'm telling you, for me, the summer of 2019 was lit, 'cause it was just blazing, f****ing listening, bumping that in my car. I had just moved into this house that I live in now. It was amazing. Imagine, you move into a new house and you're playing a new record. I had my friends over and it was amazing. It was perfect.

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The title track, "Invisible People" is really powerful and very pertinent to this moment we're in right now—calling out racism. Can you speak to the message behind this song and how you feel that it informs the rest of the album?

Marinez: We came up with a thesis statement, which was the title itself. Carlos was like, "How about we write a song about how the marginalization of Latinos?" "Invisible People"—for example, not being noticed in the indie music world or being on tour and feeling marginalized just entering spaces like the liquor store in Tennessee. That was one piece of it.

I started tackling different pieces in different verses, and I only have three verses. I wanted to make sure that whatever I was saying was going to be very strong and very poignant, straight to the point. I didn't have time to cut corners, so I was going to be direct with it. I wanted it to be as strong as possible because the music was set up that like that. We went into the studio and that song was [originally] a little bit faster and Leon suggested we slow it down. The instrumentation is super sparse. The beat is heavy, the bass drops on the kick in the perfect place. The music is there for the vocal to just shoot out.

I approached every verse as a different thing. My first line is, "Invisible people, we're tired of living in the dark. Everyone is trying to tear us apart." So, it's obviously pointing at some type of marginalization. It's not necessarily specific. The second line—"smoke a spliff so I could feel now"— I don't even smoke spliffs by the way, I like joints, but it was a homage to maybe Bob Marley or something I knew a lot of people were going to relate to. Something edgy, something cool. The next verse is about race, "The truth is we're all the same. The concept of race was implanted in your brain." I definitely wanted to call that out, race as a construct pretty much.

Also, just to challenge all of that because as a band, as, we're Chicano Batman. We decided to use this name, which has its own meanings as a Chicano, as an identity. I don't know if that's problematic, but it's going to challenge norms within our own community, and also in the superstructure status quo. That's the more obvious knot.

Also, anybody could be invisible in society. It wasn't "Just Latinos are invisible or just people of color." The privilege that White people have in this country is not good for them. When they walk onto the street, into the supermarket, there's a lot of psychological weight to all that history, to alter that reality which is based upon history, decades and centuries of oppression, that White people really have to deal with as well. Everybody, regardless of who you are, if you're living in a city, if you're living in society, you're a part of it. You're complicit in it. You're subjugated by it. People don't necessarily talk about it like that on Instagram. People on Instagram are just pointing fingers at each other. So, that's really not the goal of it. The goal is to be like, "Yo, the truth is we're all in this together." It's not some "We Are The World" shit. It's also, "This record is fire, we're spinning the world around you. We got this record, we're ready to tour and do it big." It's all those things wrapped into one.

Arenas: Piggybacking off what Bardo said about Instagram, they're probably not saying that on Instagram because White cops are too busy killing Black people and shooting them in the back. That's a reality that White privilege has led to, it's not only capitalism, but genocide. That's also what we have to live with today. Not only with religion, but with the way communities are divided, with the way we think, with our mental health as a people, with our communities and the disinvestment in them and the lack of education and resources. This is all very implicit and designed to be this way, to lack people of color of the resources while the few good resources go to the top. That's the system that we've been living under here in the United States for a very, very, very long time.

I think for me, "Invisible People" has a very open open-ended meaning, it's a very big concept, and I think it can definitely be understood differently in 10 years, in 30 more years, et cetera. But right now, to me, it speaks so much about the murder of innocent people, invisible people, who are our family members, our voices, our activists. They're actors of change in our society, the heroes. So, to me, we need to put some extra highlight on that at this moment right now.

Arévalo: For me, the idea for the song was explicitly about people of color and the struggle we've endured. I don't know how many bands GRAMMY.com has interviewed where they get pulled over by border patrol in Florida for driving in a tour van, but that's our experience. I don't know how many indie rock bands have gone through that. Dealing with stuff like that was in my mind when bringing up the idea of the song, and the lack of representation we see of Latinos in the media, you don't see us with parts of substance in movies or TV shows. It's always cliched, and it makes me sick, because we're multi-dimensional. We are more than caricatures.

So, that was part of the idea. Also, just tongue-in-cheek like, "Do you see us now? Here we are, this is our record. Will you acknowledge us yet?" Because there has been a hump of, people keep saying, "Chicano Batman is breaking through with this record, this rising band." And every time we put out a record, we're always this new band that's coming out of nowhere. So, it's a critique on that and how the status quo in the media views us.

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You've said "Color my life," which opens the album, is about experiencing nature versus being stuck in the city. Was there a specific experience, feeling or place that inspired this song?

Martinez: That's the first time somebody asked me where, what's the location. I appreciate the question. Honestly, it's Oakland. I lived in Oakland for a year and a half. That was the first thought, literally what I was thinking about when I was writing those verses. I had some lyrics that were taken out too. During the chorus, "You've got to color my life..." I had something about birds. Anyways, Oakland was definitely the place.

Do you feel now when you perform "Color my life" now, especially in a virtual setting like on the NPR's Tiny Desk, do you feel it has taken on new meaning?

Martinez: I'll be honest, it's hard for me to connect with the virtual stuff. It's difficult. I'm a little numbed by the whole virtual reality experience. But what's the new meaning? I just went to the forest recently, to Mammoth for four days with my family. I needed to do that. Honestly, it's been a long time since I've actually gone camping or anything that because of doing the music thing and touring. This pandemic has given me the opportunity to do some of that. I want to do it more often because it's the most freeing thing, just to be out in nature, it's fantastic.

"L.A. is what I carry with me all the time... It's what I try to represent in my music, at least respective to the instrument that I play and the swagger I input and the way I want people to move. We want them to feel that this is the way L.A. moves you, when we're in Germany, Brazil or France. It doesn't matter where, it's rooted in L.A. and L.A. is international because our roots are deep." -Eduardo Arenas

As a Los Angeles band, what does the city mean to all of you?

Arévalo: It's a forever home for me. My dad immigrated from El Salvador and lived in an apartment complex in Hollywood and went to Hollywood High, which I can't even imagine—what a dichotomy that must have been. My mom is third generation Mexican-American, so her family's been here since the '20s and they all have roots and stories that come from L.A. It's always been a big part of who I am and where I come from. I still have family that lives out there and also family that lives in L.A. It's an important part of my identity.

Villa: For me, L.A. feels like home. I come from very far away. I was born and raised in Colombia and I've traveled around the world. I had the opportunity and was so lucky to able to go to Europe and live there before coming to the United States. I lived over there for many years. Coming to L.A. straight from Toulouse, France was a big cultural shock for me, learning all these new set of laws and lifestyles. And there's a lot of things I probably will never understand, like the freeway, but L.A. is special, it has so much, it's a place for everyone. I feel it's a big blender and that's something that I like about this city. When I was in France and went to Paris and rode the Metro and saw all these different cultures together, I was like, "This is good. I want to live in a city this."

And I ended up living in L.A., and you have the same feeling just like riding on a Metro in Paris. It's like a dream and every day I'm learning something new. There's a lot going on here in terms of opportunities and work, especially music and media. It's crazy. I'm super glad and lucky to have found my brothers here. The band has embraced me as a Chicano, as a brother, and that's the world for me. Yes, I feel home.

Arenas: I'm born and raised in L.A., I'm from the generation of kids that used to walk to the market and get a gallon of milk and a pack of tortillas. That's how I grew up. I used to sell flowers in the street on Mother's Day and Valentine's Day. We used to sell fruit and vegetables that we'd get, extras from the produce market in downtown L.A. and resell them on the streets. L.A. is me.

I grew up with Hollywood movies and TV shows, all this '80s and '90s action stuff—the vanity that comes with that. And the vision of wanting to be something else that also comes with that. Like Carlos was saying, there's no representation of Latinos on TV, especially when you're growing up in the '80s and '90s, only dumbasses or a donkey mother****ers. Or some, "arriba, arriba" type shit, which we tossed around as culture when we were kids because we don't know better. But, in a lot of places in the country, they still perceive it like that.

L.A. is what I carry with me all the time, even when I lived in Brazil and Panama. It's what I try to represent in my music, at least respective to the instrument that I play and the swagger I input and the way I want people to move. We want them to feel that this is the way L.A. moves you, when we're in Germany, Brazil or France. It doesn't matter where, it's rooted in L.A. and L.A. is international because our roots are deep. Our roots go way back, they're not just bounded to the streets and these grids and these traffic lights, they go down really deep to communities in Mexico, at least for me. I think that's what I can offer.

Martinez: I grew up in La Mirada, Calif., it's a suburb [in L.A. County]. My dad came to Santa Ana, Calif. with his grandma in the late '60s. My mom came to Orange County in the early '80s from Cartagena, Colombia. They established the family. I was the first one to come out and there's only two of us. We moved to La Mirada and lived in some apartments over there for a while, and then they bought a house. Parks and beaches were part of my family's recreational activities. I look at L.A. as a massive region as a county, not just a city.

And to be honest, I'm infatuated by its natural beauty, these hills, the mountains, the wildlife, the ocean. I think of things like, "Wow, I can see the sunset over the oceans horizon because I'm facing directly west" in Redondo Beach. And conversely, the sun sets over the mountains when I'm in Long Beach because I'm facing south. After so many years I can visualize the panorama from various points in relation to the map. Although I navigate L.A.s streets and highways, I'd rather be on a bike, traveling at the speed of my own will, heading in whatever direction without so much regard to traffic or signals. I guess I try to feel the region I live in, as opposed to think of it in the confines of the names and boundaries, that actually don't exist.

What key things do you think are necessary for L.A. to become a place where all of its residents are celebrated and able to thrive?

Martinez: I think it's necessary for people to open their minds, drop the judgement. I feel like traveling definitely helped me see and feel things differently.

"For me, I'd say that following your heart can work!... I'm still marching to the beat of my own drum, because that's what I know how to do, and that's what makes whatever I do unique." -Bardo Martinez

It's been a decade since the band's debut—what have you learned about yourself as artists and as humans since then?

Martinez: For me, I'd say that following your heart can work! I've pursued music for aesthetic reasons, never really thinking about the markers of success, not to say those aren't necessary.

And I'm still marching to the beat of my own drum, because that's what I know how to do, and that's what makes whatever I do unique.

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