Irish songwriter Dermot Kennedy has already racked up over 300 million streams on Spotify, sold out Brooklyn Steel, and performed at Billboard Live all before even releasing his first album. Born and raised in Dublin, the 25-year-old initially got interested in music during his teens. He quickly began busking to gain experience and exposure — it wasn’t long before people began to take notice. And although he got his start by performing live for strangers, Kennedy is always thinking about how the listener is enjoying the music on their own.
“I started out wanting to just do the acoustic, folk thing and wanting to be like Damien Rice or David Gray, one of those artists — that was what inspired me in the first place,” he tells me over coffee at Lafayette in NoHo. “But then a couple of years ago I was working with a producer in London and we had a song that was totally acoustic, literally a folk song with my guitar and a vocal, and he put a really heavily programmed beat over it — it was really in your face and it just felt so good. It wasn’t intentional, it happened organically but it felt like a really cool sound to chase.
Photographed by Nate Morgan.
Kennedy’s work is a mixture of Irish folk with modern urban production, creating a unique and intimate soundscape. His interest in fusing different genres and embracing experimentation is a beautiful contrast that has earned a following around the world, but he considers lyrics paramount to his work. And despite his extensive live performance, he writes music with the individual listening experience in mind.
“There’s a bunch of stuff you do in the studio that, which for a moment you think, ‘I won’t be able to do this live,’ but you kinda just gotta disregard that and figure it out later on,” he says. “Cause if it sounds good, it just has to exist. And if something sounds cool when it’s recorded, you can definitely get it across live.”
Kennedy has a slew of festival appearances set for the rest of the year but is committed to working on the album early next year. He mentions his interest in working with big names like Travis Scott but also mentions more traditional outfits like The Gloaming. “Two things from totally different worlds,” he shares, ensuring that his debut record will be a masterful marriage of genres. We just have to wait for it.
On the day of our interview, Lakeith Stanfield (whose Twitter name simply read “nobody”) tweeted to his 138,000 strong and responsive following. “If i was being myself in interviews i wouldn’t say one word,” he wrote, before quickly deleting it. (He’s a frequent post purger across all social platforms.) When I bring it up, hoping to get at least one word from the enigmatic man of the hour, and star of the summer breakout hit Sorry to Bother You, he laughs.
“You can’t really get a scope of a person through an interview, nor can you get it through Twitter or Instagram. You can get what people give out and what they wanna show, but you can’t really get down to the nuances of what makes a human being what they are on these platforms,” he explains, in between sips of wine from a plastic cup. “It’s insane that sometimes we think that’s the case, particularly with celebrity, we think ‘interview equals insight,’ and I don’t necessarily think that that’s the case. An interview is still a role I’m playing. I’m still giving you what I want you to see.”
Stanfield remains in control with a firm grasp on what we want to see. He’s not a completely private person—he once tweeted out his phone number so followers could call him just to chat— but seems generally uninterested in flirting with the nature of his growing celebrity, or oversharing. He occasionally posts videos of himself portraying different characters on Instagram—one instance, a freestyle rap video, received backlash for including homophobic and misogynistic language, forcing him to post a follow-up video apologizing for the incident. Both were deleted shortly after. He navigates the line between being approachable while still maintaining distance from people trying to figure him out, which is near-impossible and ultimately besides the point.
The 27-year-old actor was born and raised in San Bernardino, California, a suburb an hour outside of Los Angeles, where he’s currently based. He prefers the quiet calm of the West Coast. “City life tends to be a little more imbalanced than I like, and I prefer more balance in my life,” he figures. “I guess I prefer to be a little more on the outskirts.”
Regardless of his penchant for life on the fringe, Stanfield’s increasing profile continues to pierce through the Hollywood mainstream. His films are often met with general acclaim and award recognition. In 2014, he played civil rights activist Jimmie Lee Jackson in the historical film Selma, which was later nominated for the Academy Award for Best Picture. In 2015, he portrayed Snoop Dogg in Straight Outta Compton, a biopic about the rise of hip hop pioneers N.W.A., which received an Academy Award nomination for Best Screenplay. He co-starred in last year’s widely lauded political horror Get Out, written and directed by Jordan Peele in his feature-length debut. It was nominated for Best Picture and won the Academy Award for Best Screenplay.
He currently stars in the praised FX series Atlanta, after a chance meeting at a club with the show’s creator and co-star Donald Glover essentially found him cast on the spot. Stanfield plays the fan favorite Darius, a zen visionary who loves guns. He often chooses roles that are more idiosyncratic, making him one of the most intriguing character actors of the moment.
“I think that naturally, I’m more attracted to roles that kind of go in line with the reality that I know, and the reality that I know simply doesn’t, most times, fit into stereotypes,” he tells me, about how he approaches each project. “I think that it’s naturally my course to do things that speak to me and that tends to be things outside the scope of someone’s imagination.”
His latest, Sorry to Bother You, which premiered at Sundance Film Festival, goes far beyond the scope of imagination and then some. It’s a stylishly searing social satire by rapper/ producer turned filmmaker Boots Riley (in his film debut) that grabs you by the collar and rattles you to the core. Stanfield plays young telemarketer Cassius Green, who rises through the ranks of his corporation after learning how to utilize his ‘white voice’ before becoming caught up in a conspiracy that threatens his morals and humanity. Cast alongside an impressive roster including Tessa Thompson, Danny Glover, and Armie Hammer, Stanfield’s steadfast performance carries the film through all its explosive glory.
“Sorry to Bother You is in that vein, where we use absurd, crazy things to give a different perspective to things that happen in real life,” he says. “I think that life is absurd, so naturally I would be drawn to stories that are a little more absurd. I don’t shy away from things.”
Stanfield’s performance is staggering in its unflinching honesty, in which he’s able to command a scene while simultaneously portraying sincere vulnerability. It’s moments like these that feel most authentic and give the audience the closest look at the true artist.
There’s a covert wisdom that occasionally gets eclipsed by Stanfield’s own eccentricities, which extend beyond the screen into his public persona. His aloofness is frequently commented upon, as he likes to toy with anyone who attempts to figure him out. Yet he demonstrates a clear element of restraint—with every weird remark he shares, he gives you just enough to think about without revealing too much. He keeps you on your toes. He gives you what he wants you to see.
This fall, he’ll portray an NSA expert in The Girl in the Spider’s Web, the sequel to the sleek and brooding The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo (2011). It’s his first taste of a true action film, but it’s “not a typical action film,” he clarifies. He’s also working on some music. He was featured on a song with Riley’s group The Coup for the Sorry to Bother You soundtrack and has plans to release his own stuff. Right now, he’s listening to Marvin Gaye. “Such a brilliant artist, all the way around. For me, him as a singer is how I envisioned acting, being able to take on different roles and personas, and I think he did that.”
“I think the things I wanna do will be revealed to me,” he says, regarding his plans for the future. “As I grow, I’m beginning to get a little bit of a clearer idea of the things that I wanna be a part of. But because I’m constantly growing, I don’t know yet.”
As he catapults to fame, Dacre Montgomery, 23, confronts an inevitable conundrum. The Australian actor, who still calls Perth home, landed his first two major roles in quick succession: a lead in the live-action Power Rangers film, and—perhaps more consequential—a showy spot on the second season of Netflix’s 80s throwback horror series Stranger Things. His Billy is an extraordinary breakout character and with that comes the expected; there are newfound freedom and comfort, but also gossip, scrutiny and—now more than ever—a pressure to be a young onscreen talent who can shape a fruitful career while blocking out all the noise. Montgomery seems to be doing just fine.
“I’m a dreamer like anybody else. I care about family and friends and my work, but I don’t want to dispel this mysterious quality that I think movie actors have had for 100 years,” Montgomery explains, alluding to a moment of hesitancy after Netflix asked if he wanted to leak his now-viral audition tape for Stranger Things. Montgomery, with a perfect American accent and Golden Age of Hollywood looks, delivers his lines with an impressive but restrained intensity. The video is replete with outfit changes, a dance sequence over Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” and Montgomery shirtless—a highlight considering his undeniable heartthrob status.
Ultimately, it captured the attention of The Duffer Brothers, who then cast him as Billy, the new bully in town: a hot-headed, mullet-sporting recluse with an inner rage and pain that makes him a Stranger Things enigma. There’s a sinisterness to him that’s refreshing for a show where evil is more often than not supernatural. Montgomery adds, “Stephen King talked about how the human villain is more dangerous than the supernatural.”
The reference is just an example of Montgomery’s instinctive ability to dive into the psychology of a character, all the more impressive considering Stranger Things is only his second gig. But it also makes sense for the actor, who grew up around film and TV. “Both my parents worked in the industry. I would be passed between the production office and the set. When I was about 10 or 11 I said I wanted to do something in front of the camera and started pursuing it.” He eventually entered a prestigious drama high school followed by an arts university, where his craft was put to the test. During his third and final year of school, Montgomery went home every night and made audition videos for himself. “I had an American accent tutorial. I was inundating myself with that and emailing every manager and agent in LA.” That October, he landed Power Rangers. The next, through that bold audition, Stranger Things.
What’s surprising about Montgomery’s take on Billy is that it’s an entirely original performance, crafted from an innate understanding of the story. Jack Nicholson in The Shining may have been a launching pad, but as for other research, Montgomery didn’t really do much. He started smoking cigarettes. “Marlboro Red smoke is a lot thicker and plays better on camera than herbal cigarettes. I don’t smoke in real life so I had to learn.” The clothing Billy wears? It’s influenced by Montgomery’s style, not vice versa. Along with the Duffers, he built the character from scratch.
There is something methodical and mysterious about the way Montgomery thinks about his career. For better or worse, he helped make the macho Billy—with his shirt always open to the last few buttons— memorable, enough to arouse curiosity from fans. Billy became an internet sensation.
As seen in the audition tape, Montgomery knows that Billy has to be outrageous and he ties this into his deep-rooted insecurities. “The concept of threatened masculinity, a lot of people were talking to me about it. Is Billy racist? Is he a homosexual?” Despite the chatter surrounding his character, Montgomery is careful to never let it seep into his own life. He’s private and when he gives some of himself—as with the video—it’s deliberate. The less people know about him, the greater he feels he will be able to disappear on screen. “I have adopted a disguise that I wear. It’s not as ludicrous as it might sound. It’s not some weird thing. Just subtle things. If I get recognized I’m happy to give people the time of day, but I’d rather not.”
That doesn’t mean he entirely avoids the perks or responsibilities of being in the spotlight. He doesn’t make audition tapes anymore. Now he’s more selective and reads every script that comes his way. He can also help usher in a new generation of talent. “I feel like I’m with this sort of new generation of actors. Seeing other young actors and actresses that are coming up now, I want to build that rat-pack of the moment.”
Images: A. P. Kim for ESSENTIAL HOMME. Styling: Terry Lu.
Aaron Maine sits coiled on a couch, the bleached- blonde hair he sported on the cover of his third album as Porches, The House, now back to its natural brown. It’s a particularly cold day in New York, one that elicits the very kind of painting Maine’s lyrics draw.
“I think that I’ll stay inside / If you don’t think that they’d mind / I can’t let it find me,”
Maine sings on “Find Me,” his deep-throated crooning in perfect juxtaposition to the industrial- sounding electronica that solidifies The House’s first single as the new winter dance track. This contrast is, in fact, fitting of Maine himself—he is both quiet and commanding, dainty and rough, vulnerable and powerful. He is complex and honest, qualities that have made Porches such a successful and relatable project for Maine; often speaking bluntly about anxiety, depression, and solitude—issues he confronts when creating music. “The practice of writing and making work is like a therapy or a meditation to me, and that generates a lot of happiness, peace of mind, and self worth, so I think I rely on the physical practice of making work for the cathartic aspect,” he says, his red painted fingers gracefully playing with the chain-link bracelet hanging off his wrist. “It’s kind of like a journal entry that goes public, which is an interesting part of the process each time.”
We talk about how he feels about his personal thoughts becoming public data. “It still surprises me—it’s so personal up until it comes out.” This is the transaction of art, making what’s inside of you shareable. Maine is privy to this, and has become more wary of what he says. “After the initial vomiting of the ideas I kind of imagine, you know, does anyone need to hear this? Do I want anyone to even think about this? Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it feels like a massive exploitation of my personal life. It’s a tricky line. When you get yourself in a position that doesn’t feel very good there are ways to do it that still feel honest but also respectful of yourself and the people around you.”
And while Maine describes The House as “a bit more personal and for myself than it has been in the past,” it also includes some noteworthy collaborations, such as Dev Hynes, Alex G (whom Maine toured with and was inspired by during the creation of his newest album. “I really admired the disparity on his records, genre-wise, sound-wise, and production quality-wise.”), and his father, Peter Maine, who is also a musician. “It just felt really good to have his voice on [the record]. It’s almost like the narrator popping in. It felt important.”
Maine first heard his dad’s song, “Understanding,” in Westchester, New York, where he grew up. Contrary to the resentment some people have towards the suburbs they grew up in, Maine still thinks of them fondly. “I really liked it,” he says. “I always liked silence and walking around.” We share a laugh over the irony that his love of silence has nestled him in the at-times deafening chaos of New York City, but I’m left with the impression that Maine can carry a sense of silence even in the busiest of environments. Home is important for him, I can tell that much, and when I ask him what the title, The House, means, he says, “The first thing I would think about when addressing my feelings was in relation to my house or my apartment. If I was far away I would think of when I was going to be there next. If I was home I would think about feeling stuck or feeling comfortable…I could look at my relationship to this steady thing and judge myself based on that. I like how The House leaves it up to the listener and even myself to decide. The relationship is always shifting.”
For someone as creative and as versatile as Maine (both his sound and his style have undergone various transformations throughout the years), the yearning for stability, silence, and home makes sense. He fiddles with the tops of his checkered Vans, eyes glazed with a daydream as he thinks about happiness. “I like to be working…even if I’m not creating good stuff. I just like doing it all of the time.” He pauses. “I like to have all of my relationships in a good place and feel like I’m being respectful and treating people well. I want to buy a house with my girlfriend; live in Scandinavia and dip into the cities when it’s time. Something like that I guess. I want to be a little isolated in a house. Quiet.” “Instead New York,” I joke. He smiles, “Instead New York.”
