A interview with Street Sects, originally published in Polish in the Ad Libitum zine.

Interviewer: Lidia Kowalski



1) In one interview, you stated that Rat Jacket was kind of “transition point” for you. Was it only in musical kind of meaning or was it also concerning lyrical content? What kind of “topics” will be brought up on the newest album?



Leo Ashline - Mostly it was a musical transition point. I tend to approach lyric writing from a song to song basis, depending on how the music that Shaun sends me makes me feel at the time. Shaun was introducing a lot of melody on that EP, twitching guitars, slightly more patient structuring, and some really sad, melancholy synth work, so the words reflect those things. Lyrically, the thematic connective tissues of Rat Jacket are trust, betrayal, and regret. It differed from End Position in that it was less hateful and nihilistic, albeit only slightly.

On The Kicking Mule there are a lot of different themes at play. The record is more of a collection of vignettes than it is any kind of concept record. A lot of the songs are incredibly personal. “Birch Meadows, 1991” is about my parents divorce, and “Everyone’s at Home Eventually” deals in part with my love/hate relationship with alcohol, and how it has always been first and foremost a symptom of my fear and anxiety. Other songs, like “Chasing the Vig” and “The Drifter” are my feelings and experiences filtered through my love for crime noir writing, much like “Featherweight Hate” was on End Position.

2) Firstly, you have been working on making your project into a “total aesthetics” one. What exactly does it mean, what does it involve? And is it possible that one day it will go beyond simply music and visuals?

LA - An old friend of mine impressed this idea upon me about a decade or so ago. To me it means having all of the facets of your work (the music, the visuals, the words, the live performance, etc) coalesce into a unified or singular aesthetic. I think our work as a whole speaks pretty clearly to that intent. And yes, I do think it can and (hopefully) will seep into other mediums. Time will tell.

3) Concerning the visuals - on almost all of the covers of your releases, a silhouette of woman which (imo) symbolises death, can be seen. Does her presence mean simplz that death, or a thought of it, is present through full duration of your life, or does her symbolical role differ? What’s your view on that?

LA – Death, or “Lizzy”, as we call her, represents different things in different images. In the original Gentrification seven inches, she represented the culture, the color that gets pushed out and washed over when a neighborhood is gentrified. People want to destroy what they are afraid of. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Death, like diversity, scares certain people. Lizzy was beautiful, and look what you did to her. Now you can drink your fucking pour over coffees and your fifteen dollar craft cocktails in clean, vanilla scented, color-free comfort. Happy?

In other images, she is the voyeur. She is watching, waiting, refusing to participate or interfere because she knows better. She knows how it’s going to end, one way or another, so she may as well sit back and enjoy the show. In other images she is the chauffer, our guide from here to there. In those instances I’d like to think that she represents hope, optimism, and a chance at finding something more meaningful than what we have allotted ourselves this time around.

4) You have once told about that there were periods in your life, where your only motivation to get up was music you got to make. Has making music had a cathrarctic, self-therapic role for you? Or maybe it played a part and made you see anything else in life worth living for only a bit?

LA - I think maybe a bit of both. Focusing so intently upon negative energy can be therapeutic in that the negativity can, on a good day, become something purposeful. It can be a tool to be utilized rather than a weight or a burden. And yes, certainly touring, meeting people, being fortunate enough to see your work have an effect on others, all of that can be incredibly rewarding. It can sometimes help to restore that lack of faith in the whole thing. But most of the time, unfortunately, it isn’t enough. You reach down and try to dig for that feeling, and it just isn’t there. Shaun and I do what we can to keep pushing each other forward, and I think that we are fortunate to have that dynamic. I see a lot of people, artists, who struggle to make it on their own, and it’s such an uphill battle. Trying to dodge depression, rejection, self-doubt, and a constant lack of encouragement all while pushing yourself creatively can quickly become a bleak and impossibly lonely road. It’s hard to blame people for wanting to walk away from that.

5) Well, it is obvious becouse of your experiences and feelings, but in your music you often display the darkest, most ugly side of live. You had your fair share of really awful times, but here comes the question: what, do you think, has the most power to destroy a human: his surroundings or him alone?

LA - That’s a pretty big question, and honestly I don’t think I’m really qualified to answer that, at least not in any kind of broad sense. Speaking for myself, I blame the majority of my hardships, past and present, on my own poor decisions. I’ve had a lot of opportunity, and I have wasted almost all of it. Now I’m playing catch up, and I’m still paying for a lot of those mistakes. I used to move around a lot, different cities…different states. Wherever I went I kept fucking up. I don’t think my surroundings had much to do with it.

6) There are a lot of people in the world that live in their safe world, completely unaware of what can be happening three steps from their home, completely unaware of how depression feels. Do you see “consciousness” as a value? Would you rather be totally blind, but happy?

Shaun Ringsmuth: Consciousness is something I’ve had to teach myself to value. Of course, the mind records what’s happening whether you appreciate it or not, but it might be to one’s advantage to find a place of calm before blowing one’s brains out, or worse having one’s brains blasted by another person. Violence like that, either way, always scares me, because of how little value is placed on the moments, whether it’s sentiment between two people or the greatest speech ever being spoken–it all seemingly becomes a waste staring at the barrel of a gun. On this topic, I would recommend Viktor Frankle’s book Man’s Search for Meaning. It is with great luck that tragedy doesn’t happen to a person, and of course that begs the questions of how to live, why, and what for. Arguably it is better to try to live with purpose, and if that purpose is found to then not diminish it with negative self-talk, or rot away on drugs and alcohol, and to not take out on other people one’s personal sense of injustice. With the creation of art, a sense of purpose can be easily associated, because it is often self-created and comes from a place of inner truth. Even in collaboration, like with me and Leo in Street Sects, we share what we can, go our separate way for a while, and then come back with we’ve found. Sometimes this is a song, or a new image, or a lyric, but whatever it is the aim of these created things is to give time–time being the only thing we ever really own–a story, a way of relating the human experience, which with any luck gets passed on long after we’re dead. However, to get back to your question, is it better to be totally blind but happy: that’s not for anyone else to say but yourself. You have to step away from your everyday reality for a number of minutes and ask yourself, Is this who I am, is this what I want? And then change the “why” to the “how”–as in, not “why am I doing this,” but “how am I going to do this.”

LA - Do I see a consciousness as a value? I can’t imagine any artist or musician answering “no” to that question. If I was “totally blind, but happy” I don’t think I would have much use for art or music as a creative outlet, because I doubt that I would have anything interesting to say. Pain and despair, like death and diversity, are a part of life.

7) On “The Defence of Resentment”, you start by listing some of the fears you have. However, is there any particular fear that is close to you the most, that haunts you, if I can say it this way, “personally”?

LA - My biggest fear is the fear of being a failure, of having wasted my life. To reach the end and have to own up to the fact that I could have done so much more, that I could have tried harder, done better. The potentiality of that kind of regret is terrifying.

8) In one interview, you said that being sincere while writing lyrics isn’t enough, it is also a matter of finding a unique perspective. In what way you see your perspective as unique?

LA: Everyone’s perspective is unique, not just mine. However, not everyone is able to communicate their perspectives in a way that does justice to their particular experience. Art takes form, and we look to preexisting forms as influences and guideposts for our own work. Even the most abstract artists are often hard-pressed to outrun the shadows of artists who came before them. With my writing I try to focus on expressions of sincerity and honesty, and try to couch those expressions in a form that appeals to my inner critic. I don’t want anything that I write to have the stink of familiarity or nostalgia. It has to be clear that there was an effort made to approach the work from a fresh perspective. Whether I’m successful in that or not is not really for me to say, but the effort is there.

9) Do you think that we, as a human kind, have a tendency to run away from thing we’d be better off not knowing? What we escape most frequently in modern world?

SR: Some of us, yes. I’ve known and admired people in my life who have preferred truth in every instance. I was not one of those people. I wanted escapism and fantasy, some of which was self-destructive. Not wanting reality exactly as it is can also lead to creativity: novels, movies, music, paintings, architecture. Attempting to see reality as it is, and attempting to see reality as better than it is–these are worthy pursuits. Lately, I’m finding what’s most important from day to day is knowing exactly what one thinks and feels, followed by deliberate action. Like, really stopping all movement and asking what’s going on. It’s the only way to care for oneself and for others. It is worth taking the time to breathe deeply, look around, and be in that very moment of reality, because that’s the best chance to really see and to create. This is easier said than done, of course, because one wakes up and all the shit from yesteryear is right there, and nothing seems good enough and nobody is kind. Everyday one has to make a choice of how to live.

10) On “Rat Jacket”, I can feel a distinction, yet a weird relationship between abrasive mechanisation and a “human side” to this music (by which I mean post-industrial melodic hooks). Do you think that the same kind of connection between pure human soul and that what is cold and obcure can be found?

SR: Yes! Though, I would add that every Street Sects recording has attempted this connection between warm human melody and cold machine sounds. Humans have the gift (and burden) of being self-aware, unlike other animals, and with that comes the urge to name, to conceptualize, to make meaning where there seemingly isn’t one. It’s how people come to such wildly different interpretations over pieces of abstract art. The less a piece is controlled by labels the more room a person’s mind has to dream. Even if something begins with a narrative or directive, it can take a turn for the surreal and then allow more headroom for the spectator. We see this in Ingmar Bergman’s films. We see this in John Barth’s novels. We feel this in Harold Budd’s music. Any abstraction of course does ask participation of the listener/viewer, and not everyone wants that experience. Sometimes all we want is escape. Creating these things can get complicated, but it doesn’t have to be a single extreme choice, thus the use of melody or a relatable narrative coursing through abstract imagery.

On “In Prison, at Least I Had You” I wrote a fairly abstract intro. Originally it was supposed to go toward a split release with the Cincinnati band Curse. Some

of their songs have slow, doomish metal-inspired parts, so I wrote what I thought would complement that. When the song starts, it’s all bits of sound, total collage work, which eventually flows into what I hoped would be doomish metal tempo, followed by the main portion of the song itself. The final version you hear on Rat Jacket didn’t come out as I intended, at least the intro part before the wind-up sound that kicks off the song, but I spent a lot of time on that intro collage part, really feeling out those sounds, connecting them, making sure they had the right rhythm in the mix. The intention of that song in particular serves the human/machine dynamic, I think.

11) During the times of “Gentrification” you said that you don’t exactly write lyrics, but rather do some kind of stream of consciousness resolved around central topic. Are you still working like that?

LA: No. With the Gentrifiction singles there were these pieces of micro-fiction that I had written to accompany the records, these sort of journals from characters who were caught in the crossfire of social displacement. Those pieces were the core of the writing, and the “lyrics” were more guttural abstractions of those pieces. Since End Position, my approach to lyric writing has been more traditional and meticulous.

12) Also, many times when you were asked about your process of creation, you mentioned talking with each other a lot about it. What were those conversations about? I don’t mean to dwell to deep, just the general.

SR: Leo and I don’t sit down and work out songs on instruments together. We tend to talk through the parts, and later I work them out in the instrumentation. This is why I sometimes only write a snippet of a song, maybe one minute or two. I’ll send it over to him to think about, and he’ll often listen to the pieces in his van. The conversations, on the whole, cover a long period of time in our friendship, to my mind, because he and I have been talking about music since we first met in 2002. Sometimes in talking about a current thing we’re working on, we’ll reference a ten-year-old conversion about a band or song. It breathes new life into old ideas.

13) This question can be a bit personal, and even if your music and lyrics are generally confessional, I’ll understand if you don’t answer. What’s you experience with the spiral of self-hate? What makes it worse and harder to escape (if it is possible at all)? How do you experience it, can you desribe in your own, abstract way?

LA: I don’t mind answering. My relationship with self-hate probably began around the time my parents got divorced, in 1991. I put on a lot of weight and it made my life harder in terms of school, peers, and my interest in the opposite sex. I have struggled with having a negative body image my entire life, and it has greatly effected my self esteem, my confidence, and my overall mental health. These issues in turn led to eating disorders, isolating myself from other people, and self medicating with alcohol and drugs. The chemical dependencies then in turn created a maelstrom of other problems, culminating in extreme and obsessive self destructive thoughts and behavior. Fixation on suicide as a solution, which is still a huge part of my mental framework, unfortunately. I feel like I have been trying to work backwards through these problems for a long time now, but the root problems are still there. Getting off drugs and alcohol was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the mountain of work I still have in front of me. What makes it worse is inertia. Sitting around. Not doing anything. I have to keep busy with the band. I don’t go to therapy, and I stopped attending (AA) meetings years ago. Street Sects is the only real cure I have found. I don’t know what I would do without it.

14) This will be less of a question and more of a confirmation (or denial) of my predictions. On your lyrics to “In Prison, At Least I Had You”, there is a fragment that says “I’m holding the same position”. Is it reffering to title of your debut LP, “End

Position”?

LA: Yep. Nice catch!

15) And finally. How are you feeling these days? Is life quite OK? I wish you the best, honestly.

SR: I am now almost two years sober, so my feeling about things in general is one of hope. Without sounding corny here, I really want to live with passion, put all the ideas into the music, and try to connect with people along the way. When I drank, i drank to black out and forget myself, and I lived that way from about 14 to 32 years of age. There was so much self-loathing, trepidation, anxiety in my life. I was afraid of everything. These days I try not to take anybody or anything for granted. I let people know that I love them and that they are loved, which is something I couldn’t do pretty much my whole life. I’m grateful that I’m still making music with my best friend, Leo, and I truly believe our best work is still to come.

Thank you, Lidia, for listening and looking into our music, and for taking the time to interview us.

LA: I’d be lying if I said that I feel good more often than not. Staying positive is a constant struggle. But I have a lot to be grateful for, most of all this band and my friendship with Shaun. I’m also extremely grateful for my mother, who helped me get sober, for the small handful of friends I have, and for everyone who has ever supported Street Sects in any way. Thanks for the interview, Lidia. Sorry it took us so long to get these answers back to you.