謝謝導演郭晉汝執導的大象體操紀錄片，也謝謝「子皿 In Utero」在倫敦舉辦這次放映，讓身在海外的人有機會透過影像認識台灣獨立音樂，以及音樂背後那些不容易被看見的故事。
DOCUMENTARY REVIEW
Elephant Gym: More Real than Dreams After the Dream Comes True, You Still Have to Keep Going
On October 15, I attended a screening of Elephant Gym: More Real than Dreams, the band’s first feature-length documentary, presented by In Utero at Close-Up Cinema in London.
Formed in Kaohsiung in 2012, Elephant Gym have spent more than a decade developing their music and performing around the world. In 2023, they embarked on THE WORLD, a 60-date tour spanning 23 countries, taking their distinctive brand of math rock from Asia to Europe and the Americas, allowing their math rock from Taiwan to leave its mark across stages around the world.
The documentary does not simply show us Elephant Gym on stage. Much of its focus lies beyond the performances: the exhaustion of an extended world tour, tensions between band members, the complicated dynamic between siblings who are also creative partners, and the pressures that are difficult for anyone outside the band to see once music becomes part of everyday life.
We see them performing across different countries, but we also see disagreements over their musical ideas, personal tensions, and a band pushed to the edge of questioning whether it can continue.
It inevitably raises a question: What is a dream, after all?
We often imagine “making your dream come true” as a beautiful destination, stepping onto bigger stages, travelling the world, reaching more listeners, and finally being able to say that you made it.
But More Real than Dreams reveals another side of what happens after the dream comes true.
When a dream becomes part of everyday life, it is no longer simply a dream. It also becomes touring, exhaustion, pressure, conflict, and the repeated question of whether you still want to keep going.
On stage, Elephant Gym are precise, intricate and full of energy. Away from the stage, however, they are simply three people who get tired, have emotions, and sometimes see things differently from one another.
That is what makes the documentary so affecting. It does not only document how a band makes its way into the world; it also shows that once a dream becomes reality, perhaps the harder part is figuring out how to keep moving forward together.
This is particularly evident in the relationship between KT and Tell.
They are siblings, but they are also bandmates. Family is a relationship that is difficult to separate from oneself, while being in a band requires a certain degree of distance within music and work. At times, they cannot simply approach each other as brother and sister.
Learning to keep a certain distance does not necessarily mean becoming distant.
Sometimes, it is precisely because you want to keep walking together for longer that you need to learn to see each other as independent individuals.
Not everything has to be shared, and not every emotion needs to be understood by the other person. Sometimes, it is about learning when to step forward, when to step back, and when to take responsibility for what belongs to you.
This is not something unique to being in a band. Many long-lasting relationships may require the same kind of distance.
The film also uses different parts of the body to describe the three members and their roles within Elephant Gym. Chia-Chin is like the bones and blood, supporting the body and keeping the music moving. KT is the heart. Tell is the brain.
Each has a different role, personality and way of thinking, and that is inevitably where friction comes from.
But it is also precisely because of these differences that the three of them become Elephant Gym.
None of them can be missing.
Seeing the band come so close to breaking up is difficult not simply because a band was on the verge of ending, but because three people who have travelled such a long way together still have to learn how to understand one another and coexist.
Perhaps that is the price of a dream.
The cost of a dream is not only time and effort. It is also having to face the reality that comes after the dream has been achieved. When something you once simply wanted to do becomes your everyday life, and the people you have been dreaming alongside have their own ideas and lives, figuring out how to keep moving forward can be harder than taking the first step.
Travelling the world, standing on stages, and being heard by audiences across the globe are certainly parts of making a dream come true.
But if, one day, you can still sit down with these two people, accept that you are different, maintain lives of your own, and still choose to work together towards something all three of you believe in; perhaps that is another kind of dream coming true.
After watching the film, I found myself asking: If our dreams really came true one day, what would we be willing to give for them? And once they became part of our everyday lives, would we still be willing to keep going?
At the screening, a special postcard was also prepared for audiences to leave their own words behind.
When dreams become reality, may we make the most of our time; in every interlocking rhythm, there is a kind of grace.
Thank you to director Alulu Kuo for directing this documentary on Elephant Gym, and to In Utero for organising this screening in London, giving audiences living overseas the opportunity to discover Taiwanese independent music through film, as well as the stories behind the music that are so often left unseen.
〈Taste me Alive〉本身的音樂方向比較強烈，也有金屬的元素，所以旅人至凱的加入，讓這首歌有機會在原本的聲音基礎上，發展出更有張力的表現方式。 〈六月的雨縫〉則是另一種狀態。這首歌比較著重情緒的流動，以及人與人之間那些難以言說的感受。羊米人的加入，讓歌曲多了一種不同的情緒層次，也讓原本的敘事有了不一樣的呼吸感。
[Interview] Seizer — Unwritten Lines: Tracing the Marks Left by Time
Formed in 2024, Taiwanese band Seizer comprises vocalist and principal songwriter Jay, guitarist and producer Seal, guitarist and backing vocalist Kay, bassist Henry, and drummer Daniel. Following their debut album Human Nature Is Cheap, the band returned with their second album, Unwritten Lines, continuing to explore different facets of human nature, relationships, and everyday life.
From the direct confrontation with human desire on their debut to the new album’s reflections on loss, forgetting, and the everyday, Seizer continues to turn their observations and experiences into music.
In this interview, we talk about the origins of Unwritten Lines, how “Carpe diem” became a turning point in shaping the album’s concept, and the band’s exploration of new sounds, including metal influences. We also discuss their creative process, collaborations with other musicians, and what performing overseas has taught them about their own music.
From the making of individual songs to the band’s evolution over the past two years, we take a closer look at Unwritten Lines and how Seizer uses music to document the lives and thoughts of the people they are today.
Seizer Second Album: Unwritten Lines
Digital Release: 9 September 2026 Physical Release: 9 October 2026
Q1: Since forming in 2024, Seizer have released two albums. The debut, 人性本賤, confronts human desire head-on, while their second album, 缺頁的名冊 (Unwritten Lines), turns its attention to loss, forgetting and regret. Where do you usually find inspiration for your music? How do experiences and observations from everyday life find their way into your songs?
Jay: I don't think inspiration necessarily comes from anything particularly extraordinary. More often, it comes from things in everyday life that we've grown accustomed to, or barely pay attention to at all.
人性本賤 deals more directly with desire, jealousy and the darker sides of human nature that we aren't always willing to acknowledge. With Unwritten Lines, I've become more interested in relationships, loss, and the things that ultimately aren't remembered as well as they should be.
For me, songwriting isn't simply a way to release my emotions. I'm more interested in thinking about what lies behind a particular feeling or phenomenon, and what causes it to happen. Why are people always so quick to judge others? Why is it that we sometimes end up becoming the very kind of person we dislike, without even realising it?
I usually start with questions like these, then gradually turn my observations into lyrics. But I don't insist that every song needs to have a fully developed concept. Sometimes it begins with nothing more than a feeling in the moment. I might return to it much later and realise that it has a connection with other songs after all.
That's essentially how Unwritten Lines came together. Many of the songs weren't deliberately written around a shared theme, but once they were finished, I realised they were approaching loss, forgetting, and the fact that life has to go on even when we don't have all the answers, each from a different angle.
So, for me, creating music is an ongoing process of observing and trying to understand the world. There are things I still can't quite make sense of, and that's precisely why I want to record them through my work. How listeners ultimately interpret these songs is up to them. I don't necessarily need to provide an answer to every question. At the very least, I hope the music can bring things that usually go unnoticed back into view.
Q2: The completion of “Carpe diem” became a starting point for the overall concept of Unwritten Lines to take shape. When a song that originally stood on its own begins to inform an entire album, how do you decide how the other tracks should relate to it? Was there a song that initially seemed unrelated to the concept but later became an indispensable part of the album?
Jay: For me, “Carpe diem” was more of a starting point that helped me understand the album differently. It wasn't a song I'd originally planned as the central idea around which the whole record would be built.
Many of the songs on the album were written at different times and in different states of mind. I didn't deliberately insist that every track had to fit a particular theme, because I don't want the creative process to become a matter of deciding on an answer first and then finding material to fill it in. I think that can make a song lose something of its original honesty.
But as more songs accumulated and I began listening to them together, I noticed that although they dealt with different subjects, there seemed to be certain things running beneath the surface. They might be doubts about human nature, reflections on relationships, or things we thought we'd moved on from but that return to our minds at unexpected moments.
“Carpe diem” is particularly important to me because it made me think about how life continues even when we're confronted with someone else's loss, regrets, or even deeply painful experiences. What happened yesterday can become part of everyday life by today. Something that once meant a great deal to one person can gradually disappear from everyone else's memory as time passes.
That gradually became the direction of Unwritten Lines: documenting things that seem insignificant, that haven't been properly acknowledged, or that might eventually be forgotten altogether.
If I had to name a song that later proved indispensable, I would actually find it difficult to single one out. What interests me about this album is that the songs weren't created for one another, yet they developed a connection once they were finished.
I think that's sometimes how creating music works. You don't necessarily know why you're writing certain things at the time. Only when you look back later do you realise you've been returning to similar questions all along. With this album, those thoughts that were originally scattered simply found a place together.
Q3: Every song on Unwritten Lines captures a different emotion or story. Is there a particular lyric or passage that you especially love or feel deeply connected to? Have your interpretations of these lyrics changed over time?
Jay: If I had to choose one, I'd go with “Carpe diem”.
What's special about this song is that it captures some of the ways my outlook on life and music changed after I became an independent musician.
In the past, I might have thought that releasing an album or playing on a bigger stage was something to look forward to above all else. But once you actually reach that stage, you realise that many things you've long dreamed of can gradually become part of everyday life as you work towards them. It's not that they stop mattering. We're just very good at getting used to the things we once desperately wanted.
So, for me, this song isn't simply about documenting ordinary life. It's about asking how we should look at things that have already happened but no longer feel special to us.
As for whether the meaning of the lyrics changes over time, I think it inevitably does. When a songwriter writes something, they might simply be trying to express a particular emotion. But when you sing those words again a few years later, you may realise you've lived through experiences you couldn't understand at the time. The lyrics haven't changed, but the person singing them has.
These days, I'm less inclined to rush to a definitive interpretation of a song. When I write something, I may not fully understand it myself. Sometimes I simply preserve what I'm feeling in that moment. Then, one day, I return to it and discover that those same lines carry other meanings.
That's one of the most interesting things about making music. A song's meaning isn't fixed the moment it's finished. It changes alongside the songwriter's experiences, and listeners bring their own lives to it, finding interpretations we never anticipated.
In a way, writing lyrics allows us to document who we are. But as time passes, those same words can also help us understand ourselves all over again.
Q4: Seizer's music draws on elements of emo rock, grunge and Britpop, while “Taste me Alive” on the new album takes things further by incorporating metal influences. Does this sonic exploration arise from the needs of individual songs, or from a conscious desire to push beyond the band's established sound? When exploring new directions, how do you balance experimentation with the musical identity that defines Seizer?
Seizer: I think it's a bit of both, but the needs of the song itself are more important to me.
I've always felt that genre should serve the music, rather than forcing a song to conform to a particular genre. If a song needs a stronger sense of aggression, we'll look for sounds that suit it. If it calls for a more restrained arrangement with greater space, we shouldn't force it to sound dense and intense just because Seizer's previous music has tended to be more explosive.
With “Taste me Alive”, metal felt like an appropriate choice. The point wasn't simply to make the music heavier. It was to use the weight of the sound, the rhythm and the tension in the arrangement to amplify what the song was trying to express.
As for balancing experimentation with our existing identity, I think the key lies in how we define what makes us recognisable. To me, Seizer isn't simply a combination of emo rock, grunge and Britpop. It's also about the perspective through which we look at the world, and how we turn emotions and contradictions that are difficult to articulate into something powerful.
From confronting human desire on 人性本賤 to reflecting on loss, forgetting and everyday life on Unwritten Lines, we've never been entirely satisfied with simply describing an emotion. We want to keep asking where it comes from and what role we ourselves play in it. I think that's an important part of Seizer's identity, and something we want to express through both our lyrics and our music.
So I don't see experimenting with metal as a departure from Seizer's original sound. Rather than holding on to a fixed musical identity, I'm more concerned with whether the music genuinely serves what a song wants to say, and whether the work is honest while remaining musically compelling.
I hope Seizer won't be confined to any single genre. Our sound can change and our creative direction can continue to expand, but the way we look at human nature, relationships and the world, and our determination to turn those observations into music will remain.
Q5: The album features collaborations with Traveller’s KAI, YUMMY MAN and John Stoniae. How do you decide which songs would benefit from bringing in other musicians? Did any unexpected musical sparks emerge from exchanging ideas and creating music together?
Seizer: When deciding whom to collaborate with, I think we always come back to the song itself. Not every track needs another voice. Some songs benefit from maintaining a more unified narrative, while others can gain new layers when different voices or perspectives enter the picture.
The three collaborations with Traveller’s KAI, YUMMY MAN and John Stoniae each served a different purpose.
“Taste me Alive” has a more forceful musical direction and incorporates metal elements. KAI's contribution gave us the opportunity to develop a more dynamic and powerful expression within the song's existing sonic framework.
“Until the rain” is in a different place emotionally. It focuses more on the movement of emotion and the feelings between people that are difficult to put into words. YUMMY MAN brought another emotional layer to the track, giving its narrative a different sense of breathing room.
Stoniae’s contribution to “Carpe diem” was particularly meaningful to me. The song carries my reflections on life and time, as well as the changes in my outlook since becoming an independent musician. I wanted it to convey the feeling of looking at everyday life differently after having lived through certain experiences. Stoniae's involvement brought another interpretation to that feeling, so the finished song was no longer simply a reflection of my own perspective.
What makes collaboration interesting is that every creator has their own habits and way of understanding things. Faced with the same piece of music or the same emotion, different people may express it in completely different ways. Sometimes you think you already know exactly where a song should go, but once someone else joins in, their voice or approach reveals possibilities you hadn't considered.
For me, collaboration isn't just about exchanging techniques or sounds. It's also about allowing my own ideas to be interpreted differently. We don't necessarily have to control every detail according to our original vision. As long as those different qualities ultimately serve the song and become part of the work, I think it's a valuable experience.
Q6: Seizer's songs are primarily initiated by Jay and Kay, with Seal overseeing production and Daniel and Henry contributing to the arrangements. As a song develops from an initial lyrical and melodic idea into a finished piece, how do you exchange ideas and work through different musical perspectives? Is there a track on the new album that particularly reflects the process of shaping music together?
Seizer: Towards the end of making this album, we realised that each of us had a slightly different idea of what Seizer should sound like, which naturally led to more disagreements.
Take “矯” (Maverick), for example. It was originally titled “我厭惡的流行歌曲” (The Pop Song I Hate). That was the title Jay, who wrote the song, was most satisfied with at the time, because it echoed “你聽過的流行歌曲” (The Pop Song You've Heard) from our debut album. The two songs were intended to reference each other across albums.
But after discussing it as a band, we gradually persuaded Jay that spelling out a concept too explicitly can sometimes leave a work with less room for imagination. That's why we eventually changed the title to “矯”.
Jay: I think that's one of the biggest changes in me over the past two years. I used to think, “I wrote this, so why should I change it?” But I've gradually come to understand that compromise doesn't necessarily mean giving up your own ideas. Sometimes it's about finding a position that everyone can agree on without sacrificing the work itself.
As for having Kay sing “你在的地方” (Where You Are), the song has a very different character from what people might usually associate with us. I wanted Chongyou to sing it because the character in the song was intended to echo the one in “查無此人” (Absence). I imagined Kay's gentler, more delicate voice entering into that dialogue. It also offered us a new direction in terms of how the song could sound.
Q7: Seizer's music often explores contradictions in the real world and the circumstances individuals find themselves in. When you want to incorporate a social issue or observation into a song, how do you balance the specific event with your own emotions? Do you want the song to communicate a clear position, or would you rather leave room for listeners to form their own interpretations?
Jay: I think it's difficult to separate those two things completely, because the very fact that we have an emotional response to a social phenomenon means we already have a certain position on it. But rather than rushing to tell people that I'm right and someone else is wrong, I'm more interested in asking why the phenomenon happens in the first place and whether we might unknowingly be part of it ourselves.
Some of Seizer's songs appear to address social issues on the surface, but what I really want to question often goes beyond an individual's behaviour. I'm interested in the environment that allows that behaviour to happen, as well as the values we've come to take for granted. Simply labelling someone as good or bad doesn't necessarily help us understand what's going on.
When writing, I want a specific event or observation to serve as an entry point, but I don't necessarily want to spell everything out. Sometimes, explaining too much too quickly takes away the room a work could otherwise leave for interpretation. I'd rather use lyrics, imagery and emotion to invite listeners into the question themselves.
That said, leaving room for interpretation doesn't mean I'm unwilling to express a position. I still want the work to have a clear point of view. I just don't think a songwriter needs to do all the thinking on behalf of the listener. A song can take a strong position while still allowing people, drawing on their own life experiences, to arrive at different understandings.
I also think that when we criticise certain phenomena, we should leave room to examine ourselves in return. It's easy to see a problem in someone else and assume we're standing on the right side. In reality, there may be circumstances in which we do the very things we've criticised.
That's why I don't want to write songs as though I'm simply standing at a distance and commenting on the world. Sometimes I want to place myself within the picture and ask whether I've been influenced by the same values, or whether I've ever become the kind of person I disagree with.
As for how listeners ultimately interpret the songs, I'm happy to leave that space to them. I can take responsibility for why I wrote a song, but I can't decide what it should mean to everyone who hears it.
Q8: This year, Seizer performed at Thailand's Monster Music Festival, connecting with audiences beyond Taiwan for the first time on this scale. Did the experience change how you understand your own music? What do you most hope to communicate through your live performances?
Seizer: Performing at an overseas festival showed us what we do well, but also what we're still missing. Things like the scale of the event, stage production, international communication and even how we interact with musicians from other countries. These are areas we didn't necessarily have as much opportunity to recognise while working in Taiwan.
But I don't think that means we have to leave Taiwan to prove ourselves.
If anything, I want Seizer to continue developing what we've built here in Taiwan, and then take it elsewhere when the opportunity comes.
I'm increasingly convinced that meaningful international exchange isn't simply about being able to say you've performed somewhere. It's about what you bring back from the experience, and whether it helps make your music and live performances more distinctive and complete.
Of course, we'd be excited to perform in more places in the future. But our hope is to reach a point where making our own music in Taiwan feels entirely natural, and taking that music to other parts of the world feels just as natural.
To us, that's when Seizer will truly have begun to take flight internationally.
Q9: Unwritten Lines attempts to document people and things that might otherwise be carried away by time, yet life continues to generate new stories. After completing the album, have your understanding of music, the band and yourselves changed? If a future version of Seizer could look back through the music you're making today, what would you hope to see?
Seizer: We're accustomed to measuring the value of something by its results, and that includes creative work. We care about whether our music is seen and understood, and even whether it receives enough of a response. But if something only becomes valuable once someone else recognises it, does that mean the things that go unnoticed are genuinely unimportant?
That's one of the things that makes Unwritten Lines important to me. It has led me to reconsider whether creating music can do more than express ourselves whether it can also preserve a record of things that might otherwise be overlooked. Even if those things don't change anything, that doesn't mean they aren't worth writing about.
As for the band, I think we're still learning how to keep moving forward together. Everyone changes. Our ideas about music, our expectations of life and even our understanding of what the band should be can all differ from when we first started. I don't think a band has to remain exactly as it was at the beginning. But as we change, I hope we can still remember why we started doing this in the first place, and why we're still willing to carry on.
Jay: If Seizer looks back on this album one day, I hope we'll see more than just the work we made. I hope we'll see who we were at that particular stage of our lives: people who took certain questions seriously and honestly left their uncertainties in the music.
I don't necessarily hope that my future self will agree with every line I've written today. If, several years from now, our understanding of the world is exactly the same as it is now, perhaps that would mean we haven't truly changed or experienced very much. But at the very least, I hope we won't gradually lose the ability to ask questions because we're afraid of making mistakes, being misunderstood, or caring too much about how others perceive our work.
For me, the most precious thing about creating music is that it gives us a chance to look back and see how we once understood the world and how we've gradually arrived at where we are today.
Q10: Finally, we'd like each member to recommend a song they have been enjoying recently, or one that holds a special meaning for them, and tell us why they chose it. Whether it's the melody, lyrics, arrangement or the feelings it evokes, we'd love to hear what makes the song meaningful to you.
Jay — “平凡的一天” (Carpe diem)
I think it's easy to focus on the things we haven't yet achieved, always assuming that life will truly begin once we reach the next goal. But I don't think life works that way. Things happen when they happen, and time won't stop to wait for us just because we're not ready.
If this song has taught me anything, it's to accept that some days don't need to be particularly meaningful, nor do they have to produce any tangible results. The difficulty is that, while we're living through them, we often don't realise that we're already in the middle of something worth remembering.
Perhaps many years from now, when we look back on the present, the things we'll remember most vividly won't necessarily be the goals we worked so hard to achieve. They might instead be an ordinary afternoon, an unplanned gathering, or a part of everyday life we once assumed would continue for a long time. By then, we may no longer be able to return to that day.
So I hope “平凡的一天” doesn't tell people that every day has to be made meaningful. Rather, I hope it reminds them that when a day eventually becomes part of the past, they can at least remember that they were once there, living through that moment.
Kay — “星雲飄蕩” (Cradled by the night)
We go through all kinds of difficult experiences in everyday life. Work might leave us exhausted, we might argue with someone, go through a breakup, or simply have a terrible day. Those feelings can make us forget that there are still people around us who love us.
It's a little like looking up at the night sky in a city. With all the lights and other distractions, you might barely see any stars. But they're still there.
I think the people who love us are much the same. This song reminds us that we're loved, even when we can't feel it. Just because we can't see it right now doesn't mean it isn't there.
Daniel: Hebe Tien — “大船” (Lost and Wandering)
This song feels to me like gently watching someone weather a storm before slowly making their way home.
In life, we often feel like ships sailing alone across a vast ocean, having to face unknown storms, sudden rain, and sometimes an overwhelming sense of loneliness. We are constantly urged to keep moving forward, to be brave, to stay strong, yet very few people stop to ask, “Are you tired? Do you want to stop and come ashore for a while?”
There is something almost magical about the melody and lyrics of “大船” It never forces you to feel better right away. Instead, it feels like a wide, welcoming harbour, telling you, “You’ve been through a lot. You’ve done enough. It’s okay to rest now.” It reminds me that no matter how many wounds we carry or how lost we may feel out there, there will always be a safe place deep within us waiting for us to return.
I hope this song can offer the same sense of reassurance to anyone going through a storm, the feeling of being gently held and accepted, knowing that once you have rested enough, you will find the courage to set sail again.
Seal: Loathe — “Fangs”
There’s something particularly fascinating about Loathe’s music. Within their incredibly heavy and explosive walls of sound, they weave in melodies that feel almost dreamlike. Listening to “Fangs” feels like standing at the centre of a storm. The world outside may be filled with wind and rain, but when you are completely surrounded by the sheer destructive force of the sound, you somehow end up feeling incredibly calm.
We are constantly expected to keep our emotions in check and to hide our own “fangs.” This song feels like an outlet for all of that emotion, a place to let it out, before finding the strength to face another day.
Henry: Shang Shan — “如夢石”
The arrangement of this song moves from calm and restrained to fierce and intense. To me, it feels like shouting out for something you deeply believe in. And lately, it has resonated quite strongly with where I am emotionally.
Q1：這張專輯收錄了跨越二十年的作品，從大學時期創作的〈After All These Years〉、二十多歲寫給母親的〈Reunion〉，到疫情期間抗癌時寫下的〈The Best of the Worst of Times〉。這些歌曲誕生於不同的人生階段，這次重新整理作品時，妳是怎麼決定把它們放進同一張專輯裡的？
Interview | Paige Su - The Best of the Worst of Times
Looking Back Through Time, Rediscovering Who We Once Were
“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”
From “After All These Years,” written during her university, and “Reunion,” written for her mother in the twenties, to “The Best of the Worst of Times,” written during the pandemic, Paige Su’s third album, The Best of the Worst of Times, brings together works spanning two decades.
Some of these songs remained on her computer for years, while others were picked up again long after they were first written. When those voices from the past return, time offers a new perspective on these works. In that sense, the album becomes a process of encountering the past once again, allowing emotions, memories, and fragments of life captured in these songs to take on new meanings over time.
For this album, Su also worked with Benjamin Lazar Davis and musicians from different musical backgrounds, revisiting these works through new environments and sounds. Moving between the past and the present, and between memory and the here and now, she continues to explore her relationship with music and the act of creating.
An album can preserve songs, but it can also preserve time. And when we hear those voices from the past again, perhaps we begin to realise that what has truly been left behind is more than just music.
The Best of the Worst of Times invites us to look back with Paige Su.
Q1: The album brings together songs written across two decades, from “After All These Years,” which you wrote during your university, and “Reunion,” written for your mother in the twenties, to “The Best of the Worst of Times,” which you wrote while undergoing cancer treatment during the pandemic. These songs came from very different periods of your life. When revisiting your work for this album, how did you decide that these songs belonged together?
Paige Su: I’ve always had demos stored on my computer. There are a few songs that I would often find myself thinking about because they meant a lot to me. The older songs on this album were all like that. Even though they had been sitting there for a long time, part of me always hoped that one day I would be able to release them.
By comparison, “The Best of the Worst of Times” was written more recently. When I wrote that song, the album had already started to take shape in my mind. So it felt quite natural to bring these songs from different moments in my life together on the same record.
Q2: The album’s liner notes quote Søren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.” In a way, the album seems to do exactly that, looking back at the past from the present. For you now, has revisiting these earlier works also become a way of understanding yourself differently?
Paige Su: I think that’s what makes time so fascinating. When we’re in the middle of something, it’s often difficult to see the whole picture, especially during difficult periods. Sometimes all you want is for it to be over as quickly as possible.
But time is almost like a raw material. Once you have some distance from an experience, you can look back at the same thing and feel completely differently about it. You notice details you didn’t see before, and you gain new perspectives.
That’s what happened when I listened back to these songs. I could see who I was at the time, while also realising that I’m a different person now. I think that’s one of the beautiful things about life.
Q3: You chose to include the original demo of “Reunion” on the album. After all these years, when you hear your younger self singing that song again, how does the sense of longing feel different from when you first wrote it?
Paige Su: I found the recording while I was moving house and sorting through some things. When I heard it again, I was actually a little surprised, because the way you sing at different stages of your life can sound so different, and those differences also carry the state of who you were at the time. I feel that the person I became after 2020, both in the way I sing and in who I am, is almost like a completely different person from
before.
So when I heard “Reunion” again, I had this feeling of, “Wow, so this is how I used to interpret this song.” I really like that version, and I find it fascinating to encounter a version of myself who feels so different from who I am now. That’s why I wanted to preserve the original recording.
The feeling of longing has changed as well. Back then, that longing still carried a lot of pain for me. Now that I’m a little older, my world has become bigger and wider, and I place things differently in my life. The sense of loss and longing hasn’t become any less, but their place in my heart has become gentler and, in a way, more beautiful.
Q4: The album repeatedly returns to the idea that the times we once thought were the worst can eventually become some of life’s treasures. But when we are going through a difficult period, it’s usually hard to know what it might eventually give us. Looking back now, is there a difficult period in your life that you only realised years later had changed the way you see life or your creative work?
Paige Su: For me, the biggest turning point in my life was probably 2020. I’ve talked about that period quite a bit in interviews for my previous album. What’s interesting is that although life came to a standstill at the time, I actually experienced a period that was simpler and happier than anything I had known before.
That experience made me much softer as a person. It changed the way I treat people, the way I see the world, and the way I see myself. Things that I used to care about so much became easier to let go of. Those changes naturally found their way into my music as well.
Q5: “Letting Go (and Getting Let Go)” began with a guitar part from Benjamin and draws on the story of The Giving Tree to explore the ideas of letting go and being let go. Looking at your creative journey, have you found yourself gradually letting go of things that you used to care deeply about as an artist? And how has that changed the way you create today?
Paige Su: I think letting go and being let go are things everyone encounters at some point in life. For me, 2020 was a major turning point. After that year, I started to feel that simply being able to continue making music was something extra, something I might not have been able to have. So it became a gift.
I used to be very focused on breaking through and achieving certain things. Now I don’t feel the same need to prove myself. If I have something I want to say or a story I want to share, I’ll do my best to make it. But I don’t need to force it, and I don’t need to make myself suffer as if I have to accomplish something at all costs. I think that has been one of the biggest changes for me over the years.
Q6: For this album, you travelled to Los Angeles and worked with Benjamin Lazar Davis and musicians from different backgrounds. What was the process of making the album together, from stepping into the studio to watching the songs gradually take shape? Was there any particular moment that stayed with you?
Paige Su: Being able to live in the studio and work intensively on an album was something I had always wanted to experience. Although it was my first time working with Benjamin, we had a great musical connection and our ideas came together very naturally.
What stayed with me most was the way we created many of the sounds that you might hear as synthesizers on the album. A lot of them were actually sampled in the studio. Some came from vocals, and we also sampled my flute. We would even hit the walls of the studio and different surfaces around us, then piece those sounds together to create beats.
These were all approaches I had never tried before. It felt very fresh to me, and it was genuinely a lot of fun.
Q7: Cody Byassee has been both your longtime partner and a musical collaborator. After creating music together for so many years, do you feel that you’ve developed a particular musical shorthand? Are there certain ideas or details that he can understand when you work together without you having to explain very much?
Paige Su: I feel that Cody is the great angel in my life. He supports everything I do without reservation. Especially when I get caught up in my own thoughts or feel stuck, he listens to me and helps me slowly work through those ideas.
It’s the same with music. He understands me very well, so a lot of the time we really don’t need to say much. After working together for so many years, that kind of understanding is incredibly precious to me.
Q8: On “Daily Humor,” you and DJ Didilong, two artists with very different musical languages, come together. After working with him, was there anything about his creative approach or musical perspective that you particularly admired or found interesting?
Paige Su: I’ve always admired DJ Didilong. I think he’s incredibly talented, and he’s very handsome too. There’s a really impressive balance in his music: it feels distinctly Taiwanese, while also being very modern. That’s something I really love about his work. So when I thought about who I wanted to collaborate with on “Daily Humor,” he came to mind very quickly.
After working together, I felt that he handled the song incredibly well. I love every part he added. Everything felt just right, while also being humorous, playful, and really enjoyable to listen to. I genuinely love everything he brought to the song.
Q9: “Every Second’s A Treasure” began taking shape around ten years ago, but it was only completed for this album. For you, when does a song finally tell you that “now is the time for it to be heard”?
Paige Su: I originally wrote “Every Second’s A Treasure” while I was practising the pedal harp. In the beginning, it had a more classical feel, with beautiful harp and flute parts. It was a bright, warm song about love.
I originally intended to include it on my second album. In fact, there are several songs on this album that I had originally considered for that record. But then the direction of the second album suddenly emerged, so I went on to make that album instead, and these songs stayed on my computer. It wasn’t that I deliberately wanted them to wait this long. They simply ended up here as life moved forward.
I think some songs can sit away and eventually be forgotten. But with certain songs, when you return to them, they still give you new inspiration. This was one of those songs. When I listened to the old demo again, I thought, “Wow, I wrote this riff? I really love it!”
When I originally wrote it, I hadn’t explored electronic effects that much. Later, I started wondering what would happen if I added those sounds to it. The more I experimented, the more fun it became, and Benjamin’s ideas about sound helped shape it further into what it is now.
So for me, the timing was a bit of a matter of everything falling into place. I happened to be making new music, I rediscovered this piece and found new inspiration in it, and I also happened to have something I wanted to say. It naturally arrived at the point when it was ready to be heard.
Q10: Finally, could you recommend a few songs that you personally love? They could be things you’ve been listening to repeatedly lately, or songs that have stayed with you for years. What is it about them that makes you love them?
Paige Su: The first one I’d recommend is Benjamin Lazar Davis’s “A Love Song Seven Ways.” When I first got to know Benjamin
and was reaching out to him about producing the album, I listened through his work, and I immediately fell in love with that song.
I’d also recommend “Halloween” by his band Cuddle Magic, which I absolutely love.
The third is “Spiraling” by an artist named Tōth, who is a mutual friend of theirs. That’s another song I really love.
I think all three songs are very visual. The sounds give me a feeling that’s almost like a “soundtrack to life.” That’s also quite close to what I wanted to achieve with this album. When you listen to them, it feels as though you’re being taken back into certain images and memories. That’s why I love them, and why I wanted to recommend them to everyone.
