Font Remain True Without Relinquishing Control

In the age of technology, can musicians succeed without plastering themselves all over the internet? For Austin-based post-punk quintet Font it’s not only possible, it’s an integral part of their essence. The experimental band is a conglomeration of the five twenty-somethings’ passion for making music that feels good rather than trying to sell a persona. It’s refreshing getting to go into an interview with zero knowledge about who you’re talking to—other than their two released songs—and experiencing their live performance at Levitation. This mysterious image has exactly the desired effect, people focusing on their music because it is as simple as that: Their music is who they are.

On an uncharacteristically cold October day in Austin, I walk into the haze of The Ballroom at Spiderhouse—an old Victorian home-turned-live music hub where so many local musicians got their start. I retreat to a secluded practice space above the venue, where Thom Waddill, Jack Owens, Anthony Lawrence, Roman Parnell and Logan Wagner have spent many sweaty summer afternoons hauling their dual drum kits up the stairs to play for hours on-end with nothing but a tiny window for fresh air. Luckily, I’m spared from the heat and get to enjoy the company of five musicians who, to an outsider, seem like they have known each other for years. There is a certain comfort in how they interact and discuss their music—a flow that felt like it could only be achieved by a band going on 30, but Font have barely been together for a year.

The magnetism of Austin’s collaborative music scene brought college roommates Thom Waddill (singer/guitarist) and Jack Owens (drummer) to the city to continue their passion for music, leaving behind their dance band to search for a new sound that moved them—and a group whose energy felt right. They embraced Austin’s vast community with open arms. They, fittingly, met guitarist Anthony Lawrence at an open mic night at the historic Cactus Cafe—a stage that has hosted the likes of Lyle Lovett, Townes Van Zandt and The Chicks. People may know Austin as the “live music capital of the world,” but they don’t always discuss how many incredible artists have gigged around the city at the start of their careers. Wadill and Lawrence began hosting massive jam sessions in a freeform art space as a means of expression to deal with the repercussions of COVID. They needed a place to let loose, and that’s where bassist Roman Parnell and percussionist Logan Wagner fell into the fold. “I literally just showed up at [Thom’s] house,” Wagner says. “They were part of running a DIY warehouse space, and I lived a three-minute walk away. I met them, and they put me off for six months, and then two [SXSW]’s ago, they were like, ‘Do you want to hit a kettlebell?’”

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Once the group was solidified, their next challenge was discovering Font’s sound. Austin was the perfect melting pot of genres and artists for them to find their groove; it’s a city that gives creative freedom and space to breathe and refrains from pushing a distinctive sonic personality on its musicians—welcoming different ideas and iterations of what live music could be. “It was, simultaneously, profoundly safe and intimidating. It makes you want to access something, but you also feel supported and encouraged to explore creatively,” Wagner admits. Font pulls from electronic, punk and pop influences, continuing to push the boundaries of their own live imprint.

For a band that slowly melded together over months of performances and experimentation, it makes sense that they continue to emphasize their on-stage presence—so much so that they have only two recorded songs to their name. “Recorded music and live shows are often paired together, but they’re completely different things. We accidentally learned to do one in a way that we feel really good about,” Wagner says. “Doing things that exist in a vacuum is so much safer and intimate with an audience. We’re putting something out there for anyone to come and spend whatever time they want with. You have no control over the energy exchange of that. It’s more precious to figure out how to distill what we can from a live performance into something that someone will probably listen to on an iPhone speaker.”

That desire to explore their creative energy pushes them to play with their sound constantly. While focusing primarily on experimentation in practice and playing music that is so akin to Font that it becomes effortless, they love the passionate exchange that only gigging can give them. “Live shows just feel more aesthetically ambiguous because you have the tone of the venue setting, whatever clothes are around, whatever the smell is—there’s so many factors playing into it rather than recording in an isolated space,” Wagner explains. The atmosphere may direct the show’s energy to a point, but Font’s music truly frames the space they are in.

Lawrence, a self-proclaimed “studio rat,” has a different perspective on recording versus live shows. From his corner of the room, where he has been quietly lost in thought, he chimes in: “I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the power of a sound in a room,” he says. “Something that I’m conscious of all the time is our on-stage sonic dynamics and how space is created for the sounds in the room, and the power that a non-traditional sound can have in a space. I think I’m drawn to the studio just because of the sonic possibility of not needing those outside elements all the time, but translating those elements to real space can be a very salient point of a night—when you just hear something you’re not used to.” There is an under-appreciated value in unpredictability that the guitarist nails, be it a reaction to a note change in a song or a dance move in the crowd that you want to capture sonically—it can all lead to a spark of artistry that the seclusion of a studio can never replicate.

Although the band may not love jumping into recording spaces, they were comfortable enough with two songs to record them—even if it meant giving up any future tinkering. Their singles—“Sentence I” and “It”—are two sides of the same Font coin, both packed to the brim with infectious energy and a multi-faceted display of sound. “Sentence I” is a celebration of ‘80s punk with shouty verses, guitar-heavy melodies and a dominating presence from Wagner on the cowbell—a Font essential. “It” leans into the band’s love of electronic music and Lawerence’s 404 Sampler, an integral part of their live shows. Using a sampler adds a layer to their performance that expands on the idea of what a traditional garage band is supposed to be—leaning into creating electronic rhythms that would make anyone want to move. One thing about a Font song is that it will make you want to dance. “Sentence I” was released a year ago, and the band felt that it was ready to be recorded because the track boasted more straightforward guitar work, versus the layered production some of their other songs feature. “It” on the other hand, according to Wagner, was a homework assignment of sorts—I’d give it an A+. The song was also an opportunity for Font to show their range as a band while establishing continuity with “Sentence I.”

That trepidation of committing to decisions—doubting every choice and fearing regret—while recording their music is such a symptom of being in your 20s. Add the pressure of making art you feel proud of, and you have a massive recipe for second-guessing. But that is what makes Font so great; they want to make something they’re certain will make an impact. “I feel like the moment we start having to record something is the moment we have to start making another set of decisions or setting things in stone,” Waddill says about the band’s trepidation to cement songs on a recording. “I realized there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to let go of this sense of possibility that comes with not recording a song.” The thrill of experimentation is evident when they perform; sometimes, they even surprise each other with their choices during their live performances.

“I think there are a lot of semi-open moments in our set. I think, across the board, everybody has a lot of space to be listening to each other and playing off of that,” Owens explains about their on-stage improv. “There are still times in the set where Logan will do something I’ve never heard before and I stop. When we were on tour, I literally stopped playing because he did something—and I was like, ‘That is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard.’ With Logan, I get surprised by stuff he does all the time.” It all goes back to energy. They can feed off each other’s risks and ideas uniquely to pull out sounds that continue to excite them (and anyone who has the pleasure of listening). It’s not a carefully choreographed dance, it’s a freeform expression—and it’s brilliant.

Font’s commitment to perfecting their live sound and wanting to share that energy with people led to them booking a gig at ACL this year, an out-of-body experience for Wadill. “Whatever that show was, I don’t have access to it mentally. I saw a video my friend took walking up to the stage, and our sound projected across the park,” he says. “Then—the jumbotron that was switching between us—I thought, “Oh, that’s not for me to see.’” The grand ACL stage was jarring for a band used to playing intimate local venues. “The show we played [before] ACL was at Johnny Brenda’s in Philadelphia, and the distance from stage to the barrier at ACL was deeper than Johnny Brenda’s entire stage,” Parnell describes. For Font, the endless view of Zilker is a stark contrast to the closeness they are used to when they play in small bars or venues that let them share spaces with folks who’ve bought into their music. The ACL stage may have made the performance feel less personal, but I’m excited to see how they integrate that exposed feeling into their performances in the future.

ACL is also jarring for the guys because of its large-scale production with people conducting different responsibilities and events at every turn. They feel out of place with how different it was from a typical night just loading their gear onto a bar stage. Waddill jokingly recalls a moment when he dealt with speaking with their artist ambassador and feeling nervous about asking for assistance. The guys also joke about “opening for Kendrick,” which is technically accurate—as they performed on the same stage as him hours before he went on. I can imagine the imposter syndrome Font might be feeling as a band that likes to keep their head down and focus on their craft—all the fanfare surrounding a big production like a music festival can be overwhelming.

Yet they are still so grateful they were asked to be a part of it in the first place, although they are still trying to process what that means for them. In their recollection, Waddill jokes that he is still unsure how they pulled off being asked to perform at such a massive festival, but they happily took the experience in stride. For the most part, I think the “fish out of water” moment has created some fond memories for the band. Wagner remembers a hilarious moment that happened right before they went on: “Tony was trying to find a beer before we played, and we couldn’t get back to the concessions. Right before we went on stage to perform, the artist ambassador got on his radio.” Mimicking radio feedback, he continues, “Yeah, we’re gonna need a beer to the stage.” All the guys erupt in a chorus of laughter, remembering how insane it felt to be catered to like, well, rockstars.

As Font continues to grow together, they strive to make something they feel is moving and worthwhile—not just a catchy dance hit for the sake of listening, though their music is still undeniably dancey. Rebelling against being put in a genre box, they just like to make sounds and see where they take them. However, not yearning for mainstream success makes those feelings of self-doubt creep in more often, because they aren’t looking for the traditionally outward validation that the industry values most. There is no doubt that putting any kind of creative work out there is an exposing feeling, so finding peace with what you create is key. The band looks inward for confidence in what they are playing, and they have a special insight from their bassist—who saw them play as Font before he ever joined the band. “I think we can be pretty self-deprecating. There have definitely been times when Roman, having been someone who has seen the show, is like, ‘No, like that works,’ and I can trust him,” Waddill explains.

While they become more comfortable with—and interested in—trusting the world with their music, they remain elusive as faceless members of Font online. “Something that we talked about at the very start is that music is the #1 thing, period. Putting all of our attention into that and trying to fill spaces with sounds to keep that type of momentum going. I don’t think we’ve ever made a conscious choice not to be visible,” Owens says. “It’s almost a double-edged sword, because you want us to be able to be like, ‘This is what we sound like.’ Then, if we do, I feel like some of the mystery is gone.” So, now, it’s become a discussion of whether or not to lean into this accidental ambiguity, or if they need to give into that industry pressure to further progress as an act—right now, however, they can lie comfortably in the shadows.

That choice—or accidental action—has given them a reputation whether they want it or not; personas are an integral part of what makes musicians into artists. Certain acts put considerable effort into shaping who they are online or what people think of them, but Font is letting their music do the talking rather than trying to formulate those thoughts on-stage and online. Lawrence chimes in with his feelings about their persona: “The sparseness of our digital presence is purely an artifact of—at least for me—my anxiety about developing a visual language for something. Having an Instagram that only acts as a catalog of when we are playing takes a lot of decision-weight off of me and [puts it] into the energies around writing songs.”

“I think that’s what vulnerability is, you know what I mean?” Waddill adds, regarding having an on-stage persona. “I’ve had many experiences seeing stage-talk that’s the opposite of vulnerable. Sometimes it works, but sometimes, if there’s a lot of talk or stuff that doesn’t have to do with music, it hinders it. I think we want to keep it medium-specific and try to do what we can to not sap the music of its potential power.”

However, with the growth of social media and the curse of everyone having the world in their pocket, a persona of some kind is inevitable. Font agrees, though, that that’s not always a bad thing. For some musicians, it’s a bonus to their music. “Any kind of pop since the ‘40s—the music isn’t the only material. It’s a body. It’s sung by people. It conducts cultural frequencies outside of just sound. For someone like Bowie, so much of the power of his music comes from this whole package of inner energies, something a performer can pick up on and broadcast. If they do it right, it comes through the music, lyrics, performance, dress and dance. All of the things that pop music brings together. I think the most important thing is doing it in a way that feels vulnerable and authentic,” Waddill continues.

A lot of being real comes from being honest with yourself, and the guys of Font cherish that idea even when talking about the music they like. They aren’t afraid to throw out big names as influences, such as Radiohead, LCD Soundsystem and Alex G. It was oddly refreshing to hear a band with such an inventive sound praise popular music. Often, in indie circles, people compete for who can find the most underground artists—and while you can be inspired by musicians doing unique things, it is equally valid to be inspired by artists who are known worldwide. Parnell elaborates on this: “I feel like it’s the circles I’ve been in. It’s like, ‘Oh, dude, you can’t like that.’ But Tony is like, ‘No, it’s good.’ And then I’ll listen to it. I’m like, it is good. Why do I not like it? Just because it’s big?” he ponders. “Tony hates hating,” Wagner chimes in, which incites a chorus of the guys gushing over Charli XCX’s music. There can’t be anything better than a bunch of Texas dudes raving about a hyper-pop princess.

With inarguably an impressive amount of success in such a short time and with a minimal catalog, Font is looking forward to finally getting comfortable in the studio and leaning into making decisions rather than shying away from them. Now that they are becoming more confident in who they are—even if they refuse to define that sound aloud—they are excited to record their first album. However, like all young creatives, they are fighting to find the time to make music. “All of this has always been done through deep, lethargic, post-workday practices—which sometimes may serve the music but often hinders it because you can’t give your full self to it,” Wagner confesses.

They have garnered a solid group of fans through the dredges of late-night practices and gigs. Font admits that they have started to see people singing their songs back to them, which they hadn’t experienced before. But recording music means making an archive that your audiences have constant access to. It’s a moment where you can see them realize the power of recorded music, especially how it might be different from performing live and, perhaps, not as fun for them. Still, it’s a space for people to connect to their music no matter where they are—which, I think, is the most remarkable part of all of this. It endures as the most accessible connection between the art and the artist. “I think we’re all feeling excited about recording now,” Wagner notes. “Because now, we have that experience of being like, ‘Okay, we know how to execute these things, and it feels more approachable.’ It’s exciting to think of tackling these things that feel elusive to us. I’m excited to discover what the songs can become.”

For anyone creating something vulnerable in any way, it can be scary to relinquish control of how someone might receive that vulnerability. You need the confidence to share those creations and succeed in doing so; Font is already on that path. “I think we’ve definitely got affirmation in various forms, through shows and tours and meeting people. I think that coming home from work when you don’t have anything out, you’re just mining away at a thing,” Waddill expresses. “I think we all have a pretty good sense of our aesthetic, and I just want to work on it.”

I can feel the restlessness in the room of a group, hindered by the world around them but inspired by it all the same. For a band all about energy, it’s apparent that Font’s magnetism is why they have stuck out only a year into their journey as a band. We spend the afternoon crammed into that practice space with memories etched into the walls, genuinely listening to what each other had to say, laughing at unfinished thoughts and silly quips, all while pondering the utter magnitude that music can have with the people around us.

Font Remain True Without Relinquishing Control

The Austin quintet have just two recorded songs and virtually no digital footprint, yet they’re one of Texas’ most exciting new bands—and folks are flocking in droves to see them play.