We’re excited to feature an in-depth conversation with tinvis, a unique voice in the indie music scene. Known for his blend of indie rock, folk, and psychedelic sounds, tinvis’ music is as introspective as it is sonically adventurous. His latest single, “Echo,” explores themes of displacement, motion, and identity, reflecting both his personal experiences and broader societal questions. In this interview, we delve into the inspiration behind “Echo,” the role of his Californian roots in shaping his sound, and how his experience with the Davis Independent Music Initiative has influenced his approach to creating and sharing music. Join us as we explore the stories and philosophies behind tinvis’ music, from the challenges of balancing introspective songwriting with community building to his vision for the future of local music scenes.
What was the inspiration behind your latest single “Echo”, and how does it reflect your personal experiences with travel and displacement?
The initial inspiration arose from reflecting on the literal back-and-forth trips I was taking to Texas and California, primarily by plane and occasionally by car. Beneath that layer lies the idea that when you are in constant motion, you can avoid experiencing actual emotions. It also reflects something I’ve observed in broader society: our tendency to repeat the same mistakes without learning from them. The “echo” is both internal and historical.
Further, traveling between California and Texas—two places that pride themselves on their uniqueness yet share a complicated relationship in how they view themselves existentially—gave me an additional opportunity to think about place, identity, and contradiction. That tension and the fact that I felt at home in both and in neither directly shaped the song.
To be very clear: to the extent, any of this seems a “problem,” they were/are all very “first world problems”; I have no idea of what it is like to be “displaced” in the ways that we are seeing others around the world be displaced now and throughout history. However, the idea of the “echo” in the song certainly questions why humans continue to do the terrible stuff we do.
How does your Californian upbringing influence your music, and do you think it’s a distinguishable factor in your sound?
Definitely. I grew up in Oakdale, California which I often call the “Texas of California.” It’s more conservative than people expect when they hear “California.” It is also surrounded by agricultural land as opposed to beaches and oceans. These contradictions and facts stuck with me.
Growing up there helped me understand the freedom and the pressure of living in a place with strong cultural roots. California’s broader openness to genre, style, and culture shaped my musical curiosity early on—however, when I try and do things that are distinctly associated with the music of the part of the state (the Euro-American versus Latin-American component) that might most represent the place I grew up culturally–country music–it never comes out quite right. (I would love to do something with an accordion someday, which I grew up hearing a ton in the music of my Latin American friends).
You’ve collaborated with an impressive lineup of musicians on your debut album, Texnia. What was working with Max Hart, Luke Reynolds, and Eric Gardner like?
It was incredible. I still can’t believe it happened, honestly. They each brought something unique to the table. Max’s organ playing on “Echo” is so incredibly emotional and adds the right gravitas. Eric gave it an incredible groove, and Luke added tension and vibe to his guitar parts. These tunes were all recorded remotely during the Covid lockdown, which was NOT how we intended to do it, but it was also cool and such a surprise and treat to hear the parts come back from various places around the world to my hard drive. Seeing and hearing what they all added to the tunes was humbling and thrilling.
How did the City of Davis’ arts grant contribute to the making of Texnia, and what does it mean to you to have received that support?
This record would not exist without a grant and the assistance of the City of Davis and its Arts and Cultural Affairs fund.
For context, seeing an issue in the inability of musicians to stay in Davis and pursue music, I pitched a concept to the city of Davis whereby a program called the Davis Independent Music Initiative (“DIMI”) would be created. Specifically, I asked them to fund one musician yearly to make a record—but only if they committed to doing it again the next year and the year after. They agreed, and the Davis Independent Music Initiative (DIMI) was born via a grant from the City of Davis Arts and Cultural Affairs Fund.
Texnia, the record that Echo is on, is the first to be made via that grant and program. Getting that support was a vote of confidence, not just in my work, but in the idea that communities should invest in their artists. It lit a fire in me to do the project justice and help grow the program so others could benefit. By all accounts, it is working. I talk about one success story here.
Your music seems to blend elements of indie rock, folk, and psychedelic sounds. How do you approach genre-bending in your songwriting?
I don’t think too much about genre when writing—I think of myself primarily as playing folk music in that all of these songs are written with me and an acoustic guitar. I try to chase the idea and serve the song by getting it to the best place possible. I’ve had people tell me I sound like Jonathan Richman because it comes out a little weird, no matter what I do. I’ve stopped resisting that and started embracing it. Whatever it is—it’s honest.
In the case of “Echo” and all the tunes on Texnia, I handed them over to Max Hart and let him run with it once I got them to the best place I could. Thus, while I wrote all the tunes, it was a collaboration with him, and there is no way these songs would sound the way they do without his incredible contributions and those of the other musicians on the record. To this extent, perhaps my other approach is to get out of the way, which I am fine with.
What’s the story behind the title of your debut album Texnia, and how does it reflect the themes and sounds of the record?
Texnia is a loose play on the Greek word “techne,” which means “art, craft, skill, or technique. ” It is a direct nod to the two places that shaped the record: Texas and California.
I worked at the “craft” of songwriting in writing these songs and tried to develop a method that worked for me in the process of getting them from seed to fruit. The songs explore time, place, and human behavior—how we grow (or don’t), how history repeats, and how the landscapes we inhabit shape us. It’s not a concept album, but there’s a strong thematic undercurrent about aging, movement, and memory; it would not exist without the travel between California and Texas.
How does your experience in the Davis/Sacramento music scene inform your approach to creating music and building a community around it?
The Davis/Sacramento scene showed me what happens when artists support each other in a place that doesn’t have all the infrastructure of a big city. It’s not about clout—it’s about community, and the better bands do that are your peers, the better you/your band will do because attention on the “scene” is good for everyone from a promotion/touring standpoint, and turns out also from a funding standpoint.
Further, having the opportunity to play in bands with folks from Tycho, An Angle, and Dusty Brown pushed me musically and made me realize how important it is to be prepared, put your best foot forward, and create space for emerging talent. That understanding shaped both DIMI and my ethos as a musician and member of the community.
You’ve mentioned the influence of modern female singer-songwriters like Phoebe Bridgers and Adrianne Lenker on your music. Can you talk about what draws you to their work?
First, they are excellent songwriters—both of them. Further, they write in ways that feel deeply personal without being self-indulgent. There’s honesty in their lyrics—sometimes brutal, sometimes tender/subtle—that resonates. They’re not afraid to be vulnerable or weird or quiet. That kind of authenticity is something I look to as a role model in writing my tunes. I get the sense that they’re writing for themselves first, and the audience is invited in—not the other way around. Because they are good at their craft (and likely have some innate natural talent)–and I think writing from a genuine place–resonates with many people, including myself.
How do you balance the introspective, personal nature of your songwriting with the need to connect with a broader audience?
I try not to overthink it (and let’s be honest: I don’t have a vast audience!). I write about what feels real to me, and I hope that by being specific and honest, it connects with someone. I also try to avoid saying things the way I’ve heard them told before. Songwriting is a craft, and I enjoy the challenge of finding a new angle on something universal. I hope listeners can listen to themselves in a song—or at least feel seen.
What’s the significance of the Davis Independent Music Initiative to you, and how do you see it making a difference in the local music scene?
DIMI has become a big part of my life. It started as an idea to give musicians in Davis a shot at making records and touring—and now that we have evidence that it is working, I hope it becomes a model for how local governments can support the arts. We’ve helped artists like Nat Lefkoff launch tours and even make rent, here.
More importantly, we’ve given the community a way to engage in the arts directly. DIMI has kept live music alive in Davis when venues are disappearing, and it has led me to a deeper understanding of some of the issues that face musicians these days: a lack of independent venues being one of those things. This, in turn, has led me to emphasize the need for more creative ways to experience live music, and house shows seem an obvious option, here.
Q: How do you think the music industry can better support local artists and communities, and what role do you see yourself playing in that conversation?
The industry needs to start thinking locally again. That means funding independent venues, supporting house shows, creating grant programs, and making space for artists to grow. I’ve written a lot about this on my Substack, but the short version is that without a grassroots infrastructure, the whole ecosystem suffers.
It is not a coincidence that the only acts selling out arenas these days are nostalgia acts and pop stars. The nostalgia acts came up when there were independent venues, and the pop acts were backed by giant corporations.
My role is to keep building those foundations where I can and to share what I’ve learned so others can do the same in their towns.
What’s the most important thing you’ve learned through your experiences as a musician, and how has it shaped your approach to creating and sharing music?
Persistence matters. Success is rarely linear, and creative work requires you to show up even when the inspiration isn’t there. I’ve learned to treat songwriting as a practice—something you keep doing whether or not you feel like a genius that day. That’s shaped how I share my music, too—focusing less on “what’s hot” and more on building long-term relationships with whatever community I am a part of.
I have heard it said that physical art (i.e., paintings, sculpture, etc.…) marks space, whereas music marks time. I think of the music I make as marking that time in my life, and I am happy to contribute to those others doing the same. Hopefully, all of it collectively (whether what I make leaves a mark) becomes a part of a more significant moment that historians might look back upon and talk about how those people were doing this thing based on it and which led to this other thing.
Can you tell us about your creative process in songwriting and how you approach crafting lyrics and melodies?
I’m a big believer in writing quickly and editing later. In his book On Writing (the best book on creativity and writing generally, in my humble opinion), Stephen King advocates this. I often use alternate tunings to shake things up and avoid falling into predictable patterns. Lyrics come from journaling, snippets of ideas, or lines that hit me out of nowhere. If the melody doesn’t work, I throw the song out—even if I like the words because a song needs a melody, and that melody has to carry some emotion.
How do you envision your live shows evolving with the release of Texnia, and what can fans expect from your performances?
I want the live shows to be a bit like school. I am not being hyperbolic. So far, every time I have played these tunes, I have talked about the grant that gave rise to them and how, for independent music to continue, we need grass-roots support for music. To this end, I want to do more house shows and hybrid performances—music with conversation. I’ll talk about community building, grant funding, and the themes behind the songs. Some shows will be traditional festival sets, but I’m leaning into the educational, communal vibe wherever possible.
Looking ahead to the release of Texnia, what are your hopes and dreams for the album, and what do you hope listeners take away from it?
I hope some people find their way to it and enjoy it. I try not to have enormous expectations and grandiose dreams. With respect to the songs and the record, I hope they find a way into people’s record collections and that they return to it when the mood strikes and/or to reflect on a certain moment and/or time; I hope this happens because it either makes them feel something or forget something. If it finds a broader audience, I hope that the story of how it was made resonates and that other communities begin investing in local music to have diversity amongst music long into the future. Regardless of audience size, I hope it encourages someone, somewhere, to host a house show or start a music grant in their town. If that happens, the album has done more than I hoped when I began to write the tunes.
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