The Subliminal Sounds of Sol Paradise

EVIE FABER

It is an unusually, obscenely hot June day in London. Having charged down Broadway Market at breakneck speed I arrive at The Bach cafe flustered, sweaty and relieved that Sol Paradise has not yet arrived. Less than a minute later he strolls in, calm and collected, setting the tone for the ensuing 70 minutes. He smiles and I feel myself relax; I’m not sure it’s supposed to be this way round, but it is apparent that the interviewee is much more the professional in this scenario. I apologise for my profuse sweating and delve into interrogating him before he ever-so-gently asks if it would be helpful for me to record the conversation. Yes, that probably is a good idea.

Sol’s music is something of a sonic daydream, a smooth blend of vocals and instrumental apparatus capable of instantly inspiring a good mood. The experience of listening to his tracks, swelling with poetic lyricism and honey-sweet sounds, feels somewhat like floating through the ether, levitating just above ground level.

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Sol Paradise, 2024, by Aniella Weinberger

Tell me about the multi-sensory nature of your music, how does it differ when recording versus playing live?

‘Layers are a massive thing for me, I used to make everything in my studio on my own. It made me realise, playing live with a big band, I can invite people in on this process – it’s been so nice letting go.’ ‘It does present some challenges, trying to get six people in a room together is a stress, but I love that feeling of playing with loads of musicians; it’s a Sol Paradise show but you’re able to hone in on different musicians offering different things.’

I slyly inspect Sol as we chat; at risk of sounding like my mother, he is very cool. He dons an open-neck shirt, offset by a Yankees cap perched atop his mass of curls; silver rings adorn his fingers and a stud glints from the left side of his nose. His manner matches the look: easy-going, quietly confident.

On the topic of his band, he explains that he has been friends with his drummer since they were 11, having played music together at school, ‘which is so nice because we have such a deep understanding of how each other plays music, it makes it so easy cos he knows what I’m going to do probably before I do.’ The familial nature of the group is made clear as he reels off each band member’s origin story; ‘it’s not the vibe where it’s like a solo artist plus session artists, it’s like…’ One entity? I offer, ‘Yeah!’

I am surprised to learn his band has a flautist as he reflects, ‘I love male flute players, there’s few and far between. We need more female sax players and more male flute players!’ I am again surprised when, upon bringing up dream venues, he decides that he’ll probably have made it big when he performs in Japan. I am less surprised when he adds ‘or Glasto man, it’s so iconic.’

Was your interest in the environment a slow burner or more of an ‘oh fuck’ moment?

His answer is a lot more articulate than my question: ‘I think it was probably a slow burner whilst using the land as a lens through which to analyse history [at university], I found that so interesting. Suddenly I went from writing essays about the Tudors – which I had no interest in whatsoever – to writing essays about Indigenous pre-agricultural practices and realised “this is my thing”. I got really into looking at national parks, comparing the English and Scottish systems,’ he tells me about the John Muir trail – ‘an amazing trail which links the poorest estates in Glasgow to the Cairngorms.’

I am reminded of his shrewd ‘Earth’ lyrics – ‘Why does it feel like nature’s for the rich’ – as he speaks with a quiet frustration of the inaccessibility and elitism of the English national park system, how they are places mostly preserved for one specific group of people.

‘We continue to preserve these oases of tranquillity [that are] almost seen as non-human entities where you can’t have wilderness. These rolling hills are kind of like looking at a graveyard. . . it’s all grassland cos farmers are given subsidies by the government to make their land look as neat as possible, not preserve biodiversity. I remember one figure that really stuck out to me (I want to get this right): 80% of the world’s biodiversity is looked after by Indigenous cultures who only make up around 5% of the world’s population.’

Okay, I have a random question…

‘favourite colour?’ he grins.

Guilty pleasure music!

After a pause he admits, ‘Coldplay was the first thing that came to my head, not going to lie. That kind of song-writing is so amazing.’

‘. . . And stuff like Girls Allowed. “Love Machine” is one of my favourite songs EVER, it’s always my karaoke song!’ I feel a newfound affinity towards him.

‘I grew up with two older sisters, so a lot of their early music taste was just my music taste. They were pretty formative of my entire life, before I had independence they were like “This is what you’re going to listen to, this is what you like.”’

I wonder if Sol realises how he rhythmically taps his fingers on the table and gestures when he talks, I am reminded of his multi-instrumentalism. On the topic he admits, ‘I used to think I’ve spread myself too thin, but it’s helped me so much, how I write is influenced by the fact that I play the trumpet, I think about chords not just from the piano perspective but mostly from the guitar – it comes together.’

‘Over the last year I think I've felt more secure in the sense of feeling like being a songwriter can be a superpower in itself.’

I learnt the piano for three years and never even got to grade one so the fact that you’re insecure about playing multiple instruments is crazy to me!

‘Ah bless you, that makes me feel good – I feel like I need more of that, backing myself a bit! I’ve worked really hard to make sure things work on those different instruments and I’m proud of myself. It’s a lot of hours I’ve put in to get to that place, so hearing that is really nice.’

Easier to figure out lyrics or melody?

‘Definitely the melody. I have the idea for the melody if I’m out walking or something and then it’s usually a case of trying to make words out of the mumbles I’ve put in. It’s almost stupid in the sense that I think it would sound more romantic if I was like “The words come to me” but that’s the reality of it.’

‘Once you’ve started it kind of writes itself in the sense that you’ve got the theme from whatever that mumbled first line was and usually you kind of know what it is you want to mumble about. It’s a funny process – I don’t think that much about it cos if you overthink it, it doesn’t happen. To be honest, it happens in loads of different ways – there’s not one set way where I’m like “I’m going to write a song now.”’

‘I have my projects I’m working on and getting those finished rather than constantly writing, like right now I’m finishing up my next EP which will be out in four or five months. I’m trying to stay one project ahead of where I am.’ You sound extremely put together, very organised, ‘that’s great! I don’t know if I am… getting my diary helped, for sure’ he chuckles.

‘I have friends that are “pure” artists in the sense that they’re artists you read about in books; I feel like I’m more methodical, but it does probably hold me back in some ways. The best thing is to try and find a middle ground where you’re organised but still super open to whatever might come.’ The grass is always greener, I offer somewhat unhelpfully.

Sol’s approach to the social media hellscape is admirably sage: ‘In such an unprecedented way, you can have access to new fans with every video you put out so in my head I’m like “why wouldn’t I be doing that?”’

He concedes that he is at peace with the fact that self-promotion is a necessary part of the process – ‘with overnight success, you’ve got no perspective.’ The trick, he explains, is to keep one’s content as natural as possible, and, of course, to remain firmly detached from the validation social media provides. Whilst he is not the first music artist to recommend authenticity, chatting to him for the last hour has made clear that he is one of the few who practises what he preaches.

Anything you’d change about the industry?

‘Man... where the fuck do I start.’

‘Professional boundaries are something I’ve learnt a lot about in the last year. It’s really hard, not to give yourself fully, you’ve got to choose the people that you do give yourself fully to otherwise, you expose yourself to basically being walked over.’

‘Life is a game of priorities . . . learning not to be a “Yes” man is a key thing, learning to prioritise your health, your mental health specifically. Stuff like wild swimming has really helped me, and I’m really into yoga – I don’t want to sell myself as this LA wellness guru,’ he laughs, ‘but these things really do help!’

On that note, I realise that I have held Sol hostage for over an hour and stop the recording. As we bid our farewells he grins, swaps out his cap for a bike helmet – naturally – and wanders back out into the London sun.