Christian Lee Hutson’s new album Paradise Pop. 10 sounds deeply intimate, but the NYC-via-LA songwriter relishes in the never-tidy line that divides fact from fiction. His third solo album was inspired in part by the town where his father grew up, a one-street community he and his neighbors called Paradise. It was isolated in the woods, and on the record, Hutson imagines a world filled with fresh characters adding to the town’s meager population. Despite paying homage to a place firmly fixed in the past, the album is also, by Hutson’s estimation, about constantly moving forward.
On opener “Tiger,” he sings over a pensive piano line and a cacophony of sounds interrupted by an effusively cheering audience: “In my imagination / I’m sitting on the fence / Between the life we almost had / And whatever’s coming next.” On “Water Ballet,” Hutson and his producers—Phoebe Bridgers, Marshall Vore, and Joseph Lorge—cook up a charming folk-rock lament wherein the singer wonders where one moment begins and the previous one ends. After concluding that the “present interrupts the past,” he sings during the chorus: “When I was your man, I got it all wrong / Stuck in a trance, disconnecting the dots / Life goes on and on and on / On and on and on.” Some say life is short. Hutson isn’t sure, but he is certain there’s no going back.
To celebrate the release of the new album, we caught up with Hutson to talk about working with dear friends and frequent collaborators like Vore and Bridgers, imposter syndrome, and reading and writing fiction.
Do you still get nervous when putting out a new record?
I do. I forget why I release albums. Like, “Why didn’t I just put this up on SoundCloud?” I go through some weird process with it where I’m like, “They’re never going to let me make another album again after this one”—whoever they are. The world will collectively decide, “No, that’s enough, you’re done now.”
Has that sort of imposter syndrome been a part of your transition from writing for other people to writing your own songs?
Totally. I’m comforted, though, by how often everybody else that I love and respect feels it, too. They just don’t know that I’m the only one who actually is an imposter.
Are you normally a fan of bringing new songs out on the road?
Totally. Most of my life at this point is touring. It’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve really started to like my actual life. I used to have it flipped—touring was when my real life started, and in between was the fake stuff. But yeah, I love being in a new place, I love meeting new people, and I’ve just been really lucky that people want to come out and hear songs.
“I’m not that interested in escaping myself right now—I’m more interested in learning more about how my brain works.”
What’s made you feel happier with life outside of music?
I’m always writing and working on things either for myself or for other people, but I feel I’ve got a great therapist. I like myself right now. I’ve done a lot of good work to not be stuck in the past. Touring can be like, “OK, now it’s time to escape myself.” I’m not that interested in escaping myself right now—I’m more interested in learning more about how my brain works. I was just spending so much energy trying to escape the way I was feeling by going to a new place all the time. I don’t know if there was really a catalyst other than maybe getting old. It’s just exhausting not being happy.
Had you already moved to New York when you began writing the new album?
Yeah, I moved in September of last year, and it was all written in about a month.
What precipitated the move?
I just lived in LA most of my life. I grew up there and I was paying attention to my patterns and my habits. When I would get back to LA I realized I never really wanted to leave the house or see anyone. I felt trapped in a weird memory maze of different eras of my life. It was very difficult for me to pleasantly connect with what was happening. I would get nostalgic too easily.
Did recording in New York make a difference in the way the album sounds?
Emotionally, yes. Where we made the last two records for the most part was an hour drive to and from the studio. There was talk of maybe trying to make my record in LA again, and I was so resistant to it because I was like, “I can’t do that hour there and back alone.” It’s a fucking nightmare. I want to go out and be with everyone that I just made music with. It was definitely better. The social aspect of it felt more familial than clocking in and clocking out, then going home in your car. It felt more like hanging out than working.
“I’ve never experienced perfection, so it’s funny to even call it that because it implies I know what perfection is.”
Writing this record, did the themes coalesce while you were sketching it out, or was it mostly after you’d written the project, you were like, “Oh, this is what this album is about”?
I’m very bad at the big picture of the album and what I would like. It’s like I’m being dragged along by something, whatever is interesting to me. After it was made, it started to make sense. There wasn’t a plan for it, though, it was more about letting it happen.
Were you hesitant to bring back people who were such a core part of your LA experience to do this album?
Not really. I was more excited to bring us all into a new environment, because I knew I’d act differently and have a different routine, but the same history and ease of movement. Working with a lot of the same people all the time allows you to develop a shorthand that lets you move quicker. There’s already a trust built in and everybody knows what the goal is. It’s been more comfortable for me than trying to teach someone the vibe or the rules or whatever.
When you’re working with someone like Marshall or Phoebe, what’s their song-to-song role?
It’s kind of anything and everything. Sometimes they’ll help play something or help me figure out a lyric that’s not working. Sometimes it’s arranging and trying to make something more dynamic, and sometimes it’s giving me the confidence to put a demo on the record. With Phoebe and Marshall and Joseph, if they’re signing off on it, I know it’s good. It gives me permission to not keep fucking with things, because I’m the type of person that could tinker with my own songs for five years until I have no idea where I’m at.
Are you a perfectionist?
I’ve never thought about it as perfectionism, but I guess that is the exact definition of it, isn’t it? I’ve never experienced perfection, so it’s funny to even call it that because it implies I know what perfection is.
Is there a philosophy that you think sums up the record?
I think it’s a record about connecting with the present moment and allowing forgiveness for the past and hope for the future; allowing all that to exist at once. Also, it’s about simplifying things.
“The social aspect of [recording the album] felt more familial than clocking in and clocking out, then going home in your car. It felt more like hanging out than working.”
Talk to me a bit about the album title.
It was a place I visited a lot when I was growing up, which is my dad’s hometown. It’s not a town, it’s one street and these people put up a sign that said the population of their little town. But yeah, in Paradise the population was 10. There were 10 people that lived on that street, and it’s kind of isolated in the woods. I write a lot of characters, and in my own little universe that I made all of these people live in this little town.
Do you read or write a lot of fiction?
I do a little bit of both. I write short stories and stuff for myself, and I read a lot.
Who’s one author you would compare your songwriting style to?
I don’t think this is accurate at all, but it would be the biggest compliment if my music reminded people of George Saunders. When I read his stories, I’m like, “Fuck, how does he do that?” He’s just a fucking master, that guy. Yeah, he’s really the fucking greatest. FL
