Interview | Exploring 4940 Days with Adam Kluga of Project: Heavensent
Today I am happy to feature a conversation with solo musician Adam Kluga who goes by the moniker Project: Heavensent. Set to release their new album 4940 Days on October 10, we were able to chat about the process behind making the densely layered and emotional music that makes up the record. We also explored his music career overall, spanning back to his time making music under On Wings of Wax, what catharsis means to him, and how his hobby of baking also ties into the broader scope of creation. I will share more thoughts on the new record soon, but I think fans of La Dispute, 00’s post-hardcore, and even Deftones will find a home in this music. It is nomadic in that sense, but anchored by the weight of the themes and life experience explored throughout.
Project: Heavensent is based out of Victoria, Australia. To me, Australia is the home of metal in a sense, dominating the airspace and audiences alike from the 2000s and 2010s. Funnily enough, Adam and I have shared a similar musical trajectory, spanning from metalcore to post-metal to everything outside or in-between. I think that journey and growth speaks volumes to how the music sounds on 4940 Days. You can expect that great “Aussie metal” mentality draped with nuance and sentiment, and the bigger moments stand as tall as the subtle ones do. Please enjoy the interview below and consider checking out the new album coming this Friday.
Hey Adam! What has been your greatest personal success or experience pursuing a solo career in music?
Adam: Kind of you to refer to it as a career, Evan! (Laughs)
Perhaps it’s recency bias, but it has to be the new record — I’m immensely proud of it.
It’s interesting to think about. I’ve been a solo artist for 15+ years now, and if I stop and look back I’d definitely have defined success differently. I started coming up in the scene around 2011 — I was 21, I was a djent kid who was just trying to write cool riffs and then show them to people. The Internet landscape looked vastly different back then, and a small-time DIY musician like me actually managed to garner a little fanbase.
I was young, naive and never really stopped to think about why I made music. I tried to work quickly, release songs frequently and really loved the boost in self-esteem that came with the feedback and adulation. I suppose it’s an inescapable reality that comes with putting art into the world, but what I failed to realise is that my definition of success existed externally.
Now I’m in my 30’s. I’m getting older, some traumatic shit has happened to me and I’ve taken some time to think and reflect on what it means to make art (and to exist, but I digress). When I came to start making 4940 Days, I never once stopped to consider how it might be received. I’m not chasing trends or trying to write catchy hooks; this album is pure artistic and emotional expression. Of course, I hope people discover it, listen to it and might even be moved by it. But my job is done and I’m deeply satisfied with the result. The fact that I made something so real, so honest — that’s my greatest artistic achievement.
How has your past (and more recent) catalogue influenced your new album, 4940 Days?
This is a tricky one for me, perhaps because I exist inside my own artistic world and it’s difficult for me to see the throughlines from my early work up until now. I suppose the more obvious answer is that my skills as a musician, writer and engineer have certainly improved after doing this for so long. I’ve released six records to-date and it’s pretty clear that each one surpasses the last in almost every metric; better sounding, more cohesive and closer to sounding like me rather than a collection of influences.
But I suppose that’s the thing — I don’t really know that I’ve consciously thought back on my old work when I’ve come to start something new. I certainly never want to repeat myself, so I guess that at least informs my choices moving forward. I never want to make the same thing twice or tread old ground. That’s boring and lacks any challenge, either for me or the listener.
I came into this album cycle without any particularly conscious thought; I simply had an impulse, a need to create in the midst of some deep emotional turmoil. There’s some obvious aesthetic influence, in that you could point to some bands that I sound like. When thinking about the production/engineering I certainly had some specific goals in mind. But the primary driver was simply to create because I felt I had to.
Your first single “Torch (On)” released earlier this year. How was it working on such a vocally present track? How did you develop your clean and harsh vocals?
It was definitely a challenge, but that was by design. As mentioned, I’m always looking to try something new when I come to work on a record. This time around, I knew from the outset I wanted to try and incorporate some cleans. It was a daunting prospect, seeing as I’ve never really seen myself as a remotely decent singer. I’ve had the harsh vocals in my arsenal for a while now and I think they got even stronger and more expressive on this record. But I had no idea how the cleans would sound or if I could even deliver anything I’d deem “good enough” for the final product.
It took a lot of trial and error, basically. I never really sat down to think of vocal lines in advance — I’d have the lyrics written and would then just spend hours standing at the microphone improvising with different cadence and melodies. Often it would yield nothing, so I’d take a break and think on it for a while. Maybe sing around the house or in the shower, hoping something would come to me — and we got there in the end. The vocals aren’t pristine or precise by any measure, but that was never the goal. I wanted things to be raw and emotional, even if I wasn’t quite hitting the intended notes. In that sense I think my lack of experience actually improved the final results.
As for how I developed my vocals… I don’t know? (Laughing). I suppose through force of will and constant practice. I’ve never had any lessons or coaches, I’ve just tried things over and over. I learned harsh vocals first — I’ve been able to scream for almost 20 years now and often did so in some of my earliest, pre-Internet bands. I grew up listening to SO much metalcore and naturally wanted to emulate my idols. My harsh vocals were rather one-dimensional back then, but over the years I’ve managed to find some different voicings and sounds that have really diversified my ability to express a range of vibes and emotions. Some of the screams on this record are so intense and I’m really stoked with them.
The cleans came a lot later. I learned simply by singing along to stuff. I’d often learn or transcribe a song for the acoustic guitar and then try to sing/play it, or simply sing along to stuff in the car or while doing housework. The only difference, I think, is that I was intentional about it and paid attention to my proclivities as a singer. I tried to notice where I felt comfortable singing, where I sounded best and what my tendencies were. Slowly but surely, I could not only hold a tune but actually deliver something with emotional weight. But I’m definitely no expert — I surely learned all of this in the most difficult way possible but hey, I’m OK with how I sound.
I noticed you have a unique genre attached to your project's description. What does catharsis mean to you and how was it explored on the new album?
Cathart Rock™? Yes, my invention as far as I’m aware. Born out of the sheer frustration of having to try and stick a genre to one’s music. A frustratingly necessary part of trying to market your art, I suppose. It’s also a goofy little nod to an episode from a certain TV sitcom based in a Brooklyn police precinct (IYKYK).
Nevertheless, it seemed apt. Genrefication has always bothered me — now more than ever with the latest record. To me, it pulls from a lot of different influences and doesn’t neatly fit into a box. So I made one up (albeit a little tongue-in-cheek). The most relevant thing as far as I’m concerned is the earnest emotional content. I feel that’s where all the best albums (and art, more broadly) comes from — wearing one’s heart on their sleeve, being completely vulnerable throughout the process. It’s a tricky one, man. I don’t think I can be the arbiter of what qualifies as “real art”, but if you’re not finding the process of creation cathartic and/or challenging in some capacity then I’m not sure what you’re doing it for. It feels more like making a product at that point, I think. And if you’re not putting something meaningful into it I don’t think your listeners are going to get anything meaningful out of it.
It’s funny though, because I did take some time to reflect on the “why” of it all after I finished the record. In hindsight, it certainly was a cathartic process. But I don’t know that I really had that in mind when I started writing. I was simply in a bad place emotionally. I was despondent, directionless and honestly just needed somewhere to divert my attention. Music has always been that safe haven for me, so in the midst of what I was going through it felt completely natural to start creating again.
Let's talk about that final track, “The Last Line (Author Unknown).” What was the process in considering a calmer track to end 4940 Days compared to the higher energy of the rest of the record?
I made the choice precisely because of the contrast in energy compared to the rest of the record. The idea came to me midway through the recording process. I had the main chord progression and the “God only knows…” line written months prior and I guess I found a home for it tucked away right at the end of the album. It was originally nothing more than something I threw together while testing a field recording setup. Ironically enough, it’s exactly how I chose to record the final version; sitting outside, played in a single take, “warts and all”, so to speak.
As the record was taking shape it became apparent that it was going to be heavy pretty much right the way through, from the instrumentation and vocal delivery to the emotional lyrical content. There’s anger, sadness, longing, nihilism and so much else going on, but believe it or not there’s some love, tenderness and nostalgia in there as well. For all the grief and loss I went through, I didn’t want things to end on an altogether somber note. And I think something so raw and simple at the end of such a heavy listening experience brings it home so nicely. Soft, fragile, loving and moving in a very different way.
What piece of art (or life) impacted the album that listeners might be surprised to hear about?
It might be a bit of a boring answer, but I’m not sure there’s much that would be particularly surprising. If it isn’t obvious by now, it was written in the midst of a really difficult breakup. While it doesn’t stick to any one genre or style, I imagine listeners could take an educated guess as to where I pull influences from. Perhaps one thing of note is that I’d discovered a few authors I resonated with; Angela Carter, Tim Winton and Jeanette Winterson to name a few. To-date I haven’t spent all that much time writing prose or lyrics and these writers (among others) helped me in finding a voice and style of my own.
Perhaps the most surprising thing is how little there was in the way of conscious external influence. Throughout the whole writing process I was never trying to sound a particular way or achieve explicit goals. Nothing was considered other than the need to make art because I was hurting.
To end on a brighter note, I noticed you’re a baker! Do you find any similarities in creating a piece of music compared to crafting your next baking recipe?
Yessir! In the broad sense yeah, there’s definitely some crossover. Both are crafts that demand discipline, patience, commitment and a willingness to learn from one’s mistakes. While both are fundamental to who I am, they express different sides of me. Bread (and food) is an expression of care and love — if I want to feed you it means I really care for you. Making art primarily feeds my soul, I think. Sure, I think listeners might enjoy what I do and take nourishment from it as well, but that’s the afterthought. So yeah, music is mostly for me and bread is mostly for others.
How does the end result of both compare, is it easier to rework a track or a baked good to your satisfaction?
It’s a really interesting question. I think I experience each in rather different ways.
When I’m doing an album I tend to exist in that bubble. I’m all-consumed by the process — if I’m not at my desk recording or editing then I’m writing parts in the living room or thinking about lyrics while I’m out on a run. But there’s a distinct start and end point to the experience. Once I’m satisfied with the structure and recording and the mixing/mastering passes muster with my ears and those of a few trusted friends, then I’m done. And honestly, I usually breathe a huge sigh of relief. As immensely gratifying it is to look back on a finished record I find it to be an incredibly exhausting process too. And to your original question, the complete record will then stand as its own entity; a memento which captures a very specific period in my life and tells a very personal story.
Bread, on the other hand, never really has an “end result”. I mean sure, each day you mix, develop, ferment, shape and bake, and some time in the wee hours you have some loaves of bread. But it never stops there — once that batch is done you start all over again. You think back on whichever facets of the bake you were pleased or dissatisfied with, you consider some adjustments and then you do it all over again. It’s an iterative process, a pursuit of perfection which one will never really obtain, and an opportunity for constant learning and growth. Baking bread takes less than a day. Its life cycle is so short that you’re never really finished making it.
Thank you all for reading this interview, be sure to check out 4940 Days once it drops on 10/10 and be sure to stream/support Project: Heavensent.
Project: Heavensent
Genres: Post-Hardcore, Cathartic Rock, Alternative Metal
Written by Evan Lurie & Adam Kluga
