‘Accidental pop star’ comes into his own
Indie rocker Shamir releases album that reflects how he always wanted to sound
PHILADELPHIA— Shamir began his career with the kind of immediate success most pop music makers can only dream of.
Therewas only one problem, says the Las Vegas-raised songwriter, who has been a Philadelphian for five years: It wasn’t his dream.
While still a teenager, the singer and multi-instrumentalist whose last name is Baileywon acclaim for his 2014 EP, “Northtown,” named after theworkingclass Sin City neighborhood where he grewup, across the street froma pig farm.
The next year, he blew up with “Ratchet,” an album of sly electro-pop recorded in Brooklyn. “On the Regular,” an irresistibly, infectious single, became a viral hit.
“Iwas on the same label as Adele, and Iwas playing arenas,” Shamir, 25, recalled, a few days after the release of his seventh album, “Shamir.”
Back when “Ratchet” was taking off, Shamir did dates with Duran Duran andNile Rodgers& Chic, andwas the first act to ever play the T-Mobile Arena in Vegas, opening for fellow hometown heroes the Killers.
“When it all started, it was like, ‘OK, this isn’tmy dream, but a lot of people want this. People die for this. So let’s give it a try.’ ”
Instead, during his time as what he calls an “accidental pop star,” he saw that itwas hard to create intimacy when playing in such big rooms.
True self-expressionwas discouraged.
Shamir identifies as nonbinary but uses “he” and “him” as pronouns. “Howdo I say this?” he said in 2017. “I’m a male biologically, and I’ve always felt like a boy. But I’ve always been very feminine.”
When hewas being marketed as a pop star, though, “if Iwanted to dress in a more feminine way, I’d get a call frommy management to tellme not to do that. There’s just that control aspect of it, where I was forced to be like this one-dimensional caricature.”
Which Shamir most decidedly is not. As a Black artist who made his name with a hip-hop-flavored earworm powered by programmed beats, the music industrywanted to put him in an “urban” pigeonhole.
That rubbed him the wrongway. “I like guitar music. I hate playing to backing tracks. Live music is more fun when it’s all live. It gives youmore room to improvise. When I’m playing withmy threepiece, I’m like, let it rip!”
Shamir sings in a high, piercing voice that’s technically a countertenor but bears a resemblance to falsetto singers like Russell Thompkins Jr. of the Stylistics. Shamir effortlessly blends punk, pop, grunge and country.
He’s shownan affinity for the latter genre going back to the “Northtown” EP, which included a cover of Canadian country singer Lindi Ortega, who he hung out with for aweekendlong songwriting session in Toronto last year. He told NewYork magazine that the one songwriter he’s “never not inspired by” is Taylor Swift.
The most straight-ahead country on “Shamir” is “Other Side,” a songwritten fromthe perspective of a woman raising three children while her husband is serving in Vietnam.
Itwas inspired by an “UnsolvedMysteries” episode. “There are certain things I’llwatch to the point where it’s the only thing that can help me go to sleep,” Shamir says. “That was one of those.” His current fave is YouTuber Bailey Sarian, who mixes true crime stories and makeup tips. “Shewas made forme,” he says.
Shamirmoved to Philadelphia in 2015 after coming fromBrooklyn to see a punk band play aWest Philly house show. “Iwas just blown away by how diverse itwas. I feel a lot of kinship and love for the scene here. People aren’t creepy andweird.”
Since settling in South
Philadelphia, he’s suffered through personal struggles and stayed creatively productive.
In 2017, he released two home-recorded albums of guitar-driven indie rock— “Hope” and “Revelations.” That year, a manic episode resulted in his being hospitalized, where hewas diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
Last year, he released an album, “Be the Yee, Here Comes theHaw,” whose title wryly mocked “Old Town Road” trendiness. He’s written TV reviews and horoscopes (with his mother, Ameenah) for online magazine Talkhouse. On the absurdist Netflix animated show “Tuca& Bertie,” he voices Draca, a talking houseplant.
And nowhe’s also a label boss. Last year, he launched Accidental Popstar records, which he runs out of his house.
“The label is just music,” he says. “I’m focused on gettingmy artists everything they need. I’m producing the records. I’m shipping the records. I’m doing everything. It’s very rewarding.”
“Shamir” pulses with an optimistic energy absent from much of the artist’s
recentwork.
“Sonically, it’s the best representation of howI alwayswanted to sound,” he says. “A lot of people were mad becausemy stuff after ‘Ratchet’wasn’t danceable. Iwanted this record to merge every corner ofmy fan base. Over the past few years, everyone felt alienated. People wanted more pop songs, more indie stuff, more grunge stuff. I’m just like, listen: You can have it all.”
“OnMy Own” is a postbreakup songwritten before the pandemic, but it celebrates self-reliance in uneasy times.
The artist is gratified by its popularity. “‘OnMy Own’ ismy top track now on Spotify,” Shamir says. “It beat out ‘On the Regular.’ That’s something that I thoughtwould never happen.”
“A lot of people were mad because my stuff after ‘Ratchet’ wasn’t danceable. I wanted this record to merge every corner of my fan base.”
— Shamir on his new album