A First Date With... Phlo Finister

Last week a series of unfortunate events occurred, which meant that I had to call in several favors that I wasn’t yet owed, and spend five nights couch surfing between two residences at opposing ends of the Central Line. Stupidly, I’d only brought one plain t-shirt along. Simultaneously, if the weather was anything to go by, then London had relocated its postcode to somewhere around the place that Danny Boyle shot The Beach. So, when my editor called me up on Monday morning to ask – “Ryan, remember that series where you want to take artists on dates and ask them awkward questions? Yeah? Well, can you do the first one today?” – I didn’t feel logistically ready. I mean, if I’m meeting with someone, usually I prefer to put on a clean shirt and wear some aftershave, as opposed to being coated in five days worth of the bodily residue that keeps my friend’s couch moist during summer.

To make matters slightly more intimidating for my neurotic brain, I was to be meeting with Phlo Finister, an artist whom I didn't know too much about — beyond the realm of a few track premieres and a fashion spread in VICE — and had no time to prepare in advance for. Which made for a vintage type almost blind date, as opposed to today’s Match.com personals, where you can pre-judge someone via a myriad of relevant social networks before deciding whether they’re on the right side of mentally stable to be worth both an appetiser and main meal at Frankie and Benny’s.

Noisey: It’s really, really hot out here. [We’re in a heatwave, Captain Obvious]

Phlo: I love the gloom, I’m really not liking the sun a lot.

[I’d walked a mile to meet Phlo and I’m glad that she hadn’t yet noticed the way my t-shirt was sticking to my sweat encrusted body]

So, how did you get started in music? [I hadn’t prepared and this seemed to be the go to question]

It’s funny, because I first started off doing a rap song with a guy named Taz Arnold, when I was fifteen. He met me at a magazine event and he walked up to me like, “I don’t know what you do. But you look so cool to me” and I was like, “I make music” and he was like, “really? Oh, cool” and he invited me to his studio. He wanted me to do this gangster style rap hook. We made this song called “South Side”.

That sounds interesting. [I was clutching at straws]

I was on the track just gang banging, a little bit like “south side, left side”, you know? But it was really different to me.

How did you grow up? [I was really scraping the barrel of a list of questions that I once read in an Agony Aunt column in my Mum’s magazine on holiday]

I grew up in church singing, so I’ve always had a background and foundation for it. But it was definitely hard to get people to believe in me and make music.

How long did it take for people to get on board?

Three years.

What was the turning point? [It felt like our conversation had reached a turning point, too]

I was in a garage studio set up in Silver Lake, Los Angeles, and this producer, who was also a writer, had a lot of live instruments. I wasn’t writing fully by myself at this point, he would create the sound, and I was the narrative. I’d tell him stories about my childhood.

[The floodgates had opened and I wanted them to continue.]

And he’d translate it, right?

Right. And it was such a dope atmosphere, because it was all live instrumentation, you know? We made an alternative sounding pop mixtape thing. I didn’t care if it was publicised or if a lot of people heard it. At that point, I was literally making music for myself. It was more pure, you know?

Right, because there was no outside perception.

I put it out there, and some people caught on, and some didn’t. But it’ll always be my favourite body of work just because it was so innocent in the sense of making music for myself. That’s where I’m trying to get back to. Because, when you know that people are listening, you feel more insecure about the type of music that you’re making.

[Underneath all of the standard fare of “I’m making this for myself”, Phlo seemed a little fragile. Wary of delving too far, I tested the water]

You say you had a hunger, where did that stem from?

It came from my childhood, because my Mum left me when I was fifteen. At that point, it was about survival for me. The art became a sense of survival. It kept me sane and therapeutically, I could vent about things, things that I couldn’t say to a therapist. I literally would use music as an outlet for me to release the emotions and all the darkness that I had inside of me. I came from such a horrible place and situation, but I found peace in making music. It really got me through my teenage years of having to be on my own.

[Deep. I wanted to ask about her mum, but it seemed taboo. Fuck it.]

If you don’t mind me asking, did your mother pass away or…

Oh no, it’s not a problem. She just kind of abandoned me. She got married to this guy, and this guy started telling her all these lies about me, that I was strung out on drugs. It wasn’t true and it was so unfortunate, because she chose him, inevitably, over me. So, I kind of had to deal with that. It’s hard, when you think to yourself - “how could my Mum do this to me?”

So, what did you do? Could you stay at home with her?

No, I had to go.

At fifteen? That’s really intense.

I remember the day that I left, I packed all my stuff, and I got on the train. She was living in the valley and it was an hour and a half out of LA. I just remember crying, and it was raining too.

It’s like a scene from a movie. [It sounds really cliché. But it’s true. Kill me.]

Right, it was so, so, visual, you know? I haven’t been ready to open up about it properly, but I’m going to write about it on my debut album. I remember thinking in my head, I’m never going to go back, I’m going to be okay, like, I’m going to find something to do with my life and the next time she sees me is going to be on the TV.

Then, she’ll have to notice. There’ve been quite a few artists recently with parental problems, if you look toward people like Tyler, The Creator, Earl Sweatshirt…

I think that’s what makes the best artists, though. A lot of artists today are really obsessed with the fame, and there’s really no story, it’s just an image. People like Tyler, The Creator and…

Frank Ocean?

Yeah, there’s more of a story. It’s the cinematic value that the artist has, because their life is a movie. I still feel like I’m living in a movie every day.

And does it feel good?

Yeah, now it feels more satisfying, because in London I have people who actually care about me and value my music. At Wireless there was only a row of girls but they knew the lyrics to all of the songs. They were so excited to see me in person, and that’s how it starts.

Right. It’s always so much more satisfying if you can make a connection, even if it’s only with a handful of people.

It could be 10 people or 1 million, I don’t care, as long as I can make that connection. A lot of things are online, but seeing that person in front of you is a totally different impact. I want to bring back that connection where you feel like you know that person.

[Prior to this interview, Phlo was being shot for a fashion magazine]

Are you more focused on music or fashion? Or are they intertwined?

I’m one of those artists who is into creating sounds. When my sound started forming it was inspired by 90s fashion. I was a forecaster in a sense [don’t get too ahead!], because it was time for the music to come back around. I tailored the music around the fashion. We’ll take a Shangri-Las song and we’ll sample the beat and make it sound like a 90s break beat, when it’s actually a 60s song. I co-produce, I do drums and I’m into NIN, Portishead.

Phlo and her Warhol tattoo

It’s interesting, how many artists these days are influenced by such a broad range of music. People are a lot more open, as opposed to the old days where, say, hip-hop artists would only admit to liking hip-hop.

I love classic rock. It’s where all my inspiration stoops from. Bob Dylan is an amazing poet, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin. I didn’t get into R’n’B till I was 12 or 13. My mum would wake me up playing Aaliyah. My memories of waking up were of Missy Elliot going "Aaliyah, Aaliyah".

Right, I love all the old Missy stuff. I also like Edie Sedgwick, and it seems you do too, from your make up.

She was the gateway to me finding out about a lot of 60s artists. I would watch old Andy Warhol films and through watching them, I learned how to do my make up. She was like the first superstar; they made that term based on her. That was when fame was huge.

And then they made Factory Girl and ruined her.

They made her seem like an heiress. But, in fact, a lot of the money she had was from the modeling she did. She went to college. Like, don’t make her seem like a retarded socialite girl with a lot of money. It reminds me of Peaches (Geldof). She is one of the most intellectual girls I know, yet, [the media] make it seem like she’s not a smart girl who hasn’t had to work for her money. It’s funny that she has 2 kids and is a full blown mother, because it’s a slap in the face to the press. I have a lot to thank her for.

How did you meet Peaches?

I met her in Hollywood, through a mutual friend. We went to get hair weaves done, because she was so fascinated. She wanted to go and eat fried chicken, like normal stuff. I thought here is this girl, who everyone thinks is a famous stupid socialite and she is actually so intellectual.

Right. [I didn’t want to get into an argument about Peaches Geldof, but Phlo continued on her own track]

I grew up in Compton, and you don’t meet people like that. It goes back to having determination and not letting your surroundings and atmosphere define you. I’ve lived above all the expectations people had of me. I got kicked out of school for having a fight, but, the people who bullied me, where are they now? Pregnant, or in jail.

Cool. [The most important thing that I knew about Phlo prior to our date was that she had a song called “Coca Cola Classic”. I’d saved the best question for last.] Do you like Coca Cola?

I do, but I don’t drink it a lot. I like the old vintage propaganda they did. All the art work. I’m so into Americanised advertising, like McDonalds in the 90s, it’s a bit like pop art in a way. But, with regard to the song, I think it’s more about the fascination with the pop art of Coca Cola rather than the actual brand. We took more industrial drums and melodic RnB 90s vocals. I’m ignorant when it comes to songwriting, I just want to make music that makes people feel good. You drink Coca Cola to feel good, right?

Whenever I drink a coke I feel happy.

Because it’s sugar, right. It’s so sweet.

It’s like a legal drug.

You know, Mexican coke is coke based.

For real? [I didn’t believe her. But you can’t argue with someone that you’ve just met]

For real.

Cool, I have to go now. But it was really nice to meet you.

Follow Ryan on Twitter @RyanBassil

Photos by Sam Odumosu @SamOdumosu

Phlo Finister is playing a show for Noisey on Wednesday. Come along, it'll be good: