UK musician Joel Johnston didn’t set out to be the focus of attention with his own music project, but that’s exactly where he finds himself today. Having spent the bulk of his formative years as an artist dedicated to excelling as a drummer, then as a producer, he eventually got the itch to make a record of his very own in 2014 under the moniker Far Caspian.
The latest album by said project, Autofiction, dropped last Friday on Tiny Library Records. As Johnston shares with me, despite all the hours he’s logged in recording studios, the self-referential Autofiction tied him up in knots at times. Not only is the collection his most soul-bearing and honest work to date, he created it with very little feedback from others, choosing instead to craft the record in a recording studio in his home in Leeds. Even more formidable: Johnston produced, mixed, and performed all the instruments featured on Autofiction himself.
Fitting for the transparent nature of his indie-rock affair, he appeared to respond to my questions with thoughtfulness, grace, and humility when I delicately talked with him about the extremely personal record, over the course of which Johnston opens up about his mental health struggles, learning to love and forgive himself, and applying that same measure of empathy and care to those around him. Stream the album and find our chat below.
Did you come up with the name Far Caspian because it combines the names of two bands I imagine you like, Far and Caspian?
That’s the first time someone’s asked me that angle. Usually people think it’s a reference to Prince Caspian from the C.S. Lewis books. When I was a kid, I did really love The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and the Prince Caspian character, so maybe it subconsciously gives me a sense of nostalgia or childhood warmth. When I was a kid, there was also a really low-budget Chronicles of Narnia TV series on BBC. The truth is, I’ve changed my answer to the question of the band’s name many times, but it literally comes down to me just liking the name “Caspian,” but there already was a band with that name. At this point, though, I wish I’d called the band something else.
What was the moment when you decided you really wanted to make a solo album? Did you go through fits and starts over many years?
It was probably 10 years deep in pursuing this as a career. I started playing drums when I was seven, and I’ve got four older brothers who all had a guitar and a bass. There was a band formation set up in the house. From a really early age, I felt like I was on a life path to pursuing music, whether it was in a band or in production. I started making my own music as Far Caspian in 2014. And at that point, I remember always having the thought that there’s no point even releasing music because there’s so many bands. But that was a very immature thought, and I eventually started doing it. Originally, I was strictly a drummer and was pretty passionate about becoming a session drummer for people. That was my big passion in life. But the session drumming dream died a bit, and I got into [expanding my abilities].
I started making Far Caspian music essentially to create a portfolio to become a producer, because no one would hire me. It took off a bit, and for five or six years I just focused on Far Caspian. In the last couple of years, I’ve started taking on production work, which in the long run is what I’m most passionate about, really. I’m 31 now, so I’m getting to a point where I’m not going on tour for the rest of my life. It feels really nice being in this studio and just taking life easy. I’m pushing really hard at the moment to make this my full-time thing.
Did the title of “frontman” not sit well with you?
Yeah, I hate being called a frontman. That’s probably from being a drummer for 20 years and just getting to chill in the background. I really like adding things to other people’s music without that pressure being [all on] me. That played in my head a lot on the first two albums, when I was writing it, thinking, “This is gonna alienate this group of people,” or whatever. When I’m producing other people, I’m encouraging them as much as possible to take risks, and if [something] makes them happy, then do it. I should be able to do that with my own music and not crawl into a hole and write the same thing over and over.
When I was 12 or so, I was a really cocky drummer. I wanted to play really hard and do loads of fills and all. Then I learned as I got a bit older that playing in the pocket is so much more important than trying to do a fill every two bars. I had to learn that I have a place and to respect the music and embellish when necessary, but not go overboard. As I’ve learned to become a producer and work with more people, I just want to serve the song as much as possible and give space to whoever I’m working with and not encourage them to get super flashy. There are quite a lot of producers who were drummers in bands and now are producers.
When you were making the new record, did you hit any points where you had to step back for a bit and see what you’d done so far, and then build the rest of the album out?
Oh yeah. I get writer’s block all the time. It’s like fighting with myself until I write something that I like. Essentially, every album so far has been me coming into the studio, trying to write, thinking I’m a terrible person because I can’t come up with anything, and just hating everything for about six months until something clicks. Then it starts working—at least to the point where I like it enough that I’ll release it, even if I don’t like it afterward. For this one, I got to a point where it was so bad that I was like, “Oh, maybe I don’t have an album, maybe I’ll just do an EP.” That’s essentially admitting defeat.
That happened in October or November. But then, maybe a couple of weeks or a month after that, I ended up one day just being like, “I’m just gonna compile all of the demos I’ve got into a playlist and listen to all of them. And if I don’t like a song within the first 20 seconds, I’ll just remove it from the playlist.” I ended up with seven or eight songs after I did that and was like, “Oh, so maybe I do have an album.” And then the rest of the songs kind of came. I did two albums with a band and a singer, and after that I wrote maybe two or three more, and then went back and re-recorded drums to the demos and built them up. Eventually, when it came together, the songs all kind of worked together without planning, which was quite cool, because usually I have to rethink everything. This one fell into place together.
What did you learn about yourself as a musician in creating this album that maybe you hadn’t known about yourself before?
With this record, I chose not to think as negatively and to get back to what it felt like in 2014 when I was just messing around with no expectations or pressure from anyone. I think what I learned is to be way less judgmental about the process and get back to a sense of play, and enjoy the fact that we’re in an age where I don’t need to spend $100,000 to go into a studio to record a song. I’ve got an inverted rehearsal space where I can just get on my MacBook and [create]. Because when I feel more free from that inner monologue or [self-] critique, I can just get back to just enjoying it.
