By Chloe Flaherty

Written
March 22, 2023

Addie Alaimo is a Los Angeles-based musician who has been making waves ever since her debut album Songs for Stella, reportedly titled after the friend whom she started making music for. To many in the LA music scene, Alaimo has already staked her claim as a prolific writer and performer despite the short amount of time she’s been regularly releasing music. Her music is an emotional meditation on nostalgia and often reminisces the passing of time, something that has proven to be extremely prevalent in both her music and her personal relationship with success. Motifs of admiration and longing from afar show up not only in her melancholic lyrical perspectives, but also in the sense of intimacy she creates with her gentle acoustic guitar and drifting, yet deliberate production. Much of her work incorporates elements of folk, country, and indie rock paired with beautifully forlorn, yet addictively relatable lyricism. In “Guitar Players Always Win,” Alaimo sang, “I usually don’t do anything unless / I’m told to but / that faceless stranger’s turning into you.”

Alaimo released her debut song, “Me Myself And,” on June 3, 2022, and quickly followed it with her first ever gig at The Mint, Los Angeles. On August 19, she released her second single, “Haystack,” and, soon after, “Girls & Cars & New York City,” the third and final single before the release of her album. Her album Songs for Stella was published on October 7, 2022 and was the first release under Standoff Records, which she once described as “the coolest and dopest label in the world.” With help from childhood friend and producer Riley Schmedeman, Alaimo has cultivated an incredibly compelling sound that continues to develop and take new forms. 

In my interview with her, Alaimo discusses the significance of honesty in her music, ambition versus chance in the LA music scene, the constraint of commitment, her album release, and, of course – time. In a city saturated with artists and entrepreneurs alike, much of Alaimo’s music career is a rejection of Los Angeles’ success-oriented mindset. “This is the time to be… young,” she remarks, “To fuck around and find out. I want to embrace that as much as possible.”  Having started out as a visual artist and discovering her passion for music on a whim, direction is something Alaimo has grappled with throughout her life but now, as a musician, she is “taking time back” like never before.

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C: Introduce yourself!

A: My name is Addie Alaimo! I’m a musician from Los Angeles.

C: How did you end up getting into music?

A: I think it was a bet… technically. My friend and I wanted to exchange these, kind of, creative vanity projects. 

C: Creative vanity projects?

A: (Laughs) She wanted to write something and I wanted to not do visual art… we were both doing them because we had time to do nothing. In high school I was feeling really burnt out and I thought, you know, If I’m not going to do anything creative in my own time, “I’m gonna make this for my friend and she’s gonna make something for me.” I originally thought I was going to make a CD of, maybe, 3 songs for her? That definitely did not happen. But, there was this moment during summer when I was really set on making a CD happen for her and my dad was like, “you should ask Riley to help you.” I mean, I’ve known Riley since preschool so I was like no. But eventually I did. And now it’s turned into this. 

C: So you had no interest in music before this project?

A: None. Being a kid in LA there are all of these… delusions of grandeur. Always. I’ve been a visual artist since childhood and, you know, I was praised for my work at such a young age… I started to get these crazy delusions of what was going to happen career-wise for me.

C: It’s interesting that you say that, I’ve been thinking about this idea a lot. If you hadn’t grown up in LA, do you think you’d still be making music?

A: No. For one, there wasn’t much of a music culture at my high school. Some people I knew would go to shows, but I didn’t really know anybody that was actually going after music. Just having that one connection with Riley changed everything for me, I mean, he knows so many people here. So, you really just have to know the right person, and then you can do what you want to do.

C: Right, yeah. That’s very La-La Land. Riley produces most, if not all, of your music, right?

A: Yeah! He produced the album that came out last October. 

C: That’s incredible, there’s such a tight community of teenagers here who help each other make music. Actually, there are so many teenagers making music here, period.

A: I feel like it’s so easy to be a “famous teen.”

C: (Laughs) A micro-influencer.

A: Like, not even a micro-celebrity, that level under micro-celebrity. Teens that are known. There are people who want to be a part of the music scene in LA and… all they have to do is go to shows. 

C: I see that. How much of the intent in the scene is about getting “known” versus actually creating and sharing music?

A: I think… getting known and making music coexist, but they’re also very separate. Personally, I look at what I’m doing as something I want to continue even though it’s just a hobby right now, I mean, I don’t have to depend on it yet.

C: Financially?

A: Financially, and even just for direction in life. I don’t have to do that. I’m living at home and, I mean, I am truly just fucking around and figuring it out.

C: Definitely. I think we’ve gotten far away from that idea here. One of the biggest mindsets I see in LA is people expecting themselves to narrow down exactly what they want at a really young age. Whereas, like you said, there’s beauty to taking your time and figuring it out.

A: Exactly and, oh my god, it’s been fantastic to have this time. I’ve never had this kind of time before. There’s still pressure, I still feel like I want to be productive and I feel like I need to be productive, but, I mean, I used to see people on social media release their music and I used to be like, “shit, I need to start now because other people are starting now.” And that’s so wrong. You should start doing something because you want to do it, not because you feel like you’re running out of time when you’re sixteen. That’s ridiculous. 

C: There’s also something to be said about developing your sound before releasing music.

A: Yeah, which I didn’t really do. I just kind of started writing in a certain way and then Riley picked some sounds. I wouldn’t say that my album is cohesive.

C: Do you think artists can come back from their first release with a different sound?

A: I think when I talk about “having a sound,” it’s really just the idea that, so far, what you’re doing is good and honest.

C: Honest.

A: That’s the biggest thing – and I hate talking about this because I sound like a dick – everything artistic, whatever it is, it should be honest. 

C: How can you be honest as an artist? In LA especially.

A: Yeah. ‘Cause bitches are fake.

C: And it’s such a saturated industry.

A: I’m still figuring that out. Because, like, I know what’s not honest, since I do it and it feels bad.

C: What feels dishonest for you in your work?

A: I think I’m still learning how to write. Oftentimes, when I listen to music and I feel inspired or moved, I think, “I’m going to sit down right now and I’m going to try to write something of my own.” And, I mean, I can sit down and I can try but either nothing comes to me or it does and it sucks. At least that’s honest and then I can trash that song. But if I’m sitting there and I’m trying to force it out…

C: It’s less of an inspiration than a regurgitation.

A: Exactly. It’s like “what sounds good” versus “what do I want to say?” I feel like The Killers are a really good example of this for me. I can cover those songs and I can love the way my voice sounds, but I couldn’t write a song like theirs. That imagery…

C: It’s not yours!

A: He pulls it off. I couldn’t relate, you know?

C: Right. There’s an emotional disconnection.

A: Totally.

C: To paraphrase, you think that honest art should and does come from your own emotional experiences. 

A: Absolutely. I mean, sometimes I’ll listen to a song and I’ll think, “you literally stole the words out of my mouth,” like, “If I could write any song in the world, it would be this one.” So I do want to cover it because I do connect on such a deep level with it, but, then again, it’s not mine. As much as I wish it was. 

C: And I think that a lot of times we can project ourselves onto art without it feeling dishonest. We’re really touching on a larger conversation about the way we value art in society… the age-old debate about how much the artist is involved in the meaning of art.

A: And who the artist is, even. Musicians with cult followings could put out shitty ass music… 

C: … and they have.

A: (Laughs) And they have. They absolutely have. And people will still go nuts. 

C: Exactly. Idol worship, if you want to run with that.

A: Oh, I’ve had my phases. There have been times when a musician was everything to me. I just wanted to be like them, to know them, like, in my life, my goal was just to…

C: … to be near.

A: To be near. And that’s not a great goal. I think that with the internet, with social media, it’s so easy for people to become attached, even if it’s just for a split second in time. There’s a trickle-down effect too because you have big celebrities but then there are people that I know personally that are idolized. Which is so weird.

C: People in LA specifically?

A: Yes. They’re not even micro celebrities but they are… they are worshiped. You know? They’re treated like celebrities, even just on a small level. Maybe It’s people wanting to feel like their lives are exciting and they’re experiencing the rise of someone big, so they treat them like they’re already big. I don’t know. I think it’s just a really weird thing to know a kid in a band and for other people to… idolize them.

C: Right. You know them on this personal, human level but they know them in this almost superficial way.

A: Exactly. 

C: I mean, I think we’re really discussing this broader… superficiality of Los Angeles and some of the music scene here. A lot of it is manufactured.

A: Yeah. That’s… that’s almost how I feel about house shows. I want to go see music and I want to see my friends perform and support them. But, I feel extremely out of place in a setting that feels fabricated. I feel like this could also just be a pessimistic mindset that I’m stuck with, but, in my head, some of the people at a house show are just thinking “look at me I’m at a house show.” 

C: Or, even, “I’m at a party.”

A: Yeah, and a house show, I’d say, is cooler than a party because you’re watching underground musicians – and maybe the music sucks! You’re still there and listening to it so, like, it’s cool.

C: Do you think that, maybe, it’s good that people are at least putting themselves in the vicinity of live music? 

A: Both are true at once. Maybe it’s good that they’re going out to see live music… but it’s not so good that their motivation is to make themselves… cooler. 

C: Interesting. There’s been a huge influx of young bands in the scene lately and there really are a million more house shows. Lately, though, they’ve been making their way into actual venues. It’s kind of incredible to see.

A: Riley is playing The Troubadour!

C: Exactly! So, okay. What changed? Is it just a lack of space that pushed them to go book these venues? Because, there are bands like Riley’s but then there are bands that may not have created the audience yet but can still play those kinds of venues. 

A: I would say, I mean, I’ve booked very few shows myself and I don’t know the ins and outs, so I respect them for fighting their way through. But, I would also say that that’s still just delusions of grandeur. I don’t know. People are desperate to be a part of the music scene… on any level.

C: Definitely, and I think this could be said about the whole of LA. There’s this huge pressure growing up here that you’re going to become somebody.

A: Oh, absolutely. And, to make things worse, if you want to become something… oh my god. If you want to make it, everything feels all the more impossible. At least for me, I’m hyper-conscious of everybody who is gaining traction around me.

C: Aware of your relation to them?

A: Even just people I’ve never seen before, but seem like they’re making something happen.

C: Is it you questioning yourself? The whole “what are they doing that I’m not” thought process?

A: Yeah… I think that’s part of it but I think the other side of it is my pessimism… Maybe I’m doing something right because I’m not a micro-celebrity.

C: Hm. Woah. Because you’re making… honest work?

A: Because I feel and hope to the utmost that I am making honest work. I believe in what I’m making and sometimes I feel stupid to believe in what I’m making. Though, that’s what I think artists are conditioned to feel like.

(We talk more about the local music scene and the huge increase in young musicians.)

C: It’s become pretty hard to tell which bands will grow lately. What do you think it takes to get recognized?

A: I think that if you’re a musician and you find success, it’s either through hard work and chance or… it’s just chance. If you work hard enough you might make yourself a chance, but, I think, you can also work hard your whole life and never get anywhere.

C: Definitely, I think there’s a big conversation that we’re having right now about chance. We have all of these apps like TikTok and Spotify with algorithms that boost people in a kind of… unpredictable way.

A: Definitely. I mean, sometimes you’ll see artists on TikTok with a huge amount of recognition even though their work, their lyrics, may be… subpar.

C: Do you think there’s any alternative to the randomized system like the one we have?

A: I think we’re past that. I think it has to do with the amount of music that’s being put out but also because it’s just so… decentralized. There isn’t one, singular thing in music that’s huge. Because, I mean, it used to be that there was a band who would get noticed, gain a lot of traction, and then go on a huge tour. 

C: One group that would get streamlined into the industry.

A: (Nods) And then they’d be the biggest thing on the planet. We don’t have that anymore. There’s not really a “biggest thing on the planet.” You know? 

C: I see the idea of coolness, at least at our age,  changing from “who can get the most merch and knowledge about the artist everybody knows” to “who can find the most obscure artist that nobody knows.” I’m not sure why that is. It could be a response to the kind of marketing and the overt… capitalistic aspect that comes with groups that are the biggest thing on the planet.  

A: It could be so many different things. Some people find bands and go to house shows and listen to this, more often than not, pretty weird music just because nobody else knows it. Whereas other people might really have something in their gut that’s driving them to find as much music as they can in their lifetime. But, those two are different.

C: So it’s all about the intention.

A: I’d say so.

C: How long have you been making music?

A: I sent my friend the first song for our vanity project on February 8, 2021.

C: Okay, wow. You pulled that date out of the ether. 

A: I’m very, um, is the word anal?

C: That’s a headline. Yes? Anal retentive.

A: (Laughs) I’m very anal about anniversaries. I think I put out “Me Myself And,” my first song, a year to the day that I asked Riley for help in producing it. And then I did my first show at The Mint, so… It’s been over two years. And I know that because I love anniversaries. I love them. They’re my favorite thing in the world.

C: You’re sentimental for numbers.

A: I’m sentimental for numbers, I’m…. sentimental for something. I like anniversaries because they give time meaning. I was actually in a band with Riley in my freshman year of high school, when he was in eighth grade. The band he did before Swandive. I mean, that was honestly a catalyst for me because that was when I was in my… strange middle school music era. At the time, I didn’t have a grasp on what good music was to me yet. The music that we were making… It made me realize that I did want to make good music. But, I mean, we were doing covers of Car Seat Headrest and I couldn’t recognize at the time how cool that was. It’s definitely taken me a while. For the first ten years of my life I thought the only music that existed was U2. My renaissance was 21 pilots. 

C: I have to go, actually.

A: (Laughs) That was, like, seventh grade. It was a really strange time. So, I’ve had these periods where I’ve been obsessed with the “wrong” thing. All of it with the end goal of “music is cool,” even if that intention, that obsession, was misplaced.

C: It’s interesting that you have no appreciation for that period of your life… It was just “misplaced.”

A: It’s so easy to idolize someone and idolize everything they do. Maybe people genuinely do like artists with cult followings like that, and I respect that. I respect people who shamelessly obsess over things that aren’t… unique. Because that’s commendable and you like it because you like it. You could say people who go to house shows just to be seen at house shows are posers, even though they’re being surrounded by and supporting indie music. Whereas people who go to 5 nights of Harry Styles are more… honest. It’s because they’re shameless in what they actually like. But, I mean, I was a Harry Styles listener who wanted nobody else to listen to Harry Styles.

C: You gatekept! Oh, incredible. 

A: Which is such an unhinged thing to do with a global superstar.

C: But so common. It’s this feeling of wanting to like something nobody else knows. That cool factor.

A: Exactly.

C: Okay. Gotta love the clichés: What does your music mean to you?

A: Music is the first thing I’ve done artistically that I’ve actually felt fully invested in. I’ve done visual art my whole life… I was applauded for it my whole life. I was always the art kid but, while I did enjoy it and I had technical skill, I was never an artist. When I started reading about and talking to more artists I realized that was… not what I was supposed to do. Visual art was never what drove me, the way these people’s minds work is not the way my mind works. I’ve done theater too and that’s a blast but… there’s something about the gamble of doing music and doing theater that makes me more inclined to gamble on music. There’s this giant chance that it will…

C: Payoff?

A: That it won’t pay off.

C: So, music is something you’re okay to waste time on. The risk you’re willing to take. 

A: Exactly. It’s so far my favorite thing I’ve done and I just… I just feel so fulfilled by it. 

C: Is it also something you feel like you’ll value even if you change lifepaths? Something that can inform whatever else you end up doing?

A: Totally. And I… yeah. Even if I continue doing music and I fully change, which I hope I do because I cannot wait to grow, I don’t think that I will ever be able to discount what I’ve done so far.

C: Except for gatekeeping Harry Styles.

A: Ugh. You’re right.

C: Is anybody ever ready to release their music? Or is it always a leap of faith. 

A: Damn… let me think about that. I… released my album when I was at UCLA and it didn’t come out when it was supposed to. CD Baby, I don’t know why, but it’s not always fully reliable. The album was ready, we had submitted the masters, and, um, you know, Thursday 9pm came and… it just didn’t come out. It was a pretty horrible two day period because I was miserable in college and I really just hated everything. I wasn’t doing well and, you know, this was the culmination of a year and a half of work. I was so excited to finally have it… to have something tangible. I actually… (laughs) What did I do? The night before it finally came out, I went to some kind of party at, like, a frat house? Then, I think I went home and I slept till 11. My phone was off… and, I don’t know, I guess something happened where my phone offloaded Life 360 so my friends were spamming me all like, “The album’s out! The album’s out!” But, (laughs) I wasn’t answering and my location was still pinned at that frat house… so people thought I was dead. But, regardless. I was very ready, at that time, to release my music.

C: Were you working on your album during covid?

A: I put out the first song on June 3rd, after I’d had a whole year of in-person school again to, you know, reacquaint myself with the world. So, I don’t think it was a covid project. It just happened and then took off in a way I didn’t anticipate by bringing it to Riley.

C: Was this before he started producing for other artists?

A: Yeah! I was the first. Which was awesome! And, like, thank god we went to the same preschool because… all of this would not have happened. I would’ve continued to try to write and I probably would’ve found a way to make a CD compilation for my friend but… It wouldn’t be where it is now. I probably wouldn’t have an album. I mean, It might’ve even just fizzled out because I wouldn’t have had someone pushing me.

C: There’s a feeling of responsibility, too, I bet.

A: Exactly. I didn’t want to let him down.

C: Have you ever regretted putting your work out there? Was there any fear of criticism that you had to get over?

A: My feelings about this change on the regular. There are some parts of songs that I feel like I maybe wouldn’t have put on the album, but I never fully regret them. Maybe If I waited, the album might be different, but I don’t think I’d be able to discount my first project. I never regret not waiting. I’m still… I’m still just in shock that it’s real and that it happened.

C: Would you say Songs for Stella still represents you as a person?

A: Certain songs, yes. Others, I wonder if I’ll continue to resonate with them. I’m just writing about different things now. I think part of it is that I have changed and part of it is that I want to change. Going back to the whole idea of like “do you think you should find your sound before you release,” I don’t think you can find your sound unless you release your music. Or, at least until you make it. It’s hard to make something that you believe in and not… share it. The songs I’m writing now… I wonder if I’ll look back on them and think they’re cringey or weird. But I want them out there and I want the opportunity to regret them. I think that’s my favorite thing about music so far: when it’s personal, it is a time capsule. It’s a physical representation of real feelings that you felt – which is awesome. Sometimes, I’ll scroll through my photos just to see who I was… to see what I was doing three years ago, you know?

C: Because we forget.

A: We forget, and that’s always crazy to me. I don’t know, I think with songs you’re forced to remember who you were and what you were feeling.

C: You could argue that music in general is a time capsule. I mean, we have 2010s playlists and 2000s playlists and the sound is so distinct in each of them because music is so personal. It reflects us as humans.

A: Absolutely! I was born in 2004, but I don’t remember those years. I think I probably gained consciousness in, like, 2014. Probably when I saw Taylor Swift for the first time. 

C: Not 21 pilots?

A: Ugh. Taylor Swift was before 21 pilots… I actually saw her perform on Jimmy Kimmel the night 1989 came out. There’s a video where she looks at me.

C: Oh, I’m sure, I mean, that was the moment you gained consciousness.

A: She looked me in the eyes and said, “you’re alive now.”

C: Like The Lion King. 

A: (Laughs)

C: Okay. There are a few technical questions I wanted to ask. Where is your music currently available and do you know where you profit the most?

A: Yeah! I’m on Spotify and Bandcamp. When the album didn’t come, I remember my friend was texting me like “Where is it?!” and I was like “Oh… it’s only on Bandcamp,” because, you know, the submission site we used wasn’t working. By the way, when it didn’t come, I had zero clue if or when it would come out. So she bought it. I think there’s still like $7 waiting for me that I need to collect. My album made me $7! And honestly, that’s magical. I was just waiting for something that I needed so badly at that point and then, you know, my friend bought it and she listened to it and she loved it.

C: That’s beautiful. 

A: It was beautiful.

C: Are you sending your demos to labels right now or are you looking to stay independent?

A: That’s not something I’m thinking about. I think this is still a hobby. I don’t know enough… I want to learn more before I do that. There’s definitely still a hint of imposter syndrome because, you know, I’m confident in my writing ability and in the songs I’ve released so far but… a lot of it is just the way that things have fallen into place. There’s been a lot of serendipity and… I think that I just want to learn more.

C: Do you think there’s no time to learn more, to grow, once you’re with a label?

A: I think… yes. I hope that happens for me one day, because that would be amazing. But, I don’t want to rush through where I’m at now… I like that I’m not looking at my music as the rest of my life, as my career.  I want to try and do as much as possible while it’s still a hobby. 

C: That’s pretty unique. Not everyone is like that.

A: I know, some people are super serious from the get-go. Looking back, when I wasn’t doing music and I was waiting for something to be proud of, I would see other people being serious like that and I would just be so… envious. Envious of somebody else’s direction. I always felt like I didn’t have a path, but, now that I’m on the other side of that, If i weren’t me I’d look at me and think “Damn. She has a direction.” I just don’t know if I’m ready to commit to it yet. This is the time to be… young. To fuck around and find out. I want to embrace that as much as possible because I think it’s a time that a lot of people skip over. I don’t think you should, I think it’s really valuable.

C: There’s a difference between ambition and commitment. Maybe we shouldn’t have that kind of serious direction at this age. I wonder, though, do you think it’s become necessary to start that early?

A: I still stand by the idea that you should do things because you want to do them. I don’t think you should do things just because you think it’ll give you an early start. 

C: So… if it’s meant to happen, it’s meant to happen.

A: In a way that isn’t like “things happen for a reason,” because I hate that, but, in a way that’s just like letting things happen. Whatever will be… will be.

C: You put in the work and then you let go of the expectation.

A: Yes. Exactly. 

C: This… yeah. This is a conversation I have a lot, surprisingly. 

A: Yeah! I don’t know, because I feel like there’s too much of a confusion between what will and what should be. They’re the same. Things don’t happen for a reason, things happen the way they happen and you have to deal with that. I wish I believed everything happens for a reason, but, I went to college for a quarter, hated it, and now I’m going through the process again realizing I did it so wrong. My dad went to UCLA. I went to UCLA football games when I was little. In every way, that seemed like the right path.

C: The right direction.

A: Clearly, that’s not the case. Maybe at one point, it was but it’s not anymore.

C: From everything that you’ve experienced so far, if you had any advice for artists starting to make music in LA… what would it be?

A: It’s less of a piece of advice than it is a plea for honesty: Please, do things from a genuine place. Everything we’ve talked about, we’ve really just been saying the same thing over and over, is just a plea for honesty. Being here in LA, you should allow yourself to not have a direction. I feel like that’s all that I’ve been doing: reclaiming time. Time that I lost during covid, time that I lost during my first year of college. So, I guess my final words of advice would be to just… take your time. Take time back.

Allow yourself to fuck around and find out.

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