Tone Glow 142: Owen
An interview with Mike Kinsella (aka Owen) about his new album 'The Falls of Sioux', the evolution of his songwriting, and finding inspiration from The Sundays and Van Halen.
Owen
Mike Kinsella (b. 1977) is a Chicago-based singer-songwriter who has spent more than thirty years writing and playing music. As a teenager, he was in the genre-defining emo band Cap’n Jazz. Their music serves as a noteworthy representation of what “emo” currently signifies, serving as a crucial inflection point for how the genre branched further out from its hardcore punk roots in the ’90s. Later, Kinsella would move from the suburbs of Chicago to Champaign, starting the band American Football. Along with their 1999 self-titled debut, the band released two more albums after reuniting in 2014. They will be on tour later this year; dates can be found at the Polyvinyl website. Kinsella was also in the bands Joan of Arc and Owls. All these groups are significant in capturing a very specific melting pot of rock music within Chicago, expanding and blurring the boundaries of post-hardcore, emo, post-rock, and more.
Kinsella also has his own solo project called Owen. Under this moniker, he has made 11 studio albums, the newest of which is titled The Falls of Sioux. The record serves as a lighter but no less introspective follow-up to 2020’s The Avalanche, and marks the third LP he has made with multi-instrumentalist and producer Sean Carey. He is currently on tour in support of the album, and the dates can be found at the Polyvinyl website. Joshua Minsoo Kim spoke with Kinsella on April 24th, 2024 via Zoom to discuss the evolution of his songwriting, the bars he frequents for songwriting inspiration, and the Japanese rock bands that have been influenced by his music.
Joshua Minsoo Kim: I know that Cap’n Jazz started in Buffalo Grove. Did you guys go to Buffalo Grove High School?
Mike Kinsella: I went to Wheeling.
I was wondering this because there’s a Sam Ash right next to Buffalo Grove High School and I used to go there growing up. I was wondering if you guys did too.
Yup. I got my first couple guitars over there. The guitar I got there was a Fender Tele-Sonic and it was stolen about five or six years ago. I replaced it with another one. Is that Sam Ash still there?
Yeah, it is. I actually looked it up today. I played drums growing up and I’m pretty sure I bought my first cymbals there.
It was a total hang. The only other place was the Guitar Center in Arlington Heights.
I’ve read interviews where you’ve mentioned that it’s difficult to listen to older music, whether it’s American Football or Owen, because of how you sounded. On your second Owen album, No Good for No One Now (2002), you had Caithlin [De Marrais] from Rainer Maria sing but you’ve said that you didn’t want her to sing too much—you didn’t want to draw attention to how she had a better voice than you. Has your relationship with your voice changed? Are you more comfortable with your singing voice now?
At some point, I think in the studio for American Football LP2 (2016), I was working with my buddy Jason [Cupp], who was the engineer. He guided me. I learned a bit about how to control my voice, and I was moving my capo to have the music better fit my range. So, I’m much more comfortable now with my voice, but I’m still uncomfortable with how my voice sounded before. I’m trying to learn some Owen songs—some deeper cuts—for the shows coming up and going back was a little cringey. But whatever, it is what it is.
Given that the process is cringey, are you mostly bringing these deep cuts back for the fans?
I think some of the songs are solid. I sang them in my mom’s house instead of in my studio, and I didn’t know how to use compression so I just sang softer (laughter). I was naïve, and I just didn’t have the confidence to sing—whatever came out, came out. The guitar parts in some of those songs are still pretty cool.
In the past, back in 2006, you mentioned that when you wrote songs, you used to imagine them being sung by a woman. You mentioned My Bloody Valentine’s Bilinda Butcher. And I know you were influenced by The Sundays. Are you just drawn to female vocals in that way? Is there a specific reason you’re thinking of a woman’s voice over your own or another man’s?
I probably am drawn to female voices. Maybe there’s something about men’s voices where I can project the ways that they’re trying. I don’t have a woman’s voice, so when I hear it, it comes out and it’s like, “That’s so cool, it’s amazing.” With guys, an obvious example would be like Bush or some stupid grunge band (in an exaggerated macho voice) trying to sing all tough. And I’m just like, okay, here’s a guy who’s trying to act all manly. I would say The Sundays were probably the most influential band. Maybe My Bloody Valentine. And so maybe that’s just how I was hearing the vocals.
Do you remember when you first heard The Sundays?
I don’t know when I first heard them, but I bet I heard them on WNUR-89.3. That was the local radio station. That was the first time I remember hearing Red House Painters. I remember I would record whole shows and listen back. So it was probably something like that. But it could’ve been “Here’s Where the Story Ends” on 120 Minutes. I remember listening to the first album—Reading, Writing and Arithmetic (1990)—on an 8th grade field trip and sitting next to my crush. We were just friends. I remember having my headphones on and listening to the first song on the B-side, because I had the tape, hearing (sings) “So they rode out west to the seaside.” I would see the streets go by. It was super formative.
Is there something about their music that you see in your own? I remember when I first learned that you were inspired by them, I immediately thought of “Goodbye.” Some of the singing feels similar, but that last line especially: “Just give me an easy life—”
“And a peaceful death.” Yup.
That’s a total Owen lyric to me.
Oh, totally. I was into The Smiths already, and then if you put female vocals over The Smiths and lose the pompousness and make it more introspective and sensitive… yeah. Let’s just say I’ve tried to copy everything (laughter). The first EP I did as Owen, every song was like an ode or a nod to The Sundays. And I think one of the songs was kind of like a ripoff. I’m always trying to write like that.
Do you have a favorite from them?
The first album was the one I found first but the second one, Blind (1992), is so dreamy and awesome. I saw them twice in the ’90s and both times were unbelievable. So maybe Blind is more inspiring with the layered, dreamy guitars.
When you were in American Football, you were at [the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign]. Were you guys familiar with other bands there? I’m thinking of bands like The Suede Chain and Love Cup, and obviously there was Hum and the bands that came after them.
Love Cup sounds familiar, and Hum was already big growing up. We would play with Castor and Braid, who were in our scene. I mean, Jeff Garber, holy cow his stuff is still awesome. Menthol was also around there. I was friends with more of the punk scene. There were bands playing [the local club] Mabel’s every weekend and we didn’t fit in with… any of them (laughter). Even the house shows, it was really quiet and there was a lot of tuning and it was sort of boring. We would play for a little bit and then Braid would come on and knock the walls down.
The band you were in before American Football, The One Up Downstairs, was more on the post-rock, jazzier side of things.
I didn’t play guitar in that band, it was Allen and Dave [Johnson]. They were great.
Were you guys deep into the stuff happening in Chicago with Tortoise and everything?
I was coming out of Cap’n Jazz and was trying to play as fast as I could, and then with having an older brother, being a freshman in my dorm, he would send me mixtapes of Tortoise and Ida and Nick Drake and Stereolab. Stereolab was really inspirational because of all the melodic layers—I’m always trying to do that with guitars because I don’t have the voice to do it. The arrangements of the songs would be like this one thing going for one minute and then a new element would be introduced and it would be layered in an interesting way. I played guitar in high school and wrote Cap’n Jazz stuff on guitar, but in college it’d be like, oh okay, I’m gonna try to really write some songs.
It’s funny you mention Ida because I’m thinking about their evolution from The Hated. There’s the link with the D.C. hardcore stuff you were initially into, and then it connects with the quieter stuff.
Mmhmm. They were the blueprint. It was like, oh, you can just… make nice music? (laughter). You didn’t have to get all your aggression out.
You’ve mentioned in the past that your older songs with Owen were a bit more bitter or hateful and that you’ve mellowed out over the years. I’m thinking about songs like “Nobody’s Nothing” or “Bad News” or “Ugly on the Inside.” When you look back on these older songs, do you feel like you’re a completely different person now, or that you’re in a completely different headspace when writing songs?
I still try to be pretty blunt and… well, “mean” is not the right word. I’m always trying to make music that’s lush or pleasant or nice or wistful, and I think if you put too much sweet stuff on top of more sweet stuff, it’s just too sweet. So it’s like, okay, what is a line that would have more impact? Instead of giving the easy, “I love you, I miss you,” I’m trying to think a step or two or three or ten ahead. Sometimes they come out ugly, but I like to mix the ugly with the nice. With a lot of the old stuff, I was single and dating and figuring myself out. And now there are many Owen albums where I’m trying to figure out how to be a dad. So it is a different headspace in terms of what is influencing my world at the time.
I remember growing up, I couldn’t really tell if a song like “Bad News” was meant to be about another person or if it was meant to be about yourself. And of course those things can feed into one another. In writing these lyrics, where you’re being direct about someone being shitty or fake or whatever, how often does that lead you to reflect on who you are? Is there any component of that in the songwriting process?
For sure, and I would say it’s within every song. It’s very rare that I would be like, “This song is about this specific thing.” It may start with a critique of someone or how I’m feeling about something, and then I’m trying to maximize emotional impact. Is it you? Is it they? Is it us? Is it we? Is it me? Is it I? I’m totally capable of being very critical about myself, so again, that’s me digging deep and it’s only then that you can get some honest shit, even when it’s presented and is about “him” or “you.” If I’m thinking of “Bad News”—are those lyrics inspired by a person? I don’t know. I would feel like a jerk thinking these things about someone, but I could definitely think these things about myself.
You mentioned this notion of having pretty instrumentation and then acerbic lyrics. Is that something you learned from other artists? I’m thinking of Mark Kozelek, for example.
The melancholy of his music is an influence for sure, and I discovered open tunings from that and it was something I was excited by. I think throwing in a little line makes things a little more conversational and a little more human. Morrissey is the first person who would come to mind where it’d be, like with “Frankly, Mr. Shankly,” you think of a stanza and the first couple lines are leading you this way and then (snaps) he’ll turn it around a little bit. It keeps myself interested and it’s like I’ve got dog ears and have perked up. Like, did he just tell me to fuck off? (laughter).
I’m not well read by any means but Raymond Carver is a writer I immediately loved. I loved his language and his voice since high school. The most romantic scenes are, like, two people chugging whisky while naked in a hotel bed and the hotel is a dump. I was like, okay, that’s cool, it doesn’t have to be Instagram-looking all the time, you know?
On the topic of drinking, I know that you used to write songs while at a bar or when you came home after drinking. Is that still your approach?
That’s the process, yeah—and I call it “the process.” (laughter). My just-waking-up sober brain is maybe anxious and thinking about scheduling, kid stuff, basketball games, grocery stores, dinner—and all that stuff is not the most inspiring. When I get a little alone time, imbibe a little, get a little loose—that’s when I get… well, I don’t get mean. I’m an amorous drunk. And that’s part of the inspiration, you know what I mean? I get a little more longing. During the day I’m consumed by logistics and bullshit so it’s like I’m letting my hair down.
Do you have a go-to bar?
Each album’s got a different era (laughter). We discovered this bar Cody’s in Lakeview. It’s dog-friendly so not only are the humans inspiring, there are a bunch of adorable dogs. It’s a fun place to be drunk in (laughs). So before my girlfriend gets off work I’ll be like, “I’m gonna go to Cody’s for an hour and see if I can come up with any lines.” So that’s sort of recent. Back in the day it’d be Rainbo because I used to live around the corner. It was an integral part of the social scene I was in, and that’s where I’d meet people.
I know that you didn’t really drink in college and that your first drink was with Rainer Maria after you were already 21. Was there a specific reason you didn’t drink? Were you a goody two-shoes type of person at all?
I was aware of not becoming like my dad, who drank in a non-amorous way. By senior year, our house was the party house—I was carrying the kegs in, but I just wasn’t drinking the beer. I don’t think I was a goody two-shoes. I was definitely more reserved because I was more insecure—and that just comes with youth. The people who weren’t insecure, I was always like, what’s wrong with them?
I mean, alcohol definitely helps me open up. You gain confidence as you get older, you gain confidence as a parent, you gain confidence because you have to—somebody has to. I’ve changed in all these ways and the drinking facilitated some of it, and other parts of life facilitated the rest. Growing up, maybe I didn’t want to interact with people. I was shy. But as a parent you’re out with kids and they’re throwing shit off the table and you’re gonna have to interact. You’ve gotta say sorry to others and you have to be blunt. You have to handle your shit. You also have to make small talk with all these other parents, so you gotta learn how to talk about the weather and the weekend and sports.
Do you feel like this confidence you’ve gained has impacted the way you approach songwriting?
For sure. The confidence, internally, had to come before I was like, oh, I can try to sing a little louder or a little harder or with more character. I’m “confidently insecure.” I’m totally comfortable being insecure, and growing up I was maybe just insecure. Tomorrow night is the Chicago show and I gotta sing in front of a bunch of friends who are coming, and I know for a fact that they’re not fans of the music. I’ve gotta sing these sensitive little songs in front of all these friends and all we do is make fun of each other all day. So it takes a sort of confidence—at least a fake confidence.
I’m thinking about a song like “Virtue Misspent” on The Falls of Sioux (2024). There are elements of self-hatred there but there’s a sort of awareness of what’s happening. That song, specifically, reminds me of this process where you can be really hard on yourself but in doing that, you recognize that it’s silly or that you’re being dramatic.
Exactly (laughs). It’s therapy. Just saying it out loud, you become aware of it.
Was there a specific song on the album where you were like, “Oh, I needed to write this.”
There’s “Qui Je Plaisante?” That’s about me and I had to dig a little deep about relationships and parenting. It was pretty cathartic. Other songs are sillier. I think there are actual romantic songs—well, at least lines that are romantic, I don’t know if that’s carried throughout entire songs.
You have the line on there that’s, “All the time I spent posing, pretending, posturing, I could’ve learned another language or written more songs, I could’ve saved my marriage.” Are you often thinking about lost time?
That one is specifically about going through a divorce. I was going in and out of therapy. The idea of lost time was keeping me up at night and I had a couple sessions about it and I was getting comfortable with how you can’t change it, that it is what it is. I was wasting more time worrying about the past than going forward. It’s something that I’m prone to dwelling on, but again, the kids don’t give me time to dwell on anything. I just gotta do what’s in front of me.
That’s something I’ve thought about with your music, actually. I would listen to the first American Football album as a kid and a song like “Stay Home” is eight minutes long. I felt like I could stay in a depressive state for a long period of time with that. And then the Owen stuff was really nice when I got older because it was like, okay, well I may be depressed but I’m also an adult and I have to support myself and work my job. It better reflected that reality.
(laughs). Yeah, you don’t get eight minutes anymore, you get three-and-a-half minutes, maybe four. You gotta get your shit done (laughter). I’ll lose sleep at night wallowing and then I’m useless the next day because I was up all night, and that pattern is ridiculous once you think about it.
You mentioned the divorce. The Avalanche (2020) was more directly about that. Where do you feel like you’re at now with this new album compared to the previous one?
This album is a lot more playful. Lies (2023), with my cousin Nate, came after Avalanche and before this. The process of writing with him was nice because he’s very theatrical and I never really have been. This album has some elements of that. Right off the bat on “A Reckoning,” there’s the tubular bells and the whistle to set a scene—it’s like a Western. In the past I wouldn’t have leaned into that, I would’ve been like, “That sounds too much like a Spaghetti Western.” And now I’m like, “That’s cool, it sounds like a Spaghetti Western.” (laughter). I’m just a little less precious about everything. The Avalanche is truly heavy and I had to get it out.
The track “Hit and Run” is about intergenerational vices. Is that something you’re often thinking about?
It’s present in my mind often because I drink a lot. I drink in a different way than my dad did, and I have a different role in my kids’ lives than my dad had in mine. I’ve always felt like drinking was my dad’s priority ahead of his kids, but drinking for me is just a thing I do. “Hit and Run” is an example of going back and forth—am I talking about him or me? Am I talking to him or to my son? It’s unclear to myself sometimes. Like, “Oh man, this line means something different to me today.” The parenting thing has changed everything. I’m learning these old songs and digging them up, and the old ones are just about pining for a girl. It’s like, “Oh, it was that easy. It was an easy life. These are the things I was upset about.” (laughter). But you can’t blame yourself for being young. This goes full circle back to the vocal thing. I don’t like listening to myself but it’s what happened—it was part of the journey.
Is there a song that stood out in revisiting these older songs? Were you surprised by anything?
What’s the one that’s like, “What else in the room?”
“The Ghost of What Should’ve Been”?
Yeah, “The Ghost of What Should’ve Been.” I’ve been playing that live for 20 years now but I never did the whole second half of the song. And I was like, “I’m gonna listen to all this,” and I remember where I was when I wrote it around 25 years ago. Those lines… I can picture the windowsill with the avocado on it. I don’t do that often, though. I’m always excited about the next thing.
You’ve worked with Sean Carey now for multiple albums. How has that relationship developed and what was it like working with him for this new LP?
I always loved what he did but we didn’t know each other—our management set it up for the first album we worked on [2016’s The King of Whys]. It was more administrative—I sent him the demos and he had ideas and then we fleshed it out. It was definitely fun hangs. And then the next time, we knew how each other worked. With this new one, it was like a family reunion. We were excited to get a little weird. “Let’s try this, let’s try that. I’m not feeling it—you go play drums.” We were trying a bunch of things and were seeing what could stick. It lent itself to more experimenting.
There are specific little vocal lines that he lays down. On “Cursed ID,” to break the verse up he does his little angel voice and I love it. It sounds like he’s just in the corner humming along. It’s very casual and it doesn’t take over everything and it helps move the song forward. And then technically, on a song like “Penny,” I had this demo where I did this crude placeholder—I called it a “junk beat.” It was straightforward. It was definitely inspired by Califone. I was in the studio and the beat comes in during the second verse, and then I was like, “Hold on, check out this Califone thing,” and he was like, “Okay, let me try it.” He gets out there, pulls out a bunch of broken bells, and just plays this in one fucking take and it was so cool. It was so varied, too. I always grab a chunk and copy/paste it but he’s so good that he felt his way through the song. It was truly inspiring to see. It’s different from how I work.
How so?
My demo will be like 8 bars of a thing and then it drops out for 4. His stuff is real fluid. Sometimes the piano would just hang over the verse. His brain can musically see what’s coming in a way that I can’t. I do it piece by piece. I’ll get enough of the guitar and then I’ll do the next part and then I’ll edit, but he’ll just fluidly play everything.
I really like how throughout your career, there are melodies that you’ll sort of come back to. It’s cozy in that way. With the new album, I would listen to tracks and be like, “Oh yeah, this totally sounds like an Owen melody.”
(laughs). Absolutely.
Is that something you’re conscious of? Are you often making a point of “reusing” these melodies?
I can’t think of any examples but I’m totally fine with it. Like, with blink-182… are you supposed to be able to tell the difference between any of their songs? (laughter). That’s what makes what I’m doing me. They’re like…
Like Easter eggs or something?
Yeah. It’s often unintentional, but I’m cool with it. My vocal range is also limited and I fall into patterns super easily. For a lot of the guitar parts I’ll hear them and be like, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I would’ve done.”
Is there something that you feel like people would be surprised to learn influences your songwriting? And this could be music or otherwise.
Musically there’s a ton. I don’t listen to music that sounds like Owen, and I don’t even listen to The Sundays anymore. I listen to Danzig way more than The Sundays. I listen to Van Halen way more than I listen to The Smiths. Someone like, I don’t know, Larry David is inspiring. It’s like, he’s not wrong, so who cares if people perceive you as a jerk; and it’s not like I’m an actual jerk.
I’m curious about the Van Halen thing. Like, are you listening to Eddie on “Eruption” and getting inspired? You’re not shredding in your music.
I could never shred a lot. I think it’s more of an Alex Van Halen thing. I made a tweet once and it made myself laugh so hard, where I said that I just love that it sounds like when he’s recording a song, it’s like the first time he’s ever heard it. Not that I play that way—my stuff is very reserved and I’m often playing to a click, but it’s definitely influential. He gives really grand fills before things are changing.
I’ve been reading a lot of Richard Brautigan poems. There’s something about the open-endedness of them. My favorites are the ones where he’s not putting little bows on everything; they’re just snippets and thoughts and they’re not resolved. That’s inspiring in music and in life.
Does your music as Owen impact the way you go about your daily life? Or is it more like a way of processing the things you’re already experiencing?
I’ve been thinking about what I bring to Owen, so I’m trying to think now about the reverse. It’s a weird job that I have. It’s really hard to define if I’ve had a productive day or not (laughs). I’ve gotta make dinner and do my own shit, but yesterday I tried a different melody on this new song, and I was like, cool, I’ve got one line in this new melody and now this song is revealed in a totally new way. It felt like a really productive day, and that might be hard to explain to someone doing manual labor. I guess this is related to why I’ll be up all night. If I don’t get anything done all day and it stresses me out, there has to be this sort of Zen mode where I let it go and do what I can and look to tomorrow.
You mentioned earlier in the interview about cooking dinner for your kids. You’ve also said in the past that you would’ve gone to culinary school if you weren’t a musician. Do you still believe that’s a path you would have gone down when you were younger?
Absolutely. I could be on my feet all day chopping vegetables. I’m not particularly good (laughter) but I enjoy doing it. My girlfriend is fantastic and can follow a recipe to a T and has patience. I’m good at seasoning things and cutting stuff uniformly, mostly. We have different roles in the kitchen; hers is more about overseeing and I’m definitely the sous-chef.
I wanted to ask about Japanese music. Ever since the 2000s, a lot of bands have been inspired by Midwest emo and math rock, and I know that the band Toe has specifically cited the Ghosts and Vodka 7-inch, Memento Mori (1999). I know you weren’t on that, but they were also inspired by other early stuff that you were involved with. I’m wondering how you feel about playing a role in shaping an entire nation’s understanding of rock music throughout the past 25 years.
I wanna preface this by saying that I don’t take this too seriously. I wasn’t in Ghosts and Vodka. And maybe it all would’ve gotten there somehow. I vividly remember a tour with Joan of Arc, it might have been in 2003, and they told us this band was gonna open for us. We were like, “Okay, that’s cool. A lot of people are here, that’s great.” And then they played and they sounded just like all of our bands except so much better (laughter). They were so tight and they shredded so hard. It was like, oh fuck, we’re already obsolete. And every time I go back to Japan, someone I’m playing with is noodling and tapping and I’m like, man, I have not learned a new trick in 15 years (laughter). It’s been fun to see everyone take this shit to the next level.
I was in an interview talking about Yvette Young [of the band Covet] and she has referenced liking my guitar playing, and I’m sure she was doing what I was doing when she was nine (laughter). She’s playing what I’m playing with one hand and then she’s doing something else with the other hand. It’s really cool. It’s fun to be part of a lineage that is about a different way of playing. I mean, if I can just hate on blink-182 again… (laughter).
Do you remember who the Japanese band was in 2003?
I don’t remember, but I do remember the first time playing with Toe and just being like, fuck, because the drummer is incredible. Like I said, every time we go back it’s like they heard our music and, you know, actually had band practice and practiced their instrument (laughter). In comparison, we were just young punk kids.
There’s one last question that I end all my interviews with and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?
Ah, this is like therapy. I love how little I like talking about myself. That takes after my dad, maybe. He drank too much but he was a modest guy. I’m happy to do these interviews, but I like that I don’t have a desire for more attention. And it’s usually a turn off in other people. This is also an ironic thing to say I like about myself, but okay, I’ll stick with it.
Owen’s The Falls of Sioux can be purchased at the Polyvinyl website and at Bandcamp. Both Owen and American Football’s 2024 tour dates can be found at Polyvinyl here and here.
Thank you for reading the 142nd issue of Tone Glow. Shout out Cody’s.
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