SG Lewis For Notion 92

SG LEWIS: Yeah. The whole concept was exploring lust vs love in relationships — how these two differing versions of love and romance can bleed into each other and be confused with one another.

SG: It’s about one of them being destructive and toxic in its nature, and those emotions tending to become addictive, rushy, egocentric and self-serving versions of romantic relationships. Rather than it being about someone else, it’s more about this internal, self-destructive behaviour pattern versus a more actualised, fulfilled version of love that my current situation has made me feel.

SG: Yeah, absolutely. The reason I wanted to explore those two different worlds is because they have two very clear sonic characteristics to me. The lyrics followed the feeling, as it always does in my music. It tends to be feeling first over lyrics first. I could distinguish these two different feelings, these two different worlds, and categorise them. When we were working on music, it was clear which side of the album the music would exist in. There was a feeling that represented that rush and intensity, versus a feeling that represented that openness and warmth.

SG: Something that I wanted to try with this album, which I found uncomfortable at points, was writing from a more internalised perspective. It’s hardly that they’re soul-bearing ballads, but perhaps there’s slightly more of me in the songs. Just from singing more as well. To turn the question on you, how have you found that? I’d say your most recent album is more soul-bearing than the first record. Did you find that more uncomfortable in the promo of the album?

SG: I guess that transition has felt sharper for me. Even as the album rolls out, I’m becoming more OK with it. When people have an interest in what the song’s about or where it comes from, at first I was like, ‘Woah, this is uncomfortable’.

SG: Because it’s easier to talk about other people rather than myself. I’d rather point to other things.

SG: I don’t know. There’s people that enjoy sharing and putting their emotions on display. I think I’ve learnt, perhaps, that I’m not. Maybe it’s an expensive course of therapy to find out why.

SG: That’s such a good question. Playing live, it’s like an internal battle against your own imposter syndrome. It became strange to me that I’d come off stage one night — it would be a big show, a sold-out crowd — feeling weird, like there hadn’t been a connection. And then I’d come off another night, where there was a half-sold audience in a nothing town, and I’d feel like something really happened there. I said to Max, who plays bass in the band, ‘We’re playing the same setlist every night. What makes those shows different?’ And he said, ‘I think it’s you. It’s those microreactions in your body language. If you decide in the first three songs that everyone hates you and your shoulders shrug a bit, that back and forth of energy fizzles’. So to answer your question, if I build the idea in my head that they hate me…

SG: Exactly. By the last three shows I spent a little longer taking it in. There’s no guarantee that you’re going to experience that again, especially after the pandemic and the cost of touring. To round up the question, some nights I would run from stage because I thought, ‘Oh god, they hate me, I don’t deserve to be up here’, and by the end I got to a healthier place and took it in.

SG: Or you catch the eye of the partner who doesn’t know your music and got dragged along, or the person who wants you to play the one song you didn’t put in your setlist, and that can throw you.

SG: I’d like to be in the position where my career as an artist, writer and producer is more balanced in a way that is conducive to the lifestyle I want to live. I spent the majority of my 20s with this gung-ho, yes to everything attitude, which is a lifestyle that makes a lot of amazing memories. But I remember speaking to you once — I was talking about how I was going to a festival or a party and I wasn’t going to sleep — and you were laughing, like, ‘You do know you’re not going to be able to do this forever?’ Even in the last couple of years, I’ve noticed that you were right. Those things become harder to do, harder to bounce back from. Less appealing, less fulfilling.

SG: I’d like to be writing and producing for artists in a situation that allows me to be in one place more often. I’d like to still be releasing music, but I’d like to have more ownership of that music. I’d like to own my music and see what that feels like.

SG: Yeah? I’d love to have various sources of income that mean all of my decisions can be made purely from an artistic standpoint. Just ‘What do I feel like doing? What feels good?’

SG: Yes, I think so. I love live music and I love shows, but a balance allows your relationship with those things to be healthier. You never want to be in a position where you’re rolling your eyes at a show; it’s something that you never want to take for granted. I’m scared for the future of live music right now because of the cost of it. It’s something that we’ve spoken about a lot. I hope that there’s a version of live touring in the future that’s more sustainable economically, and environmentally, too. Again, that ties into the ownership of music because there are these urban myths that you make your money from touring, but any live act will tell you right now that you lose money touring. To summarise, I’d love for my career to be successful enough in several different lanes to be given flexibility and freedom of choice.

SG: The strange thing is I really think we’re going to keep doing this until we’re really old and really bitter with this industry. It’s become somewhat of an emotional support friendship for me.

SG: I’d like to think we’re stuck in this for the rest of eternity.

SG: I think that’s a good note to end on. Thanks Orlando.