Future in the Mirror captures a fearless new chapter for Fickle Hill—an unfiltered, multi-genre journey blending raw honesty, storytelling, and emotion, marking a bold step between past and future.
1. Future
in the Mirror marks a pivotal moment in your career. How do you personally see
this album as a bridge between your past and your future as an artist?
FITM
(Future in the Mirror) was the first album I made that wasn’t just a raw
emotional reaction to my life or a way to showcase my musical influences. On
this album, I was able to move beyond my backlog of “the things I need to make”
and into a space of “what can I create?” I felt less self-conscious about the
content and more confident in not caring about how my music would be judged. It
was the moment I decided to create without boundaries and to be open to
whatever style or story I wanted to tell. I dove into tales like Diana, Hunter
of Bus Drivers, and Christopher Dorner. I shifted from the selfish personal
expression of my earlier work to a more accessible emotional experience for the
listener.
2. You’ve
described this project as a more polished and intentional expression of
emotion. What did you discover about yourself during the process of creating
it?
As an old
man who is very self-aware, I find it hard to say I discovered anything new
about myself through writing and performing this album. However, I can say I
learned to draw upon my subjective point of view in a way that informs the
listener where my head is at in that moment and invites them to bring their
perspective to the subject. For example, in the song "Pay Up and Shit
Up," rather than saying “being broke and in debt is bullshit,” I discuss a
system designed to keep people paying more for the privilege of spending money
and share my experience within that system. From there, the listener can
understand my view without feeling like I am forcing a conclusion on them. The
same goes for "House Fire." I could have been very blunt about global
warming and created something angry and scathing—perhaps a song that burns down
the idea that humans have not had a terrible impact on the planet. Instead, I
chose to express how living in a part of the world that is constantly burning
because of climate change makes me feel like I am trapped in a burning house.
It allows me to convey genuine feelings without being confrontational with the
listener.
3. The
album blends influences from Tool to Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins, and beyond.
How do you balance paying homage to your influences while maintaining your own
signature sound?
When I was
young, I was a prodigy at playing the drums and had a teacher who pushed me to
learn improvisational jazz and funk. I have carried that discipline into my
songwriting as I've grown older. Often, my process involves single takes or jam
sessions that are then pieced together into a song or structure. While I might
start with the idea of capturing the tone and texture of a Tool song, the
improvisational, 'one-chance” way I record allows my unique sound to come
through. I think of it like handwriting—I could try to copy Shakespeare’s
iambic pentameter, but you would instantly recognize my handwriting when you
saw it. You could hear my voice in the words and feel his influence in the
meter. Nobody would look at my handwritten quatrain and not know it’s mine or
think I was copying Shakespeare, but they would notice his influence on my
work.
4. Several
songs on this album tackle heavy themes—such as the Diana of Juarez story and
the California wildfires. What draws you to exploring such intense and often
painful subjects through music?
I am a passionate person with intense feelings. I express myself strongly, often in fierce ways. This is one of the most common pieces of feedback I get in my personal life. The issue is that I am a sensitive soul inside. I don’t realize how much that sensitivity manifests as anger or a generally intense demeanor. I write about Diana because I envy her. I wish I had the courage and righteousness to take revenge on evil men. I write about the wildfires because it enrages me to live in a year-round threat of fires, yet people seem to ignore their impact on the world. I have strong feelings about these issues, and my art is how I channel those feelings in a way that I hope can draw others into that fierce emotion rather than push them away.
5. You
recorded Future in The Mirror in your bedroom after leaving a corporate career.
How did that change of environment and mindset shape the music?
When I was in corporate life, I feared the company knowing too much about me. I could be my whole self at work, but I couldn’t risk the company challenging anything I created or expressed. Everything was filtered and protected to ensure I wouldn’t lose my job over my personal life — an album like FITM could have caused serious harm to my career. Murder ballads and anger songs about modern life are risks that the risk-averse corporate world frowns upon. Sitting in my room, looking out at my backyard, felt like a protective cocoon where I could be myself completely and not fear punishment for what I said or how I said it. It allowed me to open up sonically but also encouraged me to feel free enough to create other pieces like 101 – an alt-folk rock opera or War Cry of the Gods – a collection of hardcore metal songs telling the tales of gods of war across history and cultures. It created a crack in my creative dam, leading to a frantic and almost manic period of creation. It also pushed me to think outside of genre and experiment more with sound.
6. As a
multi-instrumentalist who even builds your own guitars, how does the
craftsmanship of your instruments influence the textures and moods of the
songs?
It gives me
focus. I know what I want from a rhythm or the tone I need from a guitar. I
understand what using a humbucker versus a single coil, or a hot rail, will
bring to the song's tone. If I pick up a guitar with P-90s in the bridge, I
won't be looking for a chimey, thin tone. When I grab a dual humbucker with
active electronics like EMGs, I know I'll get something aggressive and thick. I
can combine an HSS strat-style sound with a piezo acoustic to create a warm and
vibrant atmosphere. Building my tools helps me understand how they interact,
and I get to compose instead of just write. I craft my instruments to have
personalities, and I bring those into the song. One of my favorite guitars is a
338 clone with Seymour Duncan P-Rails I installed. I know that guitar will be
an assassin in the mix. I can control the tone to perfectly match what’s in my
head, even by making the pickups out of sync if I want. I understand how drums
are tracked and how a herta differs from triplets on the bass drum. I get how
angular staccato guitar riffs over a steady drum groove create a sense of space
and urgency. The biggest change is the use of DAWs and generative automation. I
have an SM58—not the best mic for vocals, but with software, I can have any mic
I want. I might not be a woman, but with software, I can sound like anything. I
get to create, and because I understand music theory and the mechanics of the
tools, I can make anything I imagine.
7. Turning
50 seems to have been a significant milestone that influenced this record. How
does age and life experience factor into your songwriting compared to your
earlier work?
My earlier
work was a bit more reserved. I hid behind the music and tried to perform
rather than truly express myself. I was limited by my resources. I couldn’t go
to a professional recording studio; I only had one guitar and one bass.
Computers couldn’t hold more than six gigabytes on the hard drive. Four-track
tapes sounded terrible. I would have never attempted complex metal drumming
before because I had no triggers on my kick, and I lacked a compressor in the
mix. If I didn’t hit the drum the same way every time, the punch was lost. Now
I am older, and it costs me nothing to create. Now I look at what I want to
say, and instead of feeling like I have to stand on a soapbox and shout, I feel
like I need to be understood. I want to connect through my art and maybe even
help someone else feel less alone. When I was younger, I was always alone and a
bit bitter about it. Now I often feel like I am by myself, and I want to share
that in a way that might make others feel less alone in their loneliness,
financial struggles, anger, frustration, or trauma. Whatever it is, I want to
create art that draws in the listener and turns into an interaction instead of
art that’s simply a need to be heard.
8. The
album was written and recorded in what you describe as a “manic” state of
creativity. Did that intensity help capture the raw honesty of the record, or
did it create challenges you had to overcome?
I hit a
point in life where I finally said, “I don’t care.” My mind was clear, and I
needed to let everything out. I had a backlog of half-written songs dating back
to 1994. That’s three decades of music behind a dam, building pressure, and
once there was a crack, the dam broke, and everything flooded out. It was a
purging I couldn’t have done earlier for many reasons, often ones I made up in
my head. That intensity helped me release emotions and songs I had long
suppressed. It not only made everything raw but also transparent. I am not
hiding behind clever metaphors or double meanings. I had to confront it all as
it surfaced. It also created an interesting choice for me. Creating so much so
quickly led me to make a deal with myself. If I made a mistake or something
came out wrong, I had to keep it. Even if I re-recorded the song or made
changes later, the flaws remained. I liked that purity. It felt “real” and not
like I was trying to trick anyone into thinking I’m better than I am or more
skilled than what production tools can make me seem. Sometimes it was too fast,
though, and I go back and hear things I made and forget I did. It’s like
running into someone and realizing you were best friends or lovers for a night,
only to forget them.
9. Your
description of being a “musical DoorDash” delivering many genres is intriguing.
How do you think listeners benefit from this multi-genre approach instead of
sticking to one lane?
The concept
of genre was once limited by technology. Mozart could never have written an EDM
song. Robert Johnson didn’t know what a distorted guitar was or how it sounded.
The Beatles broke that mold in their catalog and pushed genres. Nowadays, genre
seems more like a marketing tool for companies than a form of artistic
expression, much like restaurants that make more money and serve better quality
food by specializing in a single style instead of offering a vast menu.
However, platforms like DoorDash let you order from three different restaurants
to satisfy your cravings with diverse foods conveniently. Technology allows me
to switch genres without any extra cost. I can create anything I imagine, and
from what I've seen of people’s music collections, they rarely stick to just
one genre. People might have Gojira on their playlist next to Taylor Swift, and
that’s perfectly fine. So, as an artist, I chose to do the same. I’d rather
release great songs across multiple genres that listeners can enjoy as a mix tape
than put out one or two standout tracks in a single genre and fill an album
with anything that meets genre criteria for easy categorization. Ultimately, I
decided to say, “Why not?” instead of “Why?” I believe it gives listeners the
freedom to explore various genres when and how they like, rather than being
told they’ll only get one style and should be satisfied with it because that’s
all there is.
10. Storytelling
is at the heart of Future in The Mirror. Do you see yourself more as a
songwriter or as a storyteller first?
First and
foremost, I am just a person. FITM was a moment when I wanted to tell stories
through my music. That can change tomorrow, and I think that’s okay. I usually
start with lyrics in my head. It’s just one or two lines that repeat to me, and
then I build the sound around them—often creating a verse and a chorus, then
writing the musical part of the song and finishing the lyrics after the
structure is complete. During FITM, I kept repeating these stories in my head,
and they became songs.
11. With
over three decades of experience, what keeps you inspired to continue creating,
and what do you hope younger listeners take away from your journey?
I will
quote the great Ian MacKay by saying, “Music is like water.” Some people prefer
alkaline, some tap, some sparkling; there is no wrong water, and it is always
flowing. New water doesn’t mean the old water is bad, and the only way to spoil
water is by adding too much of something to it. Enjoy your water however you
like it. I hope my journey shows everyone, regardless of age, that very little
really matters as long as you are honest and pure in your intentions.
12. Finally,
if you could sum up the emotional core of Future in The Mirror in one sentence
for someone about to press play for the first time, what would it be?
Be prepared for a journey into the frustrations of modern life, from the weight of financial debt to people pushed to the brink of violence.
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