Interview by Alex Schuchmann, Visuals by Ryder The Eagle and by Eloïse Labarbe-Lafon

Somewhere between a confession and a performance, the musician Ryder The Eagle is dancing on the thin line between comedy and tragedy — and inviting us to feel something real. ‘I always feel like I have too much to express in terms of the intensity of what I'm feeling. Singing and playing guitar just wasn’t enough; I always had to do something more intense to feel like I was giving justice to what I’m feeling. Even if it ends up being cringe or weird.’ Ryder The Eagle isn’t just writing songs—he’s staging funerals for old selves and turning life’s melancholy into something strangely hopeful. His latest album, Smile, Hearse Driver!, is a lo-fi, theatrical meditation on spiritual death, transformation, and the beauty of letting go. Written in solitude and recorded with a sense of cinematic intimacy, the record blends sincerity and surrealism, humor and heartbreak—hallmarks of Ryder’s evolving creative world.

We first crossed paths with Ryder The Eagle in Ferrel, a sleepy Portuguese surf town where we worked on the design of EP4 at that time. One late summer evening, he climbed onto café tables, saxophone in hand, pouring himself into the space with an intensity that felt both theatrical and deeply personal. It wasn’t just music—it was ritual, surrender, resurrection. I have never seen something like this before in Ferrel.

Now based in Mexico City, Ryder’s world orbits far beyond a single location. In this conversation, held across time zones, we speak with an artist who builds without a blueprint—writing albums that mourn versions of himself, staging performances that teeter between absurdity and grace, and staying stubbornly uninterested in what’s trendy. His upcoming album explores death not as loss, but as transformation: the quiet, strange process of letting go of who you were.

We spoke about what it means to create from a pure place, how humor softens grief, and why sometimes the most radical thing an artist can do is to simply keep going.

Alex: Hey, maybe that's something we can start off with—this idea of being "in the loop." - making a living, creating art, etc.. Sometimes I ask myself: are these things really what we authentically want to express? Or have we just learned to be this version of ourselves—me as a magazine publisher, you as Ryder The Eagle? And if we also have become really good at that, is it still what we are? Where's the sincerity in all that? How do you relate to that feeling, being an artist today?

Ryder: I feel you. I question these things too—but not with the music, luckily. That’s what gives me the strength to stay in the loop without overthinking it. With the rest of my life, yeah, I do a lot of self-analyzing—constantly asking, “Why am I doing this?” or “What do I really want to do?” But with the music, it’s just something I need to do. “Joy” is the right word—it brings me peace to express something each year, to check in with myself, to figure out where I’m at and what I want to say. Then I give it form: a record, a video, a performance, a cover—whatever it needs to be.

That process keeps me going. It gives me the strength to do all the touring, and even if it gets physically exhausting, it still feels like the right path. Like, the only path. And that brings peace, because I don’t have to choose. And I hate making choices. So, yeah—it’s a good life for me, even if it’s a weird one.

I think life is like that—it’s kind of a tragedy, but in the end, it’s a comedy, you know?

Alex: I was curious—does the theatrical side of what you do, the visual storytelling, come from necessity? Or does it come from a sincere place within you, part of the same artistic message?

Ryder: It’s all one thing. I always feel like I have too much to express. When I first started performing, just playing guitar and singing with a band didn’t cut it. I needed more intensity to do justice to what I was feeling. So I naturally leaned into performance—sometimes it’s maybe too much, but that’s just how I am. I can’t just go on stage and do something “normal.” I have to go all in, even if it ends up being weird or cringe. I have to let go and explore that side of myself.

And for this solo project, that’s always been the point. It’s not just the songs—it’s the full expression. It’s about figuring out what this intensity is and turning it into something people can connect with. Because maybe they’ve felt the same way at some point, too.

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Alex: Do you feel like there's a balance you're playing with—between sincerity and humor in your work? Like, playing with those extremes?

Ryder: Definitely. That’s kind of just who I am. I’ve always had this sadness inside me—a kind of melancholy—but I usually turn it into humor. I think life is like that. It’s tragic, but also funny. So, for me, it’s important to keep both aspects alive. All the art I love has that same dichotomy. I admire artists, poets, or songwriters who can talk about really deep, sad things—but do it in a way that’s somehow light, or even funny. But like you said, it’s a balancing act. If there’s too much comedy, people won’t take you seriously. If it’s too serious, you come off as self-indulgent, like you’re just whining. And that’s not my vibe. I like the ambivalence.

Life’s like that. Comedy and tragedy are always linked. The human condition is kind of a mix of both. I try to weave that into my songs or videos. But it’s a fine line. Sometimes you land the joke, sometimes you don’t—same with life. But it’s worth trying. And I try not to stay too aware of what’s trendy or what’s “working” for others. That feels dangerous if you want your work to stay pure.

Alex: Is your work mostly autobiographical? Or do you draw from outside sources—books, philosophies, other artists?

Ryder: It’s pretty autobiographical, for sure. I don’t read much at all. And I rarely listen to music. Sometimes I do—but very rarely. Most of my time I just live my life, dream a lot, and then create things based on that. When I write a record, I tend to isolate myself completely—physically and mentally. I go somewhere remote, where no one will visit me, and I won’t be distracted by movies or other people’s art. I don’t want to be influenced too much. It keeps the work pure.

I enjoy silence—especially on tour. When I’m driving for hours, I usually don’t play any music. Just silence, the road, and maybe I start writing songs in my head. That space kind of triggers creativity for me. I don’t know if it’s a conscious decision to avoid art, or if it’s just how I am. I’m really sensitive—if I see a movie that hits me deeply, it can take days to shake off. That’s why I have to be careful. But once in a while, I’ll watch something that reminds me how great art can be. Just not too often.

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Alex: There’s this feeling—like you described—that your path is both something you created and something that was maybe laid out for you. Do ideas like belief or faith play a role in your work? I ask because your latest two songs seem really focused on death.

Ryder: Yeah, the whole new album is about death, actually. It’s a mourning album. But I didn’t lose anyone—I didn’t experience a literal death. It was more spiritual. I was in the first half of my 36th year, and it felt like... in order to grow, I had to kill the person I used to be.

Before 35, I still felt like I was 23—same energy, same mindset. But something shifted. I had to say goodbye to that old version of myself in order to be reborn. So this album is about death, but the kind we don’t talk about much—the internal kind. It’s intimate and personal and different for everyone.

It was a dark period, but also super liberating. Making the album felt like attending my own funeral. And I didn’t miss my old self. I was like, “Alright, let’s bury this guy and see what comes next.” It was scary—diving into the unknown. But also funny, in a way. Again, that mix of darkness and humor.

Alex: Yeah, I feel that. And I get this sense right now that your work is more necessary than ever—like you’re expressing something we can’t express ourselves. But there’s so little support for that kind of work. Why not just sell furniture in Mexico City?

Ryder: Maybe I will someday! Just to make ends meet. Right now, I’m barely sustaining this lifestyle. It’s very precarious—but I manage to make one album a year, press vinyl, make videos, and enough people show up to the gigs. Not a lot, but enough. Since I’m fully independent, the money goes directly to me from shows and records.

It’s tight, but it works—for now. If it stops working, I’ll find a side job. That doesn’t really matter to me. What does matter is keeping that will alive: to make an album every year, to tour a bit, to keep exploring. The rest is just framework.

In the long run, what you’ll remember is what you put out there—and whether people connected with it. Whether it brought someone peace. That’s how I try to see it: make art, give it a physical form, tour, meet people. If they buy a record or a T-shirt, you can kind of sustain that life—if you're willing to live without a home or a safety net. It’s not for everyone, but I’ve gotten used to it.

Alex: I appreciate that you keep doing it. And it seems like your partner is a big part of that—she’s involved in a lot of the visuals, right?

Ryder: Yeah, Eloise. She does all the artwork for the vinyls—she’s a photographer and painter. All the covers are her work. She shoots on black-and-white film, develops it herself, prints it, and then hand-paints the photos with oil paint. It’s all analog. It’s beautiful.

We collaborate on all of it—she also shoots all my videos, and usually co-directs them with me. I’m super lucky to have her. It’s hard to make a video on your own. I feel like the best things are the simplest. Most of the time, everything you need is already there—you just have to notice it. But that’s the hardest part, right? Getting out of your own head, away from overthinking and complexity. The simplest, most powerful idea is often right in front of you—but it’s hard to reach it with all that noise in your mind.

Alex: I resonate with that. Honestly, I feel like we could keep talking forever—but I’m out of questions. Maybe there’s something you still want to share?

Ryder: No, I think we covered it. All the questions were great—thank you. The album’s out June 24th, and I’m announcing a tour next week. So things are about to move pretty fast.

Alex: Alright. Goodbye, man.

Ryder: Thanks. Have a good night.

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