Sean Solomon

about the artist
Just when Sean Solomon thought he was out, they pulled him back in. The songwriter had stepped away from the mic, making the difficult decision with his bandmates to put his Sub Pop-signed band Moaning on indefinite hiatus and recalibrate. The music industry kind of broke him. He poured himself into animation — an obsession and dream job that quickly became a reality. "I was getting work in the animation industry, and it seemed like the obvious career path," explains Solomon. He made music videos for Run The Jewels and Unknown Mortal Orchestra and CHAI and Odd Future. He was…
MoreJust when Sean Solomon thought he was out, they pulled him back in. The songwriter had stepped away from the mic, making the difficult decision with his bandmates to put his Sub Pop-signed band Moaning on indefinite hiatus and recalibrate. The music industry kind of broke him. He poured himself into animation — an obsession and dream job that quickly became a reality. "I was getting work in the animation industry, and it seemed like the obvious career path," explains Solomon. He made music videos for Run The Jewels and Unknown Mortal Orchestra and CHAI and Odd Future. He was living a dream, but it was only part of the dream. He still heard chords when he went to bed, ached for the feeling that artists like Elliott Smith, The Microphones, and Neutral Milk Hotel gave him.
The itch returned, so he started writing again during the pandemic. He couldn't imagine a life without songwriting, but he pursued it free from the expectations that come alongside a career in the industry. It allowed him to make music that felt closer to his ideal self than ever before. "That's when it clicked and I started making this kind of music where I didn't give a shit what anyone thinks."
One of the songs he recorded with producer Jarvis Taveniere (Whitney, Purple Mountains, Waxahatchee), was a track called "Car Crash." It was inspired by his unwillingness to drive, despite being from Los Angeles — overcoming his anxiety and learning how to navigate an automobile, then getting in a horrifying wreck that was completely his fault. Sometimes, facing your fears is overrated.
After writing and recording, Solomon was restless enough to simply drop a live performance video online without fanfare. His entire life changed. Almost immediately after being released, the song had found a massive audience; his audience. The simple guitar melody and raw, in your face vocal performance resonated with people everywhere. "Life is chaos, love is pain," Solomon sings. The chorus, which features Shannon Lay, is short but packs a mighty punch. "I think people are reacting to the sincerity and honesty. I'm just being myself," Solomon speculates. Everything is algorithmically curated, and "Car Crash" feels like the exact opposite — a spur of the moment flash of brilliance. It's vulnerable and you can hear the feelings Solomon works through as he sings. It's a splash of cold water on a hot day. "I realized I would be better at doing this if I made exactly the music I wanted to make, the music I grew up on. It's ingrained in me. I know exactly what to do with this music and this visual style, because it's so true to who I am," he explains. The songs he was writing reminded him of his high school days, playing in the band Moses Campbell, figuring out how to make music in real time.
It's a tale so morally-driven that it belongs in a self-help book. "Follow your dreams, honor your vision, and good shit happens." More like, work your ass off for a decade honing the voice you've always heard in your head, follow the light that keeps you up at night. Then, just maybe, you might find your fan base. That fan base might be 10 hardcore devotees, or millions of views across social media.
As for "Car Crash," Sean had no idea it would resonate with people the way it has. "Kids were covering the song before it was even released. It's so touching. It's amazing," he marvels, before hedging his bets: "This was all a surprise. I'll take what I can get." The reason why "Car Crash" was released first wasn't some market-tested strategy or adherence to the algorithm. Solomon just went with his gut. "I did not think this song was the single at all. I was trying to animate songs for every song on the album, and I started with this one. It was just the first song I did." Something in Solomon knew that the best reintroduction would be his most emotionally-charged song to date — one that admits failure without any sort of redemptive arc. Sometimes bad shit happens and it helps to sing about it.
Without a band in tow, Sean has strategized a wildly innovative way to bring these songs to the live stage, which he plans on doing plenty of in 2025. He'll be lugging a vintage TV set armed with a VCR to all his shows. He'll be performing alongside animated visuals on the screen, but he also recorded all the backing tracks onto the tape, such that he'll be carrying his own TV-only band to each show. "I was trying to figure out something that was captivating on stage when it's just me," he explains. In keeping with the themes of his new music, he adds: "I wanted something that felt more raw or intentional as opposed to me just standing there with a laptop."
In a way, it's sweet that he'll be alongside his own animations, the friend that helped him rediscover his career, his unbridled enthusiasm for songwriting. It was only when he envisioned his music as one aspect of an all-encompassing art project that it truly began to cohere.
Thinking about the live show and the people in the back of these very large rooms trying to catch a glimpse of Sean's visuals makes him skeptical, but it's the sort of nervous, giggly excitement that pushed him to begin this journey in the first place. "I don't know how it's gonna turn out," he says, before adding: "But I can't wait." So far, so good.