When your music plays out like a daydream, it’s easy to get lost in your own head. Filipino-American singer Yeek moves in our world, and yet he floats above it, suspended in a kind of unreality where he is the ultimate observer: both anchored to experience, yet cast adrift in galaxies of his own creation.
Cutting his teeth in 2015 with his debut record, Love Slacker, washed in pastel hues and whimsical, lo-fi soundscapes, Sebastian Carandang laid the foundations of his sound. Gravitating towards meandering guitars and sighing synths, each song channeled lazy summer days on Miami beach and the cool breezes of South Florida nights.
It was his 2017 record Sebastian that became an ode not only to his sonic style, but the artist he had evolved to be. Though his collaborators included Duckwrth and Bakar, the truth is Yeek is a lone wolf. Sure, he can easily run with the South Florida pack sprawling out of the Miami scene, but when it comes to creativity, he has always preferred to build his empire alone.
But that was then—this is now. After the pandemic, a year of introspection meant that Yeek had some changes to make and some lines to draw. In the quiet moments, he found himself revisiting the sense of community he found in the Miami music scene: the gateway drug which, as a teenager, marked the beginning of his lifelong love affair with live music and introduced him to a world of like-minded creatives. Finding diversity, inclusivity, and a melting pot of sounds from Carribean and Latin music to the sweat and blood of hardcore punk, there was an unspoken sense of acceptance and understanding. That feeling was at the core of Yeek’s latest record, Valencia.
The record marks a new chapter for Yeek as he learned to share the creative burden and tap into the community and resources around him. Valencia is the first project with label backing under AWAL, which not only granted him the freedom to explore the furthest reaches of his ambitions as a musician, but allowed him, at last, to nurture his love of filmmaking. h.a.w.a.i.i, his directorial debut, is an eight-minute venture into the labyrinth of his own mind: an artist’s keeper and liberator. Coupled with Valencia, they are a 360 degree sensory experience of the feeling of being detached from the world around you, surrounded by people and yet being unable to shake the disconnection. They’re about the importance of not only finding your community but inviting them into your inner world.
Yeek is no longer a lonely star, trapped in his own orbit, but has found himself belonging to a creative solar system. There is a story to tell in Valencia, but really, it all starts in Miami.
Let’s get into Valencia: the record is an important statement for you as an artist, so how do you feel like it has been the next step in your evolution?
It was an evolution in the sense that I was experimenting a lot more with my vocals and getting more comfortable with my vocal range. I feel like throughout my career, and throughout my catalogue, I was always focused on the songwriting aspect—and that has still carried onto my new music—but this time, I’ve learned to be more mindful of my voice. I also tried different things production-wise that I have never done before. I tried to expand on the synth sounds I use. I think the guitar has always been a crutch for me, something that was within my comfort zone, so experimenting with production that moved away from guitars was definitely a challenge, but something that I feel was needed in my evolution.
How do you feel the songs on Valencia define a period of your life?
I was in a relationship throughout most of it, if not all of it. I think that relationship inspired it in part, but also when I first started writing it, I was reaching a point in my career where I was touring a lot and experiencing sold-out headlining tours for the first time, being able to take all my friends along with me in the tour van. I think that was a dream of mine, actually. For a long time, I was touring, just by myself, not even having a manager with me. Just me. A lot of my tours went that way, and then I realized, “Maybe, I deserve a little more. Maybe I should have more than this.” So I decided to bring the whole squad. That attitude of being able to take your loved ones with you to something that’s important to you was a big theme for the record: building a sense of community.
What was the vision for h.a.w.a.i.i, the short film you wrote and directed to accompany Valencia?
When we were building the album out, it included more than just the sound. It also included the art around it, the visual experience. A lot was going on. We were in the midst of COVID, a lot of social issues were coming up, and musicians and artists weren’t releasing things as much because people were taking time for themselves to learn—or unlearn—certain things. I think a lot of people were going through a lot of personal growth. And so, at that time, I felt like if something was going to be released, then it would have to be meaningful. Most music comes out, and it just comes and goes, but I wanted to make something that felt more impactful, contributing to the times we were living in. So making the short film, to me, was a dream—it was something I always wanted to do. I’ve always been into film. I guess I just wanted something attached to the album that felt physical, more tangible.
Do you think this multi-disciplinary approach to art, extending beyond music, is something you’re going to bring forward with future projects?
One hundred percent. I think this just opened doors for that, and I’m going to keep emphasizing it and making it a part of my world.
Up until Valencia, you’ve worked alone. Is it fair to say you’re naturally more comfortable working independently?
I think in the early stages, definitely. Now I’m at a point where I’ll accept all the help I can get. But I think when building the foundation of it, trying to make it happen, I would take on a lot on my own and just do it myself. As I seek evolution in myself and as an artist with my music, I feel like it’s really essential to have help and to have the right people helping you.
Has it been a challenge to compromise your independence?
Yeah, definitely. I felt that the most when we were creating the short film, too, because in my head I had imagined myself being the director. But then I was like, “Wait, I can’t be the director while I’m in front of the camera” I guess some people do that, but it’s hard, and I wanted to focus on doing what was best for the end result. It felt necessary for me to give up total control over the director’s chair for the sake of the project. In the end, it felt nice to let go of a lot of things.
How do you feel the results have compared when you work alone to when you collaborate?
I feel I have more range now that I’ve allowed other people in, because there’s new worlds and doors opening up. When I was by myself, everything I created felt very specific to me. To bring multiple ideas from different people into one project feels less of a selfish thing, and it’s nice. It takes it to the next level.
How do you feel reflecting on the person who started Valencia, compared to the person who finished it?
That’s a good question. Honestly, this was such a learning process. There are so many things I had to realize, and so many experiences and emotions I’d gone through when I was making it. A lot of it was learning the pros and cons of working with your friends, but also learning what it’s like to work with a label for the first time.
There were a lot of challenges that came with that alone. Going into that, I was still pretty married to the DIY aspect of it and the idea of doing everything myself. Even knowing I had all this help and support, I was still pretty insistent that I was going to edit the videos myself, try to film it by myself, especially when COVID hit and we were in lockdown and being on set wasn’t an option anymore. I was like, “Oh, maybe this is just a sign that I have to keep doing it by myself.” But it wasn’t.
In that period, the lesson for me was patience: wait it out, don’t even work on it yet. A lot of money was spent, and a lot of money was wasted on stuff that didn’t see the light of day. We started working on the film properly in March, but then we didn’t really start creating the actual content for it until November—so it was six months of us just trying to figure out what we were trying to make. This was the one time we had label backing to do it, and we couldn’t bring it to life because of the pandemic. So, to answer your question: I definitely feel more patient. I feel more mindful of the process and how tedious it can be. I feel a little wiser, too.
I know that in the Miami music scene, you were really drawn to the punk and hardcore scenes when you first moved down there. Tell me more.
So before I moved to Florida, I always idolized my eldest brother and what he listened to. I think that’s very natural, as a younger sibling. He listened to a lot of hip-hop, rock, pop, and shoegaze stuff from the ‘80s. Hardcore punk was a really big thing he would listen to at the time, and that caught my attention. I think it was because of the sense of community. When I reached my teenage years and high school, I started going to shows and just fell in love with the live experience of it. With genres like hardcore and punk, they reach a whole new level in a live setting: to experience stagediving, being in the pit and just feeling the energy of it. That’s what I fell in love with. That, and the sense of community, being excited to see your friends at the next show. It was a good time in my life. That’s the spirit I wanted to implement throughout my music.
How have you stayed connected to the Miami scene through the pandemic?
A lot of the people I’m close with and work with are either from LA or Miami. More recently, I’ve visited there more often and stayed there for a couple of months. But growing up, I would be in Miami almost every weekend. When I couldn’t go over there, the only way I could stay connected was keeping in touch with my close friends.
Which of your close friends have you met through the Miami music scene?
It’s a funny story, actually, because a lot of my team is built around this one friend who I met in Miami. We met during the Tumblr era about seven years ago. He was pretty much Tumblr famous. He had this brand that was based in Miami, and he’d made this shirt of legendary Miami rapper Trick Daddy which I thought was so cool. I just followed him on everything, and he followed me back on Instagram and lurked my stuff. Then he hit me with this long email introducing himself as a photographer, DJ, and everything else, and we met up in LA in Koreatown. He invited me to this house that he was staying at, and the person whose house it was is now my manager. He also introduced me to another friend, originally from Miami, who is behind the album artwork for Valencia. He’s basically my creative director now. A lot of the people responsible for the artist I am now came from Miami.
I still have friends who DJ, which is another massive thing in the scene. It’s nice to have seen it grow. It’s weird, because Miami will be popping for two years, and then venues and places will close down and it’ll be dead for a few years. And then it will come right back with a new venue or skate shop which is the new thing in Miami. But now, I feel like it’s been so consistent—so much is happening. It’s such a beautiful place, my favorite city. It definitely feels like home to me, even though I didn’t necessarily grow up there, but I grew up right across the coast from it. I was always there. I think a lot of people see it as a place to go to the beach and party at the clubs, which it is, but there’s also a music scene that’s dying to be consistent and alive.
What are some of your staple, go-to venues that will hopefully survive the pandemic and thrive for years to come?
Well, the last venue I played there was called The Ground which was at this club called Space—it was actually the first club I had ever been to when I was 18. It was surreal playing a show there, because they’d never made it a venue for music like that before. It’s a really good place, and I think a lot of people have got dates lined up there for their tour. And then Fillmore has always been a big spot in Miami, on the beach. I went to an Odd Future show there. I saw stand-up shows from Aziz Ansari and Hannibal Buress there, too. I experienced a lot of cool stuff there. I think Fillmore would always be a dream spot to play in Miami.
How has a sense of community that you’ve found in Miami and beyond influenced Valencia?
I actually got inspired by this OTHERtone interview with Kid Cudi, and he was getting vulnerable, sharing about his struggles with his mental health. I think it was around the time that he went to rehab, or something. He was saying that despite his fame and with his career shooting up, he just felt like he didn’t have any friends. He felt like he was going through it alone, and if he tried to call someone, at the end of the day, they couldn’t truly relate. That stuck with me. It made me feel like having a sense of community throughout my career is important. I wanted the people I love and care about to experience life through my lens as much as they could, whether that be coming on tour with me, or if they were involved in music, having them playing in my band so they could experience it with me, because who else would I rather share it with? I feel like a lot of these moments in life are best when shared. I think, just from a mental health standpoint, it would be the best, healthiest option for my mind.
Now you’ve invited your loved ones into your world, do you feel that they understand it better?
Yeah, definitely. There are ups and downs about it, though. I think sometimes it affects friendships and relationships, but at the end of the day, I feel like the end result is only positive. It feels good to involve them. They understand it now, because the alternative would’ve just been me trying to explain to them little micro things that I go through as an artist that they wouldn’t understand. But now, they get it. They’re able to empathize and see where I’m coming from, what I’m talking about. It’s such a blessing to surround yourself with people who understand you.
What do you miss most about performing since the pandemic hit?
Just to hit a stage dive again. I was going through my camera roll, watching all these videos from the last tour, and I was desperate to do it again. Fingers crossed, I’ll get back into it soon.
What qualities does the Miami music scene have that you just can’t get in any other city?
It’s the spirit of it. The vibe of Miami is about partying, having fun and being out. A lot of it is inspired by Caribbean music and Latin music. It’s so hard to explain Miami. It’s so deep. There’s so much culture to Miami that no one even knows about. There are certain songs you’ll hear in a club that only people from South Florida or Miami will know. There’s this outdoor club called 1-800-LUCKY and you’ll go on some nights and it’s indie music, and then on another they’re playing Afrobeats or classic Miami rap hits from the 2000s. I love it. There are certain songs you’ll hear in Miami that you’ll never hear out in LA. It’s almost like its own world. I think there will be a renaissance for it where all different kinds of music will be coming out of the scene and reaching a wider audience like they deserve.
How do you define success?
I think that’s something you set for yourself. I feel like growing up, we were taught to view success in a specific way. It felt like it was defined for us, and we were supposed to tick the boxes of having a stable job, with a certain amount of income a year, and be homeowners in order to be successful. Those things might make some people feel full, but everybody’s different. It’s all about what feels right for your soul, whatever that may be. I feel like I’ve achieved a lot of the success I aspired to—and it wasn’t really much.
I just wanted to be able to connect with people through my music and my art, and I feel like I’ve done that with so many people. It won’t ever stop. Being able to connect with people in the way that I connected with some of my favorite artists and continue that kind of work is such a blessing and something I’m so grateful for. That’s definitely success for me, and in that sense, I already have everything I need.
Photoshoot styling by Anthony Clayburn with assistance from Garrett Dickerson.
