Adam: It’s funny going in here, because I’ve never done an interview with a friend who knows me so well like you do. It’s a little easier doing interviews with strangers. I can’t use my regular charm on you.

Bryce: Yeah man, I see right through it.

Adam: Yeah, you see right through it—exactly. Often when I meet people interviewing me, I end up asking the interviewers way more questions about themselves. I inadvertently flip it around, which I’m not trying to do, but it’s just because I’m interested in everyone’s story and background.. And then I’ve had the interviewers… not necessarily annoyed, but they want to be the ones asking the questions.

Bryce: The cool thing is I’ve known you my whole life, but there are things in some of these questions where I actually don’t know the answers. I’m excited to hear what you say. Maybe you and I can catch up tomorrow on the phone about other things, life in general, because there’s so much going on. But anyway today we’re talking about your musical journey. From Minneapolis, from Wentworth on the south side, to the Central District of Seattle, to Portland. I think you were in Montreal for a bit, LA, etc. It’s interesting because we grew up on the same block in Minneapolis, we lived together in Seattle, and then after that we’ve lived on opposite coasts. There’s going to be a lot that’s really interesting. I think the focus is on Minneapolis and the Midwest.

Adam: Great.

Bryce: Cool. So let’s start by positioning ourselves in the ’80s and ’90s in Minneapolis. Obviously, Adam, you’re a musician—you were in Chromatics, you have solo music out, it’s all beautiful. What first got you into music, and was there anything specific to Minneapolis that you can connect it to?

Adam: I think my parents always had a sizable record collection which was kind of an enigma to me as a kid, seeing all those records on the shelf. Maybe it was that way for you. It’s interesting when I think back, between your house and the Nyquists’ (the household between Bryce and Adam’s house growing up), one of the first things you’d see when you’d enter a Midwestern household was the living room, and that’s where the stereo was so you’d see the record collection. I’d see Carol’s (Bryce’s mother)… I don’t know, Ladysmith Black Mambazo cassette. Did she have one of those? Or something similar.

Bryce: She had Miriam Makeba.

Adam: Yeah, Miriam Makeba, that’s it. And the Nyquists - I remember going into their house and Steve and Louise had unique tastes for people their age. They were born and raised in the Midwest, but lived in New York for a long time, and returned to Minneapolis to raise their kids. They had a New York sensibility and they stayed up on what was happening in music. I remember they had this one CD, all white, and it just said “DO” really big, and below it said “IT.” Some sort of techno thing. They also had the Geto Boys “Mind Playing Tricks on Me” CD single. When I was a teenager Steve Nyquist gave me some of his old vinyl records like Lou Reed “Coney Island Baby” and The Roches.

Being raised around all you guys and the families on our stretch of Wentworth, music was such a big thing: you and Brian and your dad, and my parents too. So when I look back upon it, all of our friends and families were into music. And MTV—Natty and I used to watch the Dial MTV Top 10 countdown every day. Our mom would make us take swimming lessons at the Blaisdell YMCA, and afterwards we’d rush home to watch the MTV countdown. I remember it was 1988, because Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar on Me” was at the number one slot for weeks—maybe months even. And eventually they were kicked out of the top slot by Britny Fox, this hair-metal band. I was like, “Britny Fox? What the hell is this?” The name sounded like Samantha Fox, but it was a bunch of dudes who looked like Poison. Natty and I literally cried when Def Leppard got kicked out of the top slot.

Also, many of our cousins were really into music. I remember listening to Beastie Boys License to Ill under the table at family gatherings with our cousin Andrew—laughing at the juvenile slapstick Three Stooges like vibe, the snark, the language. So, yeah—I hope that answers the question.

Bryce: Totally. When you were speaking about Steve Nyquist, I remember he had Pavement's "Slanted and Enchanted" record. I went to see Pavement at First Ave and you asked me to get a Pavement shirt for you.

Adam: That was eighth grade, on the Crooked Rain tour. I had the flu and couldn’t go. I still have the ticket—unused.

Bryce: Eventually you went from listening to playing. Tell us about that—and the scene. You were in a band in high school called Baby, I’m a Star, right? Set the scene.

Adam: In high school, getting into indie music was my first love—really through Nirvana. Seeing the K Records tattoo on Kurt’s arm—Nirvana was the gateway drug to a whole world of underground bands and music. Beat Happening, Tiger Trap, The Softies. The most exciting thing to me about Nirvana was they made me feel that anybody could do what they were doing if they had the drive and the passion.

Seeing the “Smells Like Teen Spirit” music video in 1991 was the first time I thought to myself, “I could do this.” Compared to Guns N’ Roses or Metallica—who I also loved but with their level of spectacle and virtuosity - trying to do that just didn’t seem possible. When I saw Nirvana: drums, guitar, bass—I just saw guys who looked like my cousins or older kids I’d see hanging around Uptown. Then through Nirvana getting into bands like Beat Happening, Guided by Voices—I realized that songs could just be one or two parts. It didn’t have to be a gigantic production with flashy guitar solos or like the top 40 music played on KDWB.

I moved from that world into the Minneapolis punk scene, which was vibrant—there was Extreme Noise Records on Lake Street which was the nexus in Minneapolis for information about anything that was DIY or underground. I also went to every show I could attend: crust, oi!, ska. If it was DIY, I was down for it. I saw bands like Dillinger Four play in basements across Minneapolis, so many times. For me that spirit still extended from Nirvana. Our punk bands in high school—Mil Mascaras and Baby, I’m a Star—were more hardcore-influenced: lots of high energy, screaming and flailing around, like many of the bands I saw that came through Minneapolis when I was in high school. I quickly started to branch away from that world though because creatively it felt like a bit of a dead end, like it was more about camaraderie with my friends than melody for me. I still get excited whenever I hear any of that 90’s hardcore, but I don’t sit down and listen to it anymore.

Bryce: You set up shows for bands from other cities, too, right? Networked outside Minneapolis?

Adam: For sure. I was maybe 16, going to so many house shows. There was this house by the Metrodome—I think it’s torn down now—called the Minnesota Academy of Gung Fu. I saw tons of cool shows in that house, in the basement, and the living room. The basement was so ratty. An old, mealy Minneapolis basement. This guy Kevin lived there—he liked hardcore but he also liked stuff like Stereolab, The Softies, Tiger Trap. So in a way seeing an older kid who I looked up to, who had what back then felt like musical taste from disparate worlds gave me permission to appreciate all sorts of different music and not be as tribal as other people in the Minneapolis punk scene could be.

In either summer of 1995 or 1996 I wrote K Records on AOL because I received their mail order catalog in the mail and I saw The Softies were going to be touring across the US, so I asked if I could set up a show for them in Minneapolis. This woman who worked at K, Julie Butterfield emailed me back and said yes. I was elated! I booked it at the Gung Fu house. After that, K Records started contacting me to book shows for some of their other bands, then those bands’ friends’ bands would reach out and ask me to help put together a show for them. I loved it. I loved helping bring cool bands through Minneapolis. There were three or four houses that did shows. If one couldn’t do it, then I’d just do it at another one. Some shows were better attended than others, but it was always fun, very exciting and I felt connected to something much bigger than me.

Back then you might write a stranger a letter or a postcard just to see if they could book a show for you. What a different world?! Years after I left Minneapolis in ’98, my mom said I’d still occasionally receive postcards or calls from bands asking if I could set up a show for them.

Bryce: It’s impressive you did that as a 16–18-year-old, put yourself out there.

Adam: Thanks. At the time it felt scary but also normal in a way. In that underground world, bands were psyched to get any response. They were excited anyone would book a show for them in Minneapolis.

Bryce: When you booked The Softies, they stayed at your house, right?

Adam: Yeah—that was another weird thing my parents tolerated. Thank god they did. Tons of bands stayed at my parents’ place from ’96 to ’98. I’m still friends with people I connected with from that scene back then. If I run a list of some of the bands off the top of my head who stayed there it includes Get Hustle, Crom-Tech, Satisfact, Hacksaw, Love As Laughter, The Softies, Plastique, Red Monkey, Black Dice, Rainer Maria. Jeremiah Green from Modest Mouse stayed at my house when he played drums in Satisfact —we remained in touch on and off. He was such a sweet guy. Rest in peace Jeremiah. Rest in peace Josh Warren.

Bryce: What about those dudes from The Mars Volta? They stayed at our house in Seattle, right?

Adam: Yeah they stayed with us in Seattle in 2001. Always cracks me up thinking about—there were like eight of them. Ikey, the keyboardist, I saw later played with Jack White and passed away a few years ago on tour with him in South America. He was so nice. I was saddened to learn that.

Bryce: Minneapolis is known for harsh winters but a community-focused mentality. Did that influence your music—Chromatics or solo? Any connection to your Minneapolis roots?

Adam: For sure. Maybe not the first show I played as a teenager, but the second or third show I ever played had a long lasting effect upon me —Do you remember Eric Hadden? He lived on Lyndale, he was in your grade or one year younger. Eric and his friends organized a concert at Lyndale Farmstead park called Weezer Stole My Dick. [laughs] Where a bunch of bands from South High played: his and Steven Witt’s band Hot Snicker (very Ween-esque), my band with Kyle Barron-Cohen and Michael Dillenberger—Box Elder Bug (we named ourselves that from the Pavement song). A crust band Rat Bastard played— this dude Sven’s band, I think Jack Mahaffey was in it. Annie Rollins and her friend Andy played acoustic as The Spandina Chicks. Greg Pritchard’s punk band Yellow 5 played. There was such a wide array of musical styles at this concert.

I remember thinking at the time: I can’t believe this is happening. A lot of people were there—all of our friends were there. Besides a little bit with baseball, music was the first time I ever felt like I stood out in any way, held my own and got respect from peers, which was a big deal to me because I had never really felt like I fit in anywhere. Most of those bands who performed at the Weezer Stole My Dick concert were older kids—I was just a freshman or sophmore so being asked to play by them was a big deal to me!

That concert mixed diverse music—acoustic, crust, indie, punk—everyone accepted it. To promote the event at South High during lunch, Eric and Steven made a giant poster: a hand doing the devil sign over a Snickers bar, with “Weezer Stole My Dick,” written over it and hung it from the second-floor balcony for the hundreds of kids eating lunch to see. The security at the school rushed to remove it. It was like this huge laugh that everyone had during lunch at South High.

I was also really into underground comics—Fantagraphics stuff like Eightball, Daniel Clowes, Ghost World. There was this woman in her 20’s named Laura who had dyed red hair like Miki from Lush and always wore a black leather jacket. She worked at the Comic Book College of Knowledge (comic book store) and for some reason took a liking to me and started taking me to cool shows at First Ave when I was 14 or 15—Liz Phair on the Exile in Guyville tour, Dinosaur Jr. I remember hanging out at Laura’s apartment in Uptown near Hennepin; her roommate put on Pavement’s Crooked Rain—I’m 15 hanging with cool older people, being accepted. I loved it. That’s a recurring theme I’m beginning to realize here haha.

Bryce: And you worked at Roadrunner Records, right?

Adam: Yes. That was my first job when I was 16. When I applied for it, they gave me a little survey—like a test—to categorize music by genre. One page, double-sided. It had all this music I’d never heard of. Maybe a week before I turned it in, I went into the store and kind of tucked the sheet away in my sleeve, then went around taking notes so I could answer everything correctly. The guy Walt who managed the store, he was always so high, wasn’t watching me. When I turned it in, they were like, “You did really well on your exam.”

In retrospect it’s crazy they hired a 16-year-old kid to work at the record store. But it was super fun. They let me start ordering records for the store from distributors. They were cool—they had cool in-store performances: Juliana Hatfield played there, I met her; Marky Ramone played with his band. I set up an in-store performance for Some Velvet Sidewalk. Back then that was a bigger deal because the full blown internet hadn’t happened yet. For the Midwest, it was like, wow—you could actually interact with the bands and people you had seen on TV. Now everything’s compressed into your phone between your friends and big artists. I’m not lamenting—just saying it was different.

We were lucky because Minneapolis had a lot happening. At the time I didn’t feel that way. I was like, “I can’t wait to get out—nothing cool happens here.” Roadrunner let me make signage for the store and also let me have my own spot in the “staff picks section.” That was a big deal to me. The coolest record stores in Minneapolis like Oarfolkjokeopus or Let It Be had staff picks. I felt like I had arrived.

Minneapolis, in retrospect, had a lot going on, though in some ways we were coasting off the fumes of the ’80s—Twin/Tone, Hüsker Dü, The Replacements, Prince. Did you ever go to the New Power Generation store?

Bryce: I drove by but never went.

Adam: I went a couple times. It was only open for about a year—on Lake Street or 31st, close to DreamHaven Books. A lot of those businesses moved around a lot—like Cheapo Records had four or five different locations within the same couple blocks. Did you ever go to Cheapo when it was on Hennepin on the second floor across the street from the brutalist concrete Uptown library?

Bryce: Yeah.

Adam: That was my favorite cheapo location.

Bryce: Then 1998—you left Minneapolis for Seattle. I was there, witnessed it. What was that like—going from a scene you built to starting over? You moved out there with our old friend Rob Baum; you met him through that Minneapolis scene. Take us back to ’98.

Adam: My first year in Seattle was stressful. In ways it was like starting all over again. I felt like I’d hit my stride in Minneapolis—community, bands, momentum. To leave that behind and enter this alien territory was scary. I had high expectations because I loved Pacific Northwest music. In my head though I built up Seattle to be something it wasn’t. I could be pretty outgoing—probably even obnoxiously so back then if it wasn’t being reciprocated. People in Seattle were often icy and dismissive, even people in bands that I had previously met and put on shows for in Minneapolis. I found it incredibly depressing—1998 was one of the rainiest years in the city’s history. I was eager to find my people, be in a band, work towards a common goal. I had a lot of false starts. That’s life. I’m glad it worked out how it did though.

I was so happy when you asked me to hang out when I moved there—I was so lonely. To have a friend from the same street, and we weren’t even that close before that moment—we were still both growing up. Getting to grow together in that transitional moment was so good for us.

It was a special time to be 19–24—still kids, exploring, trying to find our way. I still try to infuse my life with that feeling of wonder wherever I can. We had such wild times back then—meeting girls on the dancefloor at Foxes (a legendary drag bar in Seattle in the 90’s), and drinking those crazy huge gin and tonics in red plastic solo cups that they sold for $3. Funny enough, I met someone who came to my show in San Francisco this summer—she used to work the door at Foxes. It’s wild how people can pop up like that later in your life sometimes. I’m only midway through life—who knows who I’ll run into at the senior home when I’m 80.

Bryce: Hopefully we’ll be in rocking chairs together. The first band I remember you joining in Seattle was The Vogue. I think I still have a Vogue T-shirt. What can you tell me about that band and how Seattle influenced it?

Adam: The Vogue existed before I joined, and I thought they were great. It was what I wanted to do—edgy, had electronic and post-punk elements. They looked so cool: Hannah on drums, Casey with the Spock haircut.

Casey played bass, this woman Kate played keyboards; then she quit, Casey moved to keys, so they needed a bassist. They’d been to parties at our house at 1812 and had seen me around. Devin once later told me they were like, “That guy looks cool let’s ask him.” I was so excited they asked. Sometimes I wonder how different my life would be if they hadn’t. Musically, we were on the same level—likes, influences, trajectories. It’s crazy where everyone ended up: Johnny/Devin to Blood Brothers and tons of other bands, Casey to Fleet Foxes, Hannah to Gossip.

Bryce: And Chromatics?

Adam: Chromatics was partially a reaction to what I was experiencing in that whole Vogue/Blood Brothers camp. Vogue practices were very democratic—five people trying to write together. It took forever. It could be excruciating. People would quit, projects would reconfigure: The Vogue changed to Soiled Doves for six months. Frustrating too because Johnny was in Blood Brothers and they were getting huge. They signed to a major label, they were touring all the time—and we’d have to wait two months for him to get back. No disrespect to him—we’re friends today. But at 21 or 22 you can’t wait two months—you can’t wait two hours.

So I got a four-track and an Alesis SR-16 drum machine. I was listening to Suicide, Young Marble Giants—bands doing a lot with minimal equipment. I started recording alone at home and thought, “This is so much easier and way more fun than with The Vogue/Soiled Doves.” I liked it better, it took hours to put a song together instead of weeks, and people responded to it right away. That’s how Chromatics started. I also wanted a band that could carry on if people left—which it did. Lots of people went in and out.

The first Chromatics show was actually at a party in your old bedroom, which by then had become my room after you moved to Denmark. Devin and Nolan played with me—before Hannah joined. We did a few shows with the drum machine first. People seemed into it; it felt good—affirming.

Bryce: When people think ’90s Seattle, they think grunge. The Vogue and especially Chromatics weren’t that—more Young Marble Giants or Suicide. Was that conscious?

Adam: Not exactly conscious, but yeah. Seattle then was a rock town—very macho. I wasn’t into that. It felt old and irrelevant to me; like nothing was being pushed forward. But there was cool electronic stuff in Seattle. Whitney (our next door neighbor) helped run that promotion company Neverstop. They brought Ben Watt to DJ, Autechre at the Showbox—I remember I went to see Autechre for free with Morgan from Blood Brothers because Whitney got us in. Neverstop put on cool Drum & bass nights. I gravitated to a lot of the electronic music happening in Seattle too.

Bryce: Then you moved from Seattle to Portland—January 2006, right?

Adam: Yeah. I’d been driving down to Portland since 2004 to work with John from Glass Candy—nearly every weekend. I’d leave for Portland at 11 PM after my Friday shift at the hotel ended, stay in Portland Friday night through Sunday. Drive back to Seattle late on Sunday night and return to work my shift at the hotel at 7:30 am Monday morning. Portland felt more old-world than Seattle. Seattle was flush with Microsoft money and it really began to make the city unlivable for working musicians and artists. Portland had Nike and Weiden & Kennedy, but those businesses didn’t feel like they changed Portland on the scale that tech changed the landscape of Seattle. When I moved to Portland it still kind of felt like the ’80s. It was really affordable—my huge studio apartment was $575 in 2006. The cheap rent afforded me a lot more time and space that Seattle could no longer offer to anyone. In early 2006 I had broken up with my girlfriend Lena; John suggested I just move down to Portland and get a clean break. We were already working together all the time, I’d no longer have to do that crazy three and a half hour commute. It was the right call because a year and a half later the band started doing really well. Ruth joined—we recorded “In the City” late 2006. Everyone in the band was finally living in the same city, we had no studio restrictions, cheap rent. Portland at that time had wild underground after-hours spots—places like Storefront or my friend Seth’s house, The Kimono Factory. Most nights I went to bed at six a.m. And this was just after drinking, even though there was loads of cocaine around I wasn’t doing that. But It felt lawless. In ways, it feels like an entirely different city now—post-Portlandia era, but in other ways it still feels the same.

Bryce: Natty—your brother—moved out too. He taught himself, like you taught yourself bass and guitar. How was it playing with your brother?

Adam: Before Natty joined we had my friend Chelsea playing drums with us. That iteration of Chromatics toured with Glass Candy spring ’06. We had another 6-7 week tour booked for that fall but things in the group got too intense interpersonally and Chelsea ended up leaving. Natty’s baseball career in Belgium was winding down and he was planning to return to the states. He’s very musical—played sax, made beats on the MPC. So I just went ahead and asked him if he would be interested in trying it. The way our songs were structured, he didn’t have to be the greatest drummer, although he turned into an excellent one. The tracks we played guitar and bass to were carried by the electronic kick, so live drums were played on top of the electronic drums which rooted the sound and anchored the tempo. He picked it up very quickly. It was so much fun playing in a band with my brother. That’s one of the things I miss most about Chromatics.

Bryce: Looking back on everything…from South Minneapolis to now. What do you think has carried through the most in your life/music? And what feels different about the chapter you’re in now?

Adam: I love this question. Aside from the litany of terrible things one could say about the music business, and I’ve experienced so many of them, I love everything about the entire process of creating music and sharing it with the world. Even the seemingly non-glamorous parts of the job like packing and shipping mail order, booking hotels, responding to dm’s and emails, planning tours, all the way to writing and recording the music… all of it still gives me the same jolt of energy I got when I was a teenager exchanging zines and cassettes around the country with other likeminded kids or when I was setting up shows for bands at Minneapolis punk houses. All of it offers an opportunity for communication and authentic connection. Being able to connect with the people who support me makes the act of creating feel more like it exists outside the realm of commerce, which is very important to me.

One of the reasons Chromatics achieved the level of cult status we achieved was because that spirit never left me. Even when we were at the peak of our popularity, Ruth and I were the ones running our mail order, packing, shipping, and sending our records and t-shirts out to the fans and distributors. It made our connection with our fans and supporters so much deeper than it could have been. A lot of those people still support me today and that feels very special.

Chromatics popularity was a fluke in a lot of ways. It was a rare synthesis of all the years of hard work we put into it, colliding with being in the right place at the right time in the culture. In the d.i.y. underground which we sprung out of, music was moving away from the traditional rock guitar/bass/drums lineup into more electronic formats and we happened to meet people on that path where a lot of things at the time were headed. The bands’ rise also coincided with the ascent of the Pitchfork and blogger culture that championed us, similar to the ways in which a lot of popular groups of the 1970’s popularity coincided with the rise of music journalism in publications like Rolling Stone. So now like everything, it’s inevitably changed. I don’t know where people go to discover new music today. I often rarely even know when artists I love that I follow on Instagram have new music out because Instagram limits their reach unless someone is paying Instagram money to boost their reach. The music world feels much more corporate and controlled than it was when I was growing up, which makes me really sad. But that also leaves an opening for something better to come along because I think people are exhausted by companies like Spotify. Companies which reinvest their profits back into the global war machine, pay artists next to nothing for their music and then seem like they’re trying to replace human artists with a bunch of AI artists. That concept is nothing new, but because of AI the way they can now go about it is and I believe it will inevitably lead to Spotify’s downfall. I also think social media can be very useful at a base level but I don’t think it can come anywhere close to real human interaction and community. I know there are lots of people out there like me who are longing for connections these companies pretend to provide, but actually do not. People are growing wiser to the ways in which these social media companies can be gamed. So I feel like there are a lot of new possibilities on the horizon and that excites me.

Lately I’ve been taking a lot of inspiration from artists like Françoise Hardy, Pharoah Sanders, Michael Rother, Robin Guthrie. Artists who in my opinion quietly made some of the greatest music of their careers while the eras that they were more well known for became chapters of their legacy but not their entire legacy. I’m proud of the legacy of Chromatics and grateful for the opportunities it has provided me but I love that I have been able to start over again and explore new paths.

Bryce: It seems you’ve built such a deep relationship around sound and place? Where do you see the next wave of that going? What’s pulling you forward creatively right now?

Adam: At the end of 2024 I played my first solo show, with only my guitar, some beats and samples. The idea of being up there on stage alone mortified me but I grew to love it. I love the challenge of trying to put something together in a way that would be interesting and enjoyable for me to watch as an audience member. So I’ve been spending a lot of this year refining my solo set and touring it. It’s improved a lot but there’s still a lot of room for growth and that is really inspiring to me. I’ve also recently made some improvements to my home studio setup and have been going deep into exploring the doors of possibility those improvements have opened up. I’ve also been working on a lot of music with my friend Jeff Schroeder. Earlier this year we started working together on a song with no plan in mind but the experience immediately felt so great for both of us that it has turned into something else and become entirely its own thing. We’ve been experimenting with bringing a few other friends of ours in to collaborate and I’m so excited to begin sharing some of it. Jeff has also been helping me produce my next solo album so we’ve been working together a lot this year. I’ll probably help him produce his next album as well.

Bryce: When you think about your younger self...the kid making noise in Minneapolis basements. What do you think he’d make of where you’ve ended up?

Adam: I think he’d probably call me a poseur or a sell-out because he’d be jealous of the opportunities I’ve had but wouldn’t be able to admit that to himself so it would just be easier for him to ridicule me. I never set out to have a career in music. I just always wanted to be around it in any way that I could, from the entire process of creating it, sharing it, down to the most prosaic aspects. So in that way I still can’t believe I’ve been so fortunate to have been given the opportunities I’ve had throughout my time. I mean Ruth, Natty and I wrote and recorded a lot of the songs for the video game Lost Records: Bloom & Rage that was released this year. That was so crazy and something I never thought I’d do. I never in a million years thought I would ever live in Los Angeles. That was never a dream of mine. Now I could not imagine living anywhere else. I recently heard Bootsy Collins say in an interview “I don’t know where I’m goin’, but I’m goin’” I have the same outlook.

Bryce: What’s next for you, not just as an artist but as a person? What are you hoping to find next?

Adam: As an artist I’m always trying to outdo myself, to grow. I create music that I want to see out in the world. As a person I’m just trying to do my best in this life for my family, friends, and my community and stay in the present as much as possible. I think when humans are open, kind, and loving it has the power to heal our collective wounds and elevate our humanity. Maybe that sounds mawkish or like I’m running for political office here but I truly believe that. I’m always trying to make all my decisions in life emanate from a place of love. I hope my actions inspire those who come in contact with me to bring more love to the world.