We recently sat down with the talented L.A.-based artist Maisie May to talk about accountability, love, and her new single, “Flirty Masochist” out today. Known for an ethereal sound and soft vocals, she’s a lovechild between Crumb and Imogen Heap.
When we connected with Maisie, she was in the garage studio of the Harcourt Paloma music collective in Inglewood. “Eight or nine friends who make music together. No rules. Friends who make music.” This is where Maisie recorded Flirty Masochist with her friend and co-producer Kaleb Fulmer, who created the strikingly metallic and deep drone at the beginning of the title track.
Tell us about the process of starting a song and tell us about the origins of the unique metallic drone at the beginning of “Flirty Masochist”?
So “Flirty Masochist” was Kaleb starting with this crazy droney synth sound, that I’m pretty sure was on his minilogue synthesizer. Basically, he makes a sound, it has a feeling to it, and it will evoke melody first because my brain is initially excited about melody. Then I find the words after. With “Flirty Masochist” though, the drone is not your usual piano chords or guitar chord; it’s very textural and dark. The emotion of that drone totally inspired this feeling and it was the perfect antithesis of everything I wanted to say in the project, which is why I’m making it the outro and title track. It was such a weird 3 month era of my life where I was reflecting on 2 years of being super guarded, single, hyper independent, and I was finally trying to figure out how to not be that person anymore… not be the flirty masochist. It’s a timestamp in my life that now I can always revisit and be like “Oh yeah that’s what I was going through at that time.”
How do you think your hometown has influenced you and your artistry?
I came from a super magical place. I keep it so close to my heart, and I think it’s a huge part of who I am and the art that I make. I see the value in community and collaboration because I came from such a grounded family and hometown. I was also surrounded by friends who were always thinking outside the box and taking risks. Even at bonfire parties, there was almost always someone with a guitar or some form of art being shared. There’s an openness in Chatham that helped me put myself out there more. When I’m in LA, taking risks and putting my heart on the line, I’m not scared if it doesn’t work out. Worst case (if not the best case), I can go home to Chatham and live the life I’ve always wanted in this humble, beautiful place.
The people who just wanna put me down for putting myself out there, are just people that are scared of putting themselves out there… and the people who are gonna shit on my art are people who don’t like my art. And that’s fine.
Speak on artistic growth and the connection between personal confidence and reaching new artistic depths.
I think with putting yourself out there, the only way to get better at it is exposure therapy. You just have to do it and you become numb to it. The people who just wanna put me down for putting myself out there, are just people that are scared of putting themselves out there… and the people who are gonna shit on my art are people who don’t like my art. And that’s fine. Art is meant to be subjective. The best musicians in the world have people who hate their art. Being completely okay with the fact that people aren’t gonna like your music is so important. Because that’s, at the end of the day, not why you’re making it. I’m making it because I like it, and I feel connected to it… people are supposed to have an emotional response, and if someone hates your song, clearly it’s doing something to them. So I guess that’s a win haha.
This EP is very vulnerable and dives into dark places. It feels as if you are sharing a page from your journal with potentially millions of people. How does that feel?
This is the most nervous I’ve been in a while to release my music and I think it’s because Flirty Masochist is very much a pocket of time. Some of the songs are truly a caricature or an emphasized version of how I was feeling. For example “TEEZ,” I don’t feel attached to that song anymore because that’s not how I feel now. This is almost a year later and I’m in a fully loving and monogamous relationship with someone. I wrote “TEEZ” when I was chronically single and I was harping on how girls move to LA and find this type of male attention that becomes addicting. It’s a total moment in time, and I am not that person anymore.
I think that’s why it’s so scary, because I am openly singing about things that I don’t like about myself.
I think listeners enjoy hearing vulnerable art, I anticipate people will relate to this more than you think.
The project before this was a heartbreak project, and it was like “I’m sad, I’m so lost, these are the reasons I feel broken right now,” and this project [Flirty Masochist] is more of “these are the reasons I am the problem right now.” I’m harping on some ugly sides of myself and ugly responses that I’ve had due to some forms of emotional trauma. I think that’s why it’s so scary because I am openly singing about things that I don’t like about myself. It’s scary but also so liberating to be like “we’re not perfect, so let’s make fun of ourselves.” When I’m listening to music, that’s what I want more of. I don’t want it to always be like fuck my ex-boyfriend, I want it to pose more questions than that. Also, by taking accountability for what you did wrong rather than harp on what other people did wrong, you are giving yourself more control over your own growth.
You seem fully committed to your artistry. When the doubts creep in, what helps quiet that?
The thing that always quiets the doubt is my love for what I’m doing. I have never been pursuing this to be super successful, so that grounds me. I’m also lucky to have a solid restaurant job and have always been able to find one. After a bad shift at my restaurant job, those are the nights where I’m like, “FUCK, do I really wanna be doing this for ten more years before I make any money off my art?” But that’s 10% of the time, and 90% of the time I’m grateful to have a job I can clock in and out of with no emotional attachment and a clean slate, then do my side job at night. I want to clock in, clock out, make music, and think about making music anytime I’m not at work. The only bad people I have to deal with at work are people who aren’t gonna be there tomorrow.
When you think back since you started making music, are there any canon moments or a specific snapshot you can give us that really reinforced the fact that this is what you want to do?
I have two or three that stick out to me. When I was 12 or 13, I started taking “guitar lessons” qupte-un-quote with Rob Caldwell at Musica. Shoutout Musica. I say quote-un-quote because I would get there and the guitar lessons would be in his music shop, which was a beautiful and energetic space. I would walk in and immediately be pulled to a different instrument. Anytime I expressed interest in a different instrument, Rob would say, “yeah, let’s learn that!” because he was a jack of all trades. It inspired me to be a master of none, but I think it’s a huge reason why I love producing. He showed me how you can be playful and evoke emotion with all instruments without being a master at all of them. Having that total open-mindedness and no-rules mentality with a music instructor at that age felt so valuable. He was like, ‘No, this is supposed to be fun, this is supposed to be inspiring.’
The second one is when I was a sophomore in high school. All of my friends were thinking outside the box and figuring out alternative high school programs. By that time, I was so sure I wanted to pursue something creative, so I figured I should just do that too. Like, why am I in chemistry class right now if I’m never going to use this in my adult life? So I dropped out and went to Hudson Valley. Fortunately, my parents were open-minded because they knew I was doing it for the right reasons. Instead of taking a generic history class, I took a history of jazz class, and instead of a high school writing class, I took a poetry and songwriting class and I was getting college credits for it. It was incredible.
The last one is quick. When I was applying to four-year colleges for music to be a songwriter, I needed to create a portfolio of songs. I went to this studio in Massachusetts, run by Robbie Baier, and I was going to pay him $1500 to help me produce and professionally record three songs I wrote. Instead of pocketing the money and doing the job, he said, “For the same amount, I can send you a grocery cart of gear on a music gear website. You can buy all this gear, and I can give you one hour-long lesson on how to use it all. I guarantee you’ll be able to produce and record it all yourself.” It was special and inspiring, and it was the first time I realized I could produce my own stuff.
You are consistently writing and consistently making art even on days when you’re not inspired… what keeps you inspired?
I think my waves of inspiration come in long spurts. Right now, I’m in a wave where I want to write all the time. Before I moved to LA, I didn’t write a song for about a year and a half. I was heartbroken and going through a massive identity crisis, and my art is directly tied to my identity.
If I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what type of art I’ll make.
I definitely struggle with productivity-shaming myself, but if I can’t write a song, I don’t force it. There are countless other things I can do that day because when you are a solo artist you are basically running a small business. I could record a cover, do a shoot with a friend for press photos, or write a song bio. The list never ends. So, on days when I have writer’s block, I use that time to work on something else.
Tell us about what inspired “Eden.” It’s raw and honest and relatable. Eden was the first song that I made with Kaleb, and it was right after a beach day with a friend. I had been reflecting with her about my restaurant job and how I was getting exposed to so many of my heroes. I was observing these people live a life that I always thought I wanted, and realizing how dark it was at times. We gabbed about how the grass is always greener, and she mentioned that her baby niece had recently been repeatedly yelling, “I don’t want what I wanted!” I found it to be so profound. The next day was my first session with Kaleb. I started with the first verse, “so much to hate inside this big apartment,” which was supposed to be a nod toward rich people with bad taste. (something I see everyday at my job haha). The main event in the chorus, “I don’t want what i wanted” was from my friend’s niece, and then I end the chorus with the line “I miss my garden,” which is a tribute to being homesick for my hometown. I missed being grounded under my trees and in my pond. It felt strange to turn a three-year-old’s quote into a dark pop song, however it also felt very fitting since my inner child is what ignited the longing emotions in this song in the first place.
Okay now we can roll out the red carpet. Anything you want to get off your chest? Mantras? recent epiphanies? a plug?
The mantra that keeps repeating in my head recently is “Don’t waste energy trying to get out of a box someone irrelevant put you in.” You are unbox-able and don’t have to prove that to anyone but yourself.
And, my Flirty Masochist EP comes out! The single comes out today [August 2nd], but the whole project comes out the 23rd! and I’m so excited for it.
Follow Maisie May: Spotify // SoundCloud // Instagram // Website // Merch
