We were lucky to catch up with Kaigetsu Simovich recently and have shared our conversation below.

Kaigetsu, appreciate you joining us today. We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you.

The most personally meaningful project I’ve worked on to date is a demo tape called ‘just happy to be here’.

It is the debut demo tape for my latest collaborative project, a group called Topeka Clementine, and serves as a series of sonic journal entries that catalogue the various feelings that accompany a fall from grace, struggling with sobriety, and grappling with the acceptance of impermanence.

This demo tape is an acknowledgment of my limitations. I didn’t have access to a “professional” recording studio or a grand production budget. Armed with little more than a couple instruments, some rudimentary musical understanding, a 2015 MacBook Air, and a burning belief in the power of words to heal, I was able to write a series of songs that provides, if nothing else, an accurate and relatable glimpse of our shared humanity. I’m also incredibly thankful for the help of Lana, my collaborating partner, without who’s help the songs would be missing an element of freshness and playfulness that really balances these tracks out.

I believe it’s through accepting our limitations that we may find our strengths, and through finding our strength, that we may render our limitations meaningless.

Awesome – so before we get into the rest of our questions, can you briefly introduce yourself to our readers.

My musical journey has been a long and meandering one.

I grew up in a rather musical house. My father didn’t pick up the guitar until around 30, but, to his credit, he has yet to put it down. Having a Japanese mother almost immediately insures one will be receiving classical music training in one instrument or another, and the piano became my earliest point of reference for building a musical vocabulary.

Music had always been secondary to the other things I had going in life. It was my escape from whatever else I had been focusing on, not necessarily the focus itself. It was my therapy, generally done in solitude.

It wasn’t until quarantine, when my primary foci were effectively canceled, that I found myself relying on my piano for support like never before. It felt like the only thing I could count on for some sense of stability. It was my oldest friend, and together we were these wonderful co-conspirators in a world that felt pitted against us. There was nothing more fulfilling than making it weep the way I was so desperate to; nothing more validating than finding just the right combination of notes to translate the complexities of the emotions I was feeling. To pry me away from the piano during that time was an agonizing feat. The Kai who was not at the piano was an empty shell of a human being with very little to give elsewhere.

At this point I really can’t help but make music. I can’t help but make my most earnest attempts to quell the storm of bullshit that seems to ever-permeate the modern human condition. I want nothing more than to dig through all the noise, and find a sonic reality where you and I can both feel fully understood. Is it a calling if it feels like the only thing you can bear to do?
Can it be reduced to “a profession” if it’s the only thing tethering you to a sense of sanity? If this was an interview we conducted in person, you would be looking into the eyes of a person possessed by a muse. And I don’t see it leaving anytime soon.

I feel I can use this gift to be a building block in a better home for all of us. There are a great many of us who have had our sense of home stolen. Whether it be colonization, industrialization, war, or famine, we have had our ancient wisdoms stripped away with every tide of displacement, and we are left with a “knowledge” that leaves us ever more disconnected. I still reserve hope that through music, we can all create a new sense of home together. I find it a kind of revolutionary hope that absolutely must be maintained. I hardly see it as a choice, because the only alternative is to resign oneself to a doomed world, and that is not a resignation I am willing to accept.

The name of the collaborative group that I am currently fostering is Topeka Clementine, and I have every intention of nurturing the expansion of its membership and reach in due time. The name Topeka Clementine itself is extremely important to me. It’s a nod to a very special place in my hometown, where a group of people who are very dear to my heart run a program called Humanity Showers. They provide showers on the corner of Topeka and Clementine street every Wednesday for people who don”t have access to clean, warm, running water. How there are people who have no access to clean, warm, running water when they live in the richest state of the richest country in the world is really beyond me, but I’m sure there’s someone out there who’s formulated a very official sounding excuse that makes it feel like significantly less of a national disgrace.

On the whiteboard in my studio I’ve written core guiding concepts that help inform every decision made creatively within the scope of Topeka Clementine.

1. We are unapologetically queer, neurodivergent, and spiritual. (I think this one is self explanatory)

2. We do not have patience for white mediocrity. (We are not hashing out stale covers or uninspired lyrics over the latest trend. My proximity to whiteness and the privilege I am afforded from it makes me extra critical of my output in this regard. It needs to be hitting at a certain level or there just really is no point in making it at all.)

3. We have a deep reverence for the founders of our art form. (To be a musician in America in any major genre is to stand on the shoulders of giants who paved the way through deep, deep sacrifice, often unwillingly. The voices of enslaved Black musicians expressing their struggle and the divinity that is perpetuated through their voices is at the very core of what we consider “American music”. It is through the continued progression of that lineage that we have genres like jazz, rock, reggae, funk and hip hop. To ignore the roots of this lineage is blatant and willful ignorance, and a complete disrespect to its founders that I do not tolerate in the studio.)

4. It’s okay to feel. (There really is no art without starting from a very deep emotional place, and to surrender yourself as a conduit to your emotions is the only way to make anything merit worthy, as frightening as that may be. Every emotion is welcome to the studio because beautiful things can be born from even the ugliest of emotions.)

5. We know our worth. (If we’re staying true to every other tenet so far, then we are creating something truly worth sharing with the world, and we should have no problem actively seeking showcase opportunities that are equally proportional to the work we’ve put in.)

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

The most rewarding aspect of being a creative is easily the feedback you get from your audience. Striking up conversations around my work or the work of my fellow creatives and the feeling of connection that it can bring forth is absolutely unparalleled. We rely so heavily on language in our day to day, but it’s a rather banal abstraction, barely scraping the surface of how we truly feel. Don’t get me wrong, words are definitely useful, and I feel like I’m rather good at using them, but it can be so much more impactful to hear a sound, or see an image and just be able to wholeheartedly say, “oh I’ve felt THAT”. I never knew how to explain it before, because there’s no word for it, but it feels like THAT and you’ve obviously felt THAT way before too, or else you wouldn’t have made THAT and I feel significantly less alone in this carbon meat sack filled with water now that I know that there’s other carbon meat sacks filled with water that feel similar things TOO. So thank you.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

I think a very important unlearning moment for me was that you can do something “for the love of it” and still make money. I used to think that if you’re passionate enough about what you do, you don’t need to worry about the money aspect. And often times clients, fans and even other creatives will consider you a “sellout” for not having enough “passion” in what you do and needing a paycheck. To that I say, “grow the F*CK up”.

Let me be clear. I hate it here. I didn’t choose this game to play. I don’t think any of us really chose it. I don’t think anyone would consciously choose a game that’s this f*cking dehumanizing. However, the rules of this game that we are all forced to play, is that if you don’t have money, you DIE. If you’re dead, you don’t have passion for anything, because you’re f*cking dead.

I have so much passion for music. It’s all I want to do. Ever. I love it so much that I don’t want to do anything else. That means I need to make this my job, so that I can get money. To survive. So that I can continue doing the only thing that I want to do, and so I don’t have to bring you ranch for your god damn fries just to be afforded a semi-standard quality of life.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://withkoji.com/@Topeka_Clementine
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/topeka.clementine/?hl=en
• Other: Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/5BkwJOgvDgEMstRyoFWoai?si=EM1Xqr3xQNKw9vacI5lENg TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@topeka.clementine

Image Credits
Lana from theholyrainbowclub photographs taken by Noah Cyril