Headquarters Coffee is a gem sandwiched between eclectic, industrial antique storefronts. The café calls out to you with its handpainted windowpanes, but you would miss it anyhow, passing by the shop in a few paces. Unbeknownst to you, you are missing out on pure magic. This is Oliver Wingate’s favorite spot. Oliver is the foreman of project Goldfish Yearbook, which like HQ, is a to-be-seen ruby in the rough, awaiting some lucky passer-by to discover it. Rather than coffee, however, Oliver’s magic is a caffeinated cup of glittering synthesizers, honeyed acoustic strums, and unpolished, kind vocals.

I immediately understood why Wingate requested we meet at HQ. It is a quaint artist’s haven more than a café. Local creatives’ photos and paintings pepper the shelves, wallpaper every surface. While waiting for Oliver, the hipster heaven bustled around me. To my left, donned in tie-dye and overalls, a smile lined Bill repaired a Yashica 44 film camera, talking tai chi and typewriters while flipping through copies of his film prints displayed proudly on the fridge. To my right, a Dave Matthews bandmate strolled in, ordering a decaf & muffins; a writer quietly shifted in his chair at the bar, a notebook bursting at the seams at his side. 

Then appeared Oliver in a vibrant set well aligned with Goldfish Yearbook’s spunky, cheery spirit. Bill stopped him so we could both serve as portrait models. This was our first time meeting, and now it is memorialized, commemorated. It was a sweet snapshot of a moment, and something told me we were going to be good friends. 

Phie Mihm (PM): I want to get to know you. What are your musical inspirations? 

Goldfish Yearbook (GY): It changes with the seasons, so you might be getting what I’m into now. 

PM: That’s what I want to hear — we’re always in flux.

GY: I recently moved my friend, Ava Buxton, down to Austin, and along the way, we listened to a lot of country music. It was a 16-hour road trip; it was supposed to be 12, but only if you don’t stop, if you don’t piss, if you don’t get gas — if you’re a robot, and we’re not robots. 

GY: I felt that road trip reverberate with me, musically. So I’ve been listening to a playlist I have called Austin with Brooks and Dunn, Tyler Childers… come on now we’re in Nashville! Marty Robbins, too. The cowboy stuff; that vibe, that aesthetic.   

The cowboy became a comical source of connection. We cited mildly unfulfilled yet genuine wishes to pull wardrobes from the Old West. Oliver told me, “It’s fun to be in my cowboy era, dare I say!”

PM: I can feel it — you’re exuding cowboy. This is the air of a cowboy. 

GY: Yeah, I’m very much giving cowboy right now. 

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PM: Are you a big Clairo fan? Did you love Charm? 

GY: Yes, I absolutely love her. I have the Charm CD! Though I am a Sling man, I think Charm was cool, and I like the soft jazziness of it. I actually picked up clarinet because of Clairo, and I think Clairo would be… historically my top artist.

PM: Does the kind of music that you gravitate toward now inspire what you’re working on lately… or do your historical influences do so?

GY: In a weird way, I find that the music I make feels (even if it really isn’t) untethered to my current listening universe. Partially, this is because I’m still learning. I step to the computer, and cook up whatever I can cook up, and then make it work. 

PM: It is so scary not being able to make music sound like what you want, what you can hear in your head. Untethered is a perfect way to put it, though… and I think that’s admirable, in a way. Maybe being a beginner is your benefit.

GY: Yeah. I think there’s a temptation, particularly when you’re learning to think once I master all this, I’m going to finally be making the music I want to. But I think… 

PM: You have to be happy with your present, too. 

GY: Mmm.

Oliver’s Goldfish Yearbook persona is untethered… sort of. The Goldfish Yearbook alt-pop/folk record, White Noise, and the experimental electronic EP, Better Days, are imbued with one uniquely Oliver overarching sense of warmth and familiarity. However, this is owed to each song serving as an inadvertent homage to Oliver’s musical heroes. Sprinkled across his discography are nods to his favorite country crooners like Childers, the characteristically soft-spoken Clairo, and the likes of Radiohead, Dayglow, and Jack Stauber. 

PM: Both recent records are beautiful yet very different. What changed? Is this an evolution, or just two sides of music you’re interested in? 

GY:  Two sides. I don’t know if it’s consciously or unconsciously, but I resist having one sound. It’s fun that… I can see elements in very different types of music that I’ve made and notice, oh, that’s a me thing. There may be some through line in my music, and [if so] it’s that I’m the person doing it. 

Then where does his imminent release, “I don’t wanna be yours,” (October 10th) fall within the strange and wonderful sonorous landscape of Goldfish Yearbook? Hesitantly, Oliver described it as a poppy breakup song, of sorts. 

GY: It’s not a song born out of beef, it’s a song born out of feelings. It has this “he’s putting his heart on the platter!!” feel… Even if in a loving relationship, a long-distance one is tough to make work. This is essentially a self-affirmation song… I’m my own person and I don’t want to give all of myself away. 

GY: This song does feel like an extension of Better Days. It has a little bit of that 2016 bedroom pop flavor in there. 

PM: Yes, but in a new way and I love it. 

GY: It has my own shit in there! With flute and screaming!

Goldfish Yearbook’s single, “I don’t wanna be yours” comes out tomorrow. He gave me the “pleasure and privilege” of listening to the coming track this past September. Within one listen, the chorus was an earworm: I don’t wanna be yours! The song has that timeless youthfulness characteristic of the best DIY pop anthems, urging you to scream the lyrics, to car-karaoke it with the windows down. It is, simply put, an irresistible, candied, classic pop tune. With the twinkling flute lines and Oliver’s shouted ending refrain, the full circle of grief that arises in the departure from long-distance love is encapsulated. “I don’t wanna be yours” is heartbreak, it’s self-discovery, it’s fun, it’s honest.

It’s Goldfish Yearbook.

Goldfish Yearbook: It was a pleasure and a privilege to meet you. 

Featured images courtesy of Oliver Wingate. Photography credits to Pauline Bailey.