I met Mark William Lewis at Zebulon’s back patio on a chilly November evening.
The ambiance outside, like Lewis’ music, had an air of familiarity, like a warm memory that’s fuzzy around the edges. A few couples were scattered around metal tables, sharing beers and cigarettes. We all listened to the hum of cars passing by. A large skeleton loomed in the center of the patio, its presence unexplained. Remnants of Halloween, I assumed.
Mark William Lewis slouched across me, facing towards the street. He carried himself with an understated coolness, wearing a black, baggy, I-just-threw-this-on-but-I-still-look-put-together outfit. When he spoke, he purred in a husky baritone. His self-titled album, released earlier this fall, explores themes of home, human connection, and introspection.
This interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
LK: This is the longest tour you’ve been on – how does that feel?
MWL: It’s a really unique way of experiencing life. It can be repetitive and tiring, but it’s very rewarding. We’ve traveled so far, been to so many places. We were just in El Paso, Texas, and I was thinking I never thought I’d be in this part of the world. I found that the further you go, the more grateful fans are that you’re even there. That’s been really sweet.
The universal power of music’s an amazing thing. It makes me reflect on these ideas that started in my little bedroom, and something in there being relatable to someone in the middle of Texas. I find that really humbling and beautiful.
LK: Any challenges?
MWL: Trying to feel at home while being on tour is something that I’m really struggling with. When you’re on the road, you need to find home in other places. I have that in my relationship with my band, or in my relationship with my music. My show becomes home, because that’s the only thing that’s there every night.
It’s interesting because every single person in this world is different, but crowds are kind of the same. Everyone’s different until you get 300 or 400 of them in a room, you do things at every show, and they all work the same.
LK: It’s amazing that you get to see your songs resonate with audiences around the world, even when they’re inspired by your experiences in London.
MWL: Yeah, and that’s why I think having a slippery approach to meaning is really important. If there’s no meaning that people need to get, they can feel a part of the music – it’s more relatable and more universal. Embracing how an individual will take whatever you put out – that’s part of the work, really. It completes the circuit.
LK: I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. I feel as artists enter the mainstream – especially if it’s through social media – people are so quick to take their work and run with it. It becomes so far removed from why the artist decided to put that work out there, which is good and bad. I just think it’s interesting how people can look at the same stimuli and affix different meanings to them.
MWL: I’m not gonna say one is better than the other, but I do think artists approach the idea of meaning differently from someone who markets music, or someone who writes about music. There’s a lot of crossover – a lot of people who make music might also write about music or work in music. But, yeah, I think there are producers of works, and there are people who want to make the work legible. There’s a lot of tension for me between those two things sometimes.
LK: I mean, I think it’s powerful that you say that you might have had an intention when you create something, but you also embrace the fact that people can look at it differently.
MWL: For sure. Both can exist. I suppose when I’m writing, I try to hold that sweet spot between something feeling direct and feeling real and emotional and raw at the same time.
I worked in the art world before I was making music, and a lot of the art I’m interested in is mediated by context and a certain degree of self-irony. And then it felt like there was music that was doing that as well, trying to place itself in the art world.
When I started making music, I quite consciously was like, ‘I’m gonna play it quite straight with my music. I’m not going to try and play any games, I just want to make good music as an honest, raw expression.’
LK: Like, letting go of worries about external perceptions?
MWL: Letting go of the idea leading into a meaning, yeah. That’s always where I felt like I had the most fun and got the most out of making music.
LK: I feel that in your music. I put on your album a lot when I’m cooking or having a slow afternoon. Your music – especially with the harmonica and with your voice – washes over you. It’s very meditative.
LK: The longer you spend on the road, the whirlwind of cities you see… Have you developed any rituals to help you stay grounded?
MWL: Definitely. I’ve become very ritualistic with even just how I set up my stuff on stage, like where I put my power on this side of me, this far away from the monitor. I suppose I honor the ritual of unloading, setting up.
I remember when I was in art school, I had to show a video I had made to my teacher. At the time, I was quite careless. I’ve always struggled with organization and losing stuff. I took out my laptop to show my teacher, and he just told me off. He was like, ‘Why are you treating your laptop like this?’ If you treat your tools well, they’ll treat you well in return.’ I really think about that a lot now. I care for my things so they look after me.
Also, I drink two liters of water every day. I used to have health issues when I toured, from smoking and drinking. I wasn’t staying hydrated, and my voice would go out. This tour, my voice held up, and I feel well.
LK: It’s impressive you haven’t gotten sick.
MWL: Honestly, I know. Unfortunately, a few of us have, but I’ve managed to look after myself well enough.
LK: Knock on wood for these last few stops.
MWL: Yeah. It always comes back to your relationship with yourself. I feel like I’m starting to get the technique of touring down.
LK: This past fall, you signed under A24 – congratulations. What’s it been like since getting signed?
MWL: When I was self-releasing music, I felt like I was chasing down something that I had to finish. That was good and bad, because I feel like you need that drive as an artist, to have the desire to get up in the morning and do something. But the bad side of it is, I had to remind myself to just let things happen naturally, rather than banging my head against the wall trying to finish something. I’m a bit more relaxed now, just letting ideas come naturally.
Having a label has afforded me a bit more time. I was talking to my manager around the new year, and it was the first year of my life, from January to December, where I’ve had a schedule. Before, I was trying to fill the calendar, trying to make things happen. And now, the calendar is full already. That’s a real shift, and it affects creativity in interesting ways.
LK: How so?
MWL: It’s like, the fire is already going, and I don’t need to keep shoveling wood in. I can, to a certain extent, bask in the heat, which means I can interpret and process ideas at a different pace. But I still want to keep that feeling of urgency.
LK: I’m sure the tour helps with that.
MWL: Yeah, and the tour helps because I don’t get the chance to write that much – I can’t go to the studio and make music. I can feel things storing up in my fingers and in my brain that I want to get out. I can see now the classic rhythm of the folk guy who tours six months a year, and then goes back and writes. There’s a good relationship between touring and writing.
LK: What’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you’re home?
MWL: I miss my solitude. I think I’m just gonna get back to doing what I was doing when I wrote the album, which was just watching TV and playing guitar.
LK: Sweet life.
MWL: Yeah. I just want to get back into that routine, hopefully play some football, do some exercise. My favorite thing is when I have hours where I don’t need to do anything, with my guitar near me. It’s really that simple.
Check out “Mark William Lewis” here!
