Brian Erickson (The Paper Jets, The Extensions) recently released a pair of albums, Everyday Forever (Brian's Version) and Everyday Sketches. They're getting airplay across the United States. Everyday Forever was just nominated for Album of the Year at the Asbury Park Music Awards. We caught up with Erickson to talk about creativity as identity, works old and new, and collaborating with your younger self.
You’re releasing archival solo work at the same time as you’re making new music with The Extensions. How do those things coexist together?
I don’t think the bandmates care so long as I’m spending the right amount of time working on our priorities. Those two worlds don’t push up against one another very much.
Do you feel the solo material represents who you “really” are more than the band stuff?
We’re all multi-faceted creatures, right? Can one thing not represent one part and another thing not represent another? I like working by myself; I rarely feel uncomfortable alone in any context. But there’s a sense of shared joy in collaboration and that’s worth a lot, too; you get to share the special weirdness that being creative brings.
Are there any ideas you would never bring to The Extensions?
Absolutely not! In fact, we have a song we just finished recording called “Over Now,” which Lisa [LoVell, the band’s keyboardist] sings. That one has been sitting in my notebook since 2006. So, there’s really nothing off limits.
How different is that song now from when you wrote it in 2006?
The lyrics are almost exactly the same, which, I’ll admit, is rare. I wouldn’t normally trust my younger self as a lyricist, but they fit well and they match the new piece of music which bears no resemblance to what I had back then.
So, you wrote an entirely new piece of music?
That’s right. The original was a major-key powerpop song, and it’s become a minor key ballad. But I think if you’re writing effectively and considerately enough, you can make your songs malleable. They don’t always need to be so locked into place.
What do you think your younger self would say if they heard this?
You finally finished it, what took so long?
Has being in a band made you less precious about your songs?
Time makes you less precious about whatever your craft is. You do it for long enough, you start to trust yourself, which gains you the confidence to do it at a greater pace. Then, the more of something you have, the less precious you tend to become with it, especially as it pertains to something artistic. I try to think of the saying “We must kill our darlings.” If you’re fighting too hard for one little thing, you’re neglecting lots of other things. Let it go and keep moving.
Has that experience made you a more careful recording artist?
No, I’ve always been careful. I’d love to come back in about a year from now because by then, I will have released stuff from a lot earlier in my journey. Stuff that I recoded from when I was really just a year or two into it. Because then you’ll be able to see that the process has always been handled with care. The arrangements, the sequencing; everything has always been properly considered, even if the material wasn’t quite there to match.
How much does releasing this material serve as an act of self-preservation for you, as opposed to releasing material because you felt inspired or because your label or band gave you a deadline?
Every act of creativity is an act of self-preservation, no matter what the medium. When you create, you leave part of yourself in it. I have lost good friends who are far more talented than I’ll ever be. The only thing I hope to do is not die with music left in me. I know that’s morbid, but this is the one thing I believe I’m actually gifted at. May as well try to do as much of it as possible, right?
Do you feel you’re building a legacy or just refusing to let go of old versions of yourself?
I’m reconciling the things I had always wanted to do but weren’t good enough to do on my own. A lot of my early recording ventures were learned in the company of peers on a similar level. There was no George Martin; no older, more experienced person to kindly guide us along the path. And until we knew how to do everything ourselves, a lot of projects got started and left behind. But now I’m the older, more experienced person! This isn’t a refusal to let go of anything. I’ve got business with my younger self that needs finishing; this is an active collaboration! I started it then, I finish it now.
If all of this disappeared tomorrow, the archive, the bands, the shows, the curation of past and present, what version of you would still exist? How easily would you recognize that person?
I’ve seen that happen to others. They’re passionate about their work and then they lose their job and become entirely different human beings. It’s sad and if that ever happened to me, I’d have a hard time adjusting, I won’t lie. I’d probably get quite depressed. But I have a good circle of friends as well as some other interests. I imagine I’d lean on those things to keep me upright. You’re asking about what I’d do if I lost my sense of identity and self. I lean on whatever I had left and I’d hold on for dear life.
The new albums are Everyday Forever (Brian’s Version) and Everyday Sketches. They’re available through Mint 400 Records everywhere you find music these days. Thanks for the chat, Brian.
