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Jake Trevor – self-titled album JAKE TREVOR (out May 24)

NYC singer-songwriter Jake Trevor’s debut self-titled album JAKE TREVOR (out May 24) takes us on a journey from piano balladry and electropop club bangers, to coffeehouse folk and soulful indie-pop. This album has a throughline of rebellion and empowerment. It spans from deeply sad or romantic ballads to the utter jubilant glee of his heart-pounding dance anthems. He takes on topics of family, homophobia, religion, love and sex, all through a lens of passion and hope.

While out in California, Trevor met Grammy-nominated engineer/producer Elliott Lanam, best known for his work on Katy Perry’s album Prism and her hit single “Roar” in particular. They hit it off and started working together at Lanam’s Hidden City Studios in Santa Barbara, CA. Together they made an album that crosses genres—that speaks to vulnerable, emotional thinkers, while also connecting with folks who want to embrace the kind of rave/nightclub exuberance that’s sometimes dirty, occasionally very gay, and always super fun.

JAKE TREVOR kicks off with the powerful voice-and-piano ballad “Should I.” Trevor’s emotional depth and raw vulnerability are on full display as he sings about being overwhelmed in life and wondering what to do next. His heartfelt lyrics and deeply-moving voice are like a boat dancing on the piano’s ocean waves, especially when he hits the high notes singing, “What would you do if you had one day left to live / Who would you love if your heart had one last chance.”

“Growing up, I always had that feeling of looking from the outside in,” says Trevor. “I wanted a million friends and parents who could accept me for who I was. I felt like bosses were only there to put a nail in your coffin. I felt like just throwing my hands up in the air. I was thinking about what’s important in life, and what I’d do if I had one day left to live. I decided that I’d make sure that the people in my life know that I love them, and I’d play music.”

The video for “Should I” was shot on a cold, foggy and rainy January morning on Governors Island and around the ancient-looking structures of Fort Jay. The abandoned desolation of the video’s background mirrors the isolation and haunting beauty of the piano playing under Trevor’s authentically heartbreaking vocal performance.

The ethereal, synth-driven “Best Love” embodies that overwhelming feeling of new love, when nothing else matters but that other person. It’s genuine passion washes over you as Trevor utilizes a primal lyrical repetition—where the words “You’re my best love” are like a spiritual mantra. Its warm, dreamy vulnerability would be equally at home as a stadium-ready anthem as it would inside an intimate listening room.

“I get chills and tear up when I perform this live,” says Trevor. “I feel like I’m putting myself out there more with this one than my other songs. I can feel my heart sink as I sing. I’m consumed by this overwhelming feeling of love. I like to picture a cliff by the ocean with the sun setting. A mysterious, beautiful woman on a white horse gallops to the cliff’s edge to see a crowd of 1000 people. Then, she locks eyes with that one person that matters more to her than anybody.”

Trevor can move effortlessly from stirring Adele-esqe balladry to embrace the pure joy of electronic dance music. Like those who’ve pushed the envelope of sexual taboos before him (Madonna and George Michael in decades past, or Nicki Minaj and Cardi B more recently), Trevor’s song “Boyfriend” is a NSFW, gay-sex-positive, electropop heater. It conjures images of shirtless men writhing in steamy, dark back rooms or clandestine raves.

“Gay sex was a forbidden topic until recently,” says Trevor. “So much so, that it used to be thought of as a mental illness. It was something that you were supposed to feel shame about, even when it feels so right on the inside. I want to normalize homosexuality. I wanted to make a vulgar and shameless song that felt equally fun and unsafe to listen to. I’m not telling people to cheat, but I wanted the song to feel shocking.”

Trevor brings a macro-dose of celebratory fun with “Bounce Bounce.” This energetic ode to the booty is a club-hit-in-waiting with its driving house beat and infinitely sing-along-able refrain of “This booty go bounce bounce.” Imagine if Frankie Knuckles remixed Major Lazor’s “Bubble Butt” and Katy Perry’s “Swish Swish,” with a little SOPHIE’s “LEMONADE” added for flavor. It has the infectious catchiness of “Baby Shark,” while calling people of all ages to the dance floor. It’s one of those songs that would feel at home on workout playlists, family dancefloors and spontaneous dance parties (illicit or otherwise). This song gives you permission to not take the world too seriously as you make your own booty go bounce bounce.

“I love and hate how fun and catchy this silly song is,” Trevor laughs. “I hate how much I love it. I imagine so many different people dancing to this song: gym girls in spandex, guys in tight jeans, an old lady with a walker, kids at a birthday party. This song is a gift for everybody.”

The synthpop “Gotta Let Go” is an empowering song about letting go of the people who shouldn’t be in your life. Something Trevor has had to work hard to achieve and come to terms with. “This song is directly about my family,” says Trevor. “I had to let go of people I love so that I could move on and live my life.”

The catwalk-ready electro-disco “DRESS” is a bold statement about individuality and fashion. It’s a call to embody your genuine self, whether embracing your sexuality, gender identity or simply your choice of clothing. Its use of electronic disco horns and EDM beat drops make this an anthem of empowerment for the post Madonna’s ”Vogue” era.

The gentle acoustic folk-pop track “Coffee & Wine” is a true New York City tale. Trevor takes on class warfare through springtime flutes, whistling and his jangly guitar. The trials and tribulations of the service industry are front and center in this story of a waitress who was cursed to work alone when her chef called in “sick of the bullshit pay that you call a living.” This cafe was in its last hours and was only serving its patrons coffee and wine.

“I was feeling very European as I sat at that sidewalk cafe, sipping on my two beverages. All I was missing was the cigarette.” laughs Trevor. “I kept thinking about how ruthless and unforgiving the hospitality industry is. I’ve been through it while bartending. Disrespectful customers. Bad bosses. Not making enough money to live. Leaving because you’re fed up with the whole system. This song encompasses all of these feelings.”

“Father Don’t Forgive Me” is an open letter to his evangelical Christian father and hateful religious practices in general. It’s a song of solidarity for all of the homeless kids who have been kicked out because of their sexual orientation. “I grew up in a hostile homophobic family,” says Trevor,” and I want people to know they’re not alone. It’s what I needed when my family cut me off. That was years ago, but it feels like forever.”

The symphonic, sad and beautiful “Paradise Lost” finds Trevor crooning a lament. He lyrically grieves the time and opportunities that he missed out on during his youth because of his sheltered upbringing. He moves through the anger he feels towards his religiously fanatical parents when he sings, “No summer smiles, butterflies, you’re the only reason why,” to the hope he finds in lyrics like, “So here I go / rebuild those sails / make my own winds.”

After taking this journey of highs and lows on JAKE TREVOR, the album concludes on a hopeful note with “Safety.” Its soaring orchestral melodies heighten Trevor’s emotive lyrics of finding the people in your life who embrace you for who you are. This is a song about finding sanctuary and belonging. It’s a song of true love that concludes the album in a climactic cinematic swell.

Trevor is one of those cases where music saved his life while growing up in an unsympathetic, homophobic, ultra-religious household. He was one of seven children that his mother home-schooled with a conservative Christian curriculum. His family moved frequently around the South East, from rural Tennessee, to suburban Nashville, to the mountains of Virginia. His family often left the churches they attended because they weren’t strict enough in their religious fervor. Trevor found refuge in an old piano and the poetry that would become his lyrics.

“We were too poor to afford lessons,” says Trevor, “So I taught myself piano through an old college course I found at a thrift shop. I bought an old antique 1910 Mehlin upright piano on Craigslist. I bought a tuner and learned to tune it myself.”

Trevor’s father was staunchly anti-gay, and Trevor decided that he couldn’t take it anymore and bought a one-way train ticket to New York City, just after Thanksgiving. He walked out of Penn Station with just a suitcase and oversized hand-me-down clothes. He spent his last $40 on a taxi to Queens to house-sit for an elderly man who was going to be in California for a few months.

Back in Virginia, Trevor’s family found an incriminating photograph that outed him. They had a phone call where his father said the most horrible things and the entire family cut him off. That was the first Christmas he spent without his family. Trevor has since been to therapy to work through this trauma. He now feels less sadness, and more empowerment. He went out of his way to create a new family.

“You don’t have just one family in this life,” says Trevor. “Moving to New York was like living in a movie. I came here from nothing. I got an education in life, and found my people. Now I’m ten-times-over not the same person I was when I left Virginia. The inspiration in this city is endless. I read an interview with Dolly Parton where she talked about jotting down a note anytime she was inspired. So I did the same and kept a journal. I made it a point to pay attention to my surroundings, to be present in my new life.”

Trevor took odd jobs, began bartending and was able to buy a cheap Yamaha keyboard and a Taylor 714ce acoustic guitar. He explored NYC neighborhoods and rode the subway. There he noticed buskers playing music and he began to study them. He finally got up the courage to begin busking himself.

“Busking is the best way to get over nerves and meet people from all over the world, “says Trevor. “But more than anything, I like to see people’s immediate reactions. Once, I was playing John Lennon’s ‘Imagine,’ and an older woman just watched with tears streaming down her face. There’s nothing like making that kind of meaningful connection with someone through music. It’s so personal. People missing their trains to listen. Getting anyone in New York’s attention for two minutes really means something. New York’s subway is the greatest stage on Earth.”

Trevor released a series of singles leading to his debut LP. The first was the piano ballad “Pieces,” about how fragile life and relationships can be. The we-only-have-one-life-to-live single “What I Want” is a powerful, fearless, energetic song about going after what you want in life. The pop-funk break-up song “Bitch Don’t Come Back” channels the catharsis that can only come from immediately getting those angry feelings off of your chest. “Yellowtape” is about giving into temptation, especially when it might not be the best decision in the long run.

JAKE TREVOR is self-titled because it’s the birth of something new. This is a man that had to go through tremendous changes to end up as the artist we hear on this album. He’s telling the world who he is, loud and proud. It’s a brave and bold record that feels impactful in so many different ways. We learn who Trevor is, from his most soul-spilling ballads to his most fun-filled dance tracks. In “Boyfriend,” Trevor sings, “Man on man / goddamn / don’t let my father walk in.” He knows first hand what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known and have to start a new life.

“Lots of kids have been in that same situation as me,” says Trevor. “So many homeless youth have been kicked out of their houses for being LGBTQ+. So many suicides happen to youth between a certain age because they’re gay. They were picked on. They were unloved by the people that brought them into this world. I want people to know that it’s going to be okay. You don’t just have one family in this life. Surround yourself with people who love you, and leave the rest behind. It’s my dream to start an organization to get LGBTQ+ youth out of bad homes and into society. I want to use my voice to support these people.”

“More rights are given to LGBTQ+ people in general, but it’s still bad out there. So many of my songs are influenced by that. ‘Father Don’t Forgive Me,’ ‘Gotta Let Go,’ and even ‘Boyfriend.’ Not a day goes by that I don’t think about that kid out there who was me. If I was a gay man in the ‘70s, I’d have no choices. Now in 2024, I get to unapologetically be me and pay it forward to the next generation.”  

—

TRACK LIST
01 Should I
02 Best Love
03 Gotta Let Go
04 Coffee and Wine
05 DRESS
06 Father Don’t Forgive Me
07 Boyfriend
08 Bounce Bounce
09 Paradise Lost
10 Safety

the moles

Indie-psych-orch-garage-rock practitioner Richard Davies, a/k/a the moles, has held a seminal but secret role in the history of the alternative music scene since the 1990’s. He’s a songwriter’s favorite songwriter, appreciated by Kurt Cobain, the Flaming Lips, Robert Pollard of Guided By Voices, and Gruff Rhys of the Super Furry Animals, and many others.

The story of the moles is a globe-trotting labyrinth that started in the late 1980’s in Sydney, Australia. Davies, born to Welsh immigrants, never felt like he belonged to a place, or a scene. He had an outsider’s perspective. He’d read music magazines to discover bands, without hearing them – literally – since he was born hearing-impaired. Bands from the other side of the world were like mysteries for him to solve.

He formed the moles in the late ‘80s with friends from school. They put out their first album, Untune the Sky, in 1990, and their sophomore release Tendrils & Paracetamol in 1991. They built a foundation and found initial success a long way from home in then-prominent mags like CMJ and Melody Maker. After playing the same four Sydney pubs from ‘88-’92, they decided to cross the sea.

“We were on this label called Seaside,” says Davies. “They were part of Waterfront Record Shop, this little fantasy-land. One of the few places where you could find independent records. Waterfront had handwritten labels and wrote a little narrative about each of the records in the shop. They told us that the only choice for the moles was to go to London. It would be an adventure if nothing else. The moles hopped on a plane with backpacks, toothbrushes and 20 moles t-shirts.”

They stopped in the U.S. before London, and landed in Los Angeles the day of the Rodney King riots in ‘92. The smell of smoke and danger was in the air. They saw the national guard heading into L.A. on a drive between L.A. and San Francisco. In SF, they watched a boy with a baseball bat smash a plate glass window and steal a TV. They stayed at a YMCA youth hostel above a gay leather biker bar, where they’d play pool with the locals.This Aussie band got a wild first impression of what America was like.

They popped over to New York where they played CBGBs, and recorded their garage-orchestra hit single “What’s the New Mary Jane” with Jim Waters in the Meat District, around the same time Waters was finishing up Jon Spencer Blues Explosions’ Extra Width. The fires were being stoked.

When they arrived in London, things hit fast. Melody Maker and NME declared the moles to be Band of the Week. The following Band of the Week was Radiohead. Things took off. The moles at this point were four friends, with Davies as the primary songwriter, who just liked to laugh and joke. However, the Dickensian circumstances that were their reality ended up killing a lot of the fun, and the other guys eventually went back to Australia.

He met his wife Shirley during this period, an American music industry veteran in her own right. She acted as Davies pseudo-manager, and the two of them moved to her hometown of Boston. While back in the states, Davies met Bob Fay of Sebodoh and they started playing music together.

“We really hit it off,” says Davies. “It felt like hanging out with the original moles lineup. Just joking, making music and having fun in this dirt-floor basement in Somerville, where Sebadoh and Folk Implosion rehearsed.”

Fay brought in Eric Matthews who would team up with Davies to become Cardinal. Where the moles were more of a lo-fi, art-rock garage band, Cardinal was a pristine, highly focused, chamber-pop recording project. They recorded in three weeks in Portland, Oregon, and released their self-titled LP in ‘94.

“We got real serious and the fun stopped,” says Davies. “It started to feel like a chore to me, but we ended up making a very good record.”

The combination of Davies’ ‘60s rock aesthetic and Matthews’ string and horn arrangements struck a chord with critics. Nirvana was at their peak. Cardinal’s single “If You Believe in Christmas Trees” was the antithesis of “Smells like Teen Spirit.” Cardinal was on track to be the next big thing. They were on the cover of Billboard Magazine. CD List called it, “one of the most perfect half-hours of music ever committed to tape.” The New York Times wrote that it was “the most brilliantly understated album of last year.” The record was a critical and industry success, considered by some as one of the most important records of the ‘90s. Davies and Matthews were on track for a massive music career.

“Cardinal was smoke and mirrors,” says Davies. “Our relationship as a band was this gossamer thing that we didn’t know how to jigsaw into place. By that point, I was in Boston, he was back in Portland, Oregon, where he came from. We knew that people were loving this Cardinal record, but it was an art project rather than a band.”

As an emetic, Davies went to New York to record the moles album that would be Instinct (1994). It was a shoot-from-the-hip affair. He relied almost entirely on gut impulse, writing and recording everything in a week.

“I went to make a howl-at-the-moon record on the spot,” says Davies. “It was an antidote to the Cardinal record, a rebellion. It was pretty much just me and Hamish Kilgour of The Clean on the drums. I’m a punk by nature, so I just wanted to tap into something primal. Something that amuses me. Bat-shit crazy stuff. People who like my music tend to be peculiar and strange, like me.”

In ‘96 he put out the acoustic art-pop record There’s Never Been a Crowd Like This. This was Davies’ anti-rock-star concept record about the culture shock of being an expat. It was a spartan, stoic effort that focused on memories of Australia and his family. 

Around this time, The Flaming Lips were big fans. Coyne would comb record stores to find all of Davies’ previous works. They eventually connected and went on tour together, playing massive shows in Oklahoma and New York, with The Flaming Lips as Davies’ backing band.

“I would ride in the van with Wayne,” says Davies, “and it was apparent he was very career oriented. It had the feel of a log-rolling exercise. Music had never been about the spin or the politics for me.”

Davies had gained the attention of Kevin O’Leary and Adam Silverman at Sub Pop Records with the early moles records. This led them to start their own label, Flydaddy, to release Instinct and Cardinal. Flydaddy Records quickly proved influential, inspiring and attracting young bands from the Elephant Six Collective: Apples in Stereo, Elf Power, Neutral Milk Hotel, of Montreal, and the Olivia Tremor Control.

Flydaddy became an imprint of the then-new major label V2 Records to put out Telegraph (1998), released as a Richard Davies solo record. The major label meant many lunchtime showcases and meetings in Midtown Manhattan corporate offices. The album was recorded at Bearsville Studios in Woodstock, NY, where Todd Rundgren, Muddy Waters, and The Band had made famous records, and R.E.M. had recorded Automatic for the People a few years earlier.

“I was satisfying the bureaucracy and the people with money,” says Davies. “So it’s a very, very well-produced record. Unlike something like Instinct, which quite deliberately sounds like it was made in a garbage can. I wanted to make it work for Kevin and Adam, but with every meeting with a different department head, it was apparent it went down like a Spitfire in the Battle of Britain. By the end of the Telegraph cycle, I felt like I’d done the best I could with that, but I had to let the fucker go. The price to be paid was not worth it.”

By then, Davies had a wife, a dog, and a house. He didn’t want to spend his life on the road. He decided to parlay his penchant for performance into becoming a trial lawyer. He’s been navigating the music and law sides of his life ever since.

“Generally speaking, music and law couldn’t be more distinct,” says Davies. “There’s no rules in songwriting. The headspace is about letting go of rules, preconceptions and embracing your impulses. Then you edit later. There are very specific rules of evidence as a trial attorney that you need to be cozy with. The similarity between my musical and legal experiences is in the performance. When I’m in front of a jury, I have to be shameless, to a degree. For both, I’m telling a story, or conveying a feeling or experience.”

While entering the law, Davies put out Barbarians (2000) which was a reflection on his time as an itinerant in America, much as Never Been a Crowd had been a reflection of growing up in Australia.

It was during this time that Davies had struck up a friendship with Guided By Voices frontman Robert Pollard. Their relationship consisted primarily of old-school mail correspondence (that’s continued for 15 years), and birthed their project Cosmos, and album Jar of Jam Ton of Bricks (2009).

“I found out that Bob [Pollard] liked my music, so I reached out,” says Davies. “It’s a very natural, organic friendship. We traded tapes until we had an album. After the record was ready, his manager called me while they were all at a party in Dayton, Ohio. They were playing our record loud, and everyone was cheering. It was the best phone call, reception to the record, that I could’ve wanted. It was that experience that got me back into making moles records.”

Fire Records was putting out reissues of the Cardinal album and out-of-print moles records. They were interested in new music from the Cardinal duo, so Davies reconnected with Matthews to craft the bi-coastal Cardinal record Hymns (2012). The first Moles album in 20 years, Tonight’s Music (2016) was comprised of songs Davies wrote during his allegedly ‘quiet’ law years.

The moles played a series of shows with Guided By Voices in 2018, including a New Years Eve show at the Williamsburg Hall of Music in Brooklyn. There he met Richard Lynn of from Austin’s Super Secret Records. Davies went to Austin, to record a single for Super Secret Records, but ended up with the 16-song, double gatefold album, the moles’ Code Word (2018).

The moles live band members at this point are an undercover syndicate of operatives in many U.S. cities, as well as London and Mexico City. Davies is currently working on the next moles project with assorted moles scattered around the world. Tracking is nearly complete, and a new moles album is on the horizon.

“I turn 60 this year,” says Davies. “You learn stuff as you get older. I have a 19 and 20 year old son and daughter. A lightbulb went off when my son was born. We were in a snowstorm right before the bar exam. He appeared at 3:30 in the morning. He looked at me. I know it’s cliche, but my life changed in an instant. Before that, I was selfish. I looked into his eyes and knew I was going to pass that exam, and take care of him. Same with my daughter. I saw the image of a black panther prowling about, saying ‘bring it on.’ This is definitely reflected in my lyrics.”

Davies subscribes to the philosophy of the way Winston Churchill would sign off his letters to Roosevelt during the height of World War II: “K.B.O.” – “Keep buggering on.”