Interview: Erik Kase Romero finds stillness in chaos

“Now, I’m spiraling, wondering how to exist,” sings Erik Kase Romero over the trickle of guitar. His voice nestles inside a chrysalis of instruments. “Still,” sampling the forthcoming how to be still and still be here LP, pings through the cosmos like a falling star, “dying slow and sometimes faster,” as he breathes in choking puffs. It articulates everything he feels in the present moment, navigating the tangle of social media and doggy paddling to stay afloat.

“Even without the advent of what social media and technology has brought upon us, I’m someone who has a proclivity to be constantly overthinking and overanalyzing to a point that becomes destructive,” Romero says. “The landscape of what being an artist looks like now with social media, streaming, self-promotion, etc, leads to so many profound and deep fractures of purpose. I feel like what has become expected so often prioritizes so many things that aren’t necessarily the art or the sharing of the art in a safe and community-based environment.”

Unsure of a solution, Romero admits that falling into the “used to be better” ideology is “a slippery and fallacious slope,” he says, “but where things currently feel constantly broken and disconnected to me. The one meditation that seems to be the most productive is just making sure that when things do feel connected, whether it’s in the process of making the art or playing it to people live, I try to cherish and live presently in those moments as much as I possibly can.”

The making of and presentation of art seems profound when listening to “Still,” a five-minute slow-burn that somehow melts the present into a sticky candle of purpose and profound, moving, and altogether cataclysmic meaning. For five minutes, the listener comes to understand stillness in a way that seems to transcend the present moment. It’s like living fast but remaining still at the same time. It’s without rhyme or reason, and yet captures what it means to be truly alive and move about the world.

It shouldn’t come as a shock, really, considering The Front Bottoms band member has worked with the likes of alt-pop star Lorde and such indie juggernauts as Deal Casino and Well Wisher. His influences span the gamut from Jackson Browne to Neil Young, all the while stitching together Americana and homegrown folk music into a tapestry worthy of a great, lengthy career. He tumbles fast into his musical admirations without blinking, so it makes sense his own star is growing in power at an exponential rate.

In our deep-dive interview, Romero digs into understanding himself on a greater level, how he remains still in life, healing, and his favorite moment of his career.

With “Still,” were you able to understand yourself on a deeper level?

For sure. That’s kind of always what I’m hoping to get out of a song. For me, art is always the most successful when it feels like a way to express something that I otherwise wouldn’t be able to or may not even fully understand. With this song, in particular, I think a lot of factors led to it feeling like one of the bigger milestones or acknowledgments of learning that I’ve gotten to put into song form. Lyrically, there’s a lot of admitting to myself who I really am in ways that I’m both proud and ashamed of.

Do you feel like your most authentic self?

I don’t know. [laughs] I don’t think so. I do feel like the last few years have been the first in my life where I am the most certain that becoming my most authentic self and seeking a life that nurtures that journey is a huge priority for me. It seems like a lifelong pursuit.

What things help you remain still in life?

Being outside. I’ve always loved hiking and fishing and being in the woods. It calms me and allows me to slow everything down in ways that nothing else can. My wife always jokes that she thinks it’s bizarre that I can barely sleep at home—I’ve struggled with insomnia for most of my life—but if we’re camping or out in the woods somewhere, I sleep with almost no issues.

Also, this has been my first year with my currently 11-month-old daughter, Emma. As I’m sure many new parents discover, the rate at which she’s growing up has been a huge catalyst for me to prioritize presence and intentionality. It’s been really beautiful to watch this person grow and strive to make sure that I am experiencing all of it with her.

The stanza that begins “I’m dying slow…” is a pretty dark, yet profound, verse. What does that particular lyric mean?

“I’m dying slow, but sometimes faster…” This line in particular feels like a summary of how being alive can feel so often, especially with anxiety and depression. Sometimes, it feels like getting through life, and aging can be such a crawl to an ending that’s so far out of our control, but then there are all of these moments when you’re faced with mortality: health scares, family passing away, constant violence, etc., and it all flips around and feels so absolute and immediate and delicate. The rest of the verse goes on to unpack more of the idea of resigning to and accepting the fragility and brokenness of who I really am as a person.

You’ve mentioned the album delves into healing. What are you healing from?

Personally, just a bunch of fear and loss and trauma. Family members who aren’t with me anymore. Friendships that deteriorated or become unhealthy and have ended. Dissociation from and confusion about my identity as an artist, friend, husband, father, collaborator, business owner, consumer, etc. Things that I’m sure a lot of people struggle with. It’s only been recently that I’ve taken on the accountability to start addressing so many of these things both through my art and therapy and trying to be more intentional.

The album also deals with a “traumatic moment in American history.” What is that? What led you down this path for the album?

That’s a pretty specific reference to the first few years of the pandemic and subsequent lockdown. Aside from the heartbreaking amount of lives that were taken during that period of time from COVID itself, I think it will take generations to unpack the amount of damage done culturally. Having nothing to do but stay glued to news and social media and other outlets that profit off of pain, fear, and shock for such an intense period of time. Starting to see the ways that technology has allowed us to compartmentalize and harden our worldviews no matter how related to reality they really are, really shook me personally. I am someone who has always leaned on logic, problem-solving, and truth-seeking as a cornerstone of navigating the world and life… the amount of people in our country that have been either tricked into, or enabled to totally abandon reason and empathy as a foundation for their worldview scared me in very deep ways during that period of time and honestly still does.

I’ve never considered myself an “angry” person or someone who struggles with rage. I’ve never felt so much anger and fear as I did in 2020-2022.

“Maybe I just pick to keep on hurting,” you sing in ‘Lessons.’ Are you still (pun intended) hurting?

I think that line in ‘Lessons’ is an interesting one. I meant for it to interact with the other verse that ends with “Maybe you just picked the wrong person.” The “wrong person” line was more of a message to myself, my loved ones, friends… Entities that I imagine perceive me as someone who is accountable, or resilient enough to navigate the day-to-day… and how so often I feel like an imposter to that identity and have no idea what the hell I’m doing.

The “pick to keep on hurting” line was actually trying to use the word “pick” as it’s often used as a euphemism in Americana/country/bluegrass circles for playing an instrument or playing music.  The creeping fear that continuing this uncertain career and life path that comes with so much turmoil and instability because it’s something that’s familiar and seems to take more than it gives. I’m pretty sure I wrote it while on a really long tour and feeling very disconnected from the idea of “home.”

What lessons did you learn through making this record?

So many! One very important one that I’m constantly learning is that who I choose to surround myself with and be vulnerable with is such an important decision. Making this record with healthy collaborators who I deeply respect was such a revelatory process and did a lot to help me keep the confidence to see it through. The love and talent of Max Connery, Evan Dibbs, Samir Tawalare, Matteo DeBenedetti, Brittany Byrne, and Natalie Newbold who all performed on the album is such a part of the DNA of the songs, and I would not have wanted to complete it with anyone else. Also, I have to mention my decades-long collaborator Tim Pannella who mixed and mastered the record. We’ve worked together in the studio for pretty much the duration of my career. I don’t trust anyone like I trust Tim with my art.

Another big lesson as far as songwriting goes was to stop getting so obsessed with judging my own art before I need to. Just trying to focus on the songs and saying what I want to say before ever worrying about aesthetics, nuance, “coolness,” etc… is something that I’ve never committed to as intentionally as I did with this collection.

Considering your resume, what’s been the most life-changing (or pinch-me) moment of your career so far?

Wow. I haven’t thought too much about that [laughs]  I’ve been really lucky to have a ton of really positive milestones and memories throughout my career. I think playing Red Rocks this past August with the Front Bottoms was a pretty surreal experience and definitely felt like a pinch-me moment… To be honest, I think some of the most profound moments I experience are often so random and just hard to even triangulate. Certain shows, certain moments in the studio. Those couple seconds when you feel like you can kind of leave the critical part of your brain behind and just experience what is happening. Those are the ones I’m always chasing. There were definitely some of those making this record, and I’m really really grateful for it.

Follow Romero on his socials: Instagram