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Honesty and Identity: Stuyedeyed’s personal quest

Photos by Allen Ying


Outside of Danbro Studios in Bushwick I notice Nelson Hernández-Espinal walking towards me with a smile on his face. Hernández-Espinal, the lead singer and guitar player of the New York-based band Stuyedeyed, apologizes for running a couple of minutes late, “I couldn’t find a parking spot.” He then points at me and says, “I almost wore a shirt just like that!” That day, I was wearing an orange-red shirt with white details on the neck and sleeves. It would’ve been rad if we matched, maybe a little awkward even. Nelson is 24. His demeanor, and the energy attached to him makes him come across as older than his age. He comes forward ready to start the interview which I’ve scheduled to take place in my rehearsal room at Danbro.

The last time I saw Stuyedeyed was at the rooftop of Our Wicked Lady. I vividly remember a mosh pit heckler who wouldn’t stop waving at the attendees because he really wanted to crowd surf. The act itself, caught the attention of Nelson, who just stared back at him and used that moment as an opportunity. It instantly added intensity to their set. That night rained, but the show continued. The drizzle didn’t deflect those who were captured by the madness and forceful ride that their set usually is — an outburst of emotions. I am positive that there’s no other way to explain their live act’s honest ferocity. The core line up of Stuyedeyed is comprised of Hernandez-Espinal on guitars and vocals, bassist Humberto Genão, guitarist George Ramirez, and drummer Luis Ruelas. Currently and ahead of the release of their upcoming EP under the name of Moments of Terribleness, fueled by an Indiegogo campaign set by the band, the group was assisted by their friends and followers to make it a tangible product. In the campaign, the group explains that the upcoming release, “captures notions of self-identity and assimilation in a targeted, experimental explosion.” The EP, in Nelson’s words, is by far, “the most honest shit we’ve ever done. It’s a lot of social commentary. Bert likes to say we are hood journalists. Reporting on the community.”

  

The start of the band goes back to basics when Nelson began experimenting with an unexpected gift. “The one gift that my mom gave me was an iPad. That was the one big gift that she gave me after I graduated high school,” shares Hernández-Espinal. “It was like a bedroom thing,” he shares. He started writing music while living in Florida. In his high school years, he acquired a full band version of Guitar Hero and used the microphone as part of his DIY recording home-studio, where acoustics were achieved by wrapping sheets in his closet and making his own little soundproof booth. His first instrument was a bass, though, at the age of 10. “I started on bass and then picked up the guitar,” he says. “I didn’t grow up with a lot. My mom and my dad made sure I went to a good school. I lived in the projects in Bed Stuy but went to catholic school in Queens. Needless to say, with a lot of ‘blanquitos’. I moved back to New York when I was 17. I was writing all these songs in an iPad.” One of the first things he did was to download the music program GarageBand on his tablet. “I just started making demos. I always wrote music by music and put stuff together like Lego blocks,” he adds.

 

Hernandez-Espinal and Humberto “Bert” Genão used to play in a dance pop music group back in the day. Hernandez was 17, freshly back in New York. “It was so bad,” he adds. It was Hernandez on guitar and Bert on bass. They kept doing demos together. At a show in Philadelphia with the old project, they were sitting in the back of a van when Hernandez showed Genão the demos from the iPad. Both questioned their involvement with the dance-pop group, and right then knew where they had to focus. For Nelson it was more of a personal achievement, “I was partying a lot and was distracted.” After a visit from some friends from Florida who told him to get his shit together, he started to put together the first phase of Stuyedeyed. 

 

The first recordings took place at Time Castle Recording located in Bed Stuy, Brooklyn. There, they recorded 10 songs — with random people coming in and out, later becoming members of the band. I ask Nelson about the whereabouts of the tracks. Nelson quickly adds, “I always do a big group of songs and I feel that if I don’t identify with them, I take them away.” The first completed songs were groovier, psychedelically inclined. Unafraid to experiment they also combined musical elements including congas, bongos, percussion, harmonies and organs, just to name a few, as part of the process and quest for their sound. The first drummer of Stuyedeyed introduced Oh Sees to Hernández-Espinal. The San Francisco-born band influenced and inspired him, with their distorted and thunderous arrangements. “Shit got fuzzy,” he explains.  Still, it didn’t represent what he wanted the band to be. Re-envisioning what he sought the band to sound like, he started writing songs again, this time with a clean slate and a new head space. After shelving the first tracks of Stuyedeyed, he was inspired to find the right sound and fit for the band. “It’s kinda funny ‘cause I am in the mind set now that I am tired of screaming,” Nelson adds. 

 

“Still to this day we are inspired by all the bands we’ve played with. Like, if it wasn’t for playing with Combo Chimbita two years ago, I would’ve never been inspired to share that part of me,” shares Nelson about “Girasol”, a song in the upcoming EP that salsa influences and melodies are part of. He also means, sharing his Latino identity within rock music. For him, playing that song to a crowd of kids that do not speak or understand Spanish is transcendental. “You play that song to a bunch of punk kids and they’re dancing to Salsa music and it’s funny as shit, because we’re just some Latin punks that grew up listening to salsa music. It’s cool to reverse that.” Nelson expresses.

 

Nelson says it’s a mistake I’ve never seen Combo Chimbita live. At the time of this interview they just recently played with them opening their show. Stuyedeyed is at a point in their careers where their Latin influences are very much flowering and embraced as part of their musical and personal identity. “The first thing I remember listening to was Hector Lavoe,” tells Nelson, “There’s a direct influence in subtle ways.” For him, their culture shows in their work ethic, and even while playing live when feeling the need to “scream twice as loud to get a point across.”

 

“We’re a punk band,” says Nelson, “the Latino culture is very interesting. We have this underlined struggle for identity because we’re not here nor there. We are such a mix. As proud [as we are] of who we are, I think little by little we are piecing together what that means.” When Stuyedeyed started playing live shows, Espinal used to run around with a Puerto Rican flag on his back. “I have struggled with identity. As I am getting older I don’t as much, because I know who I am,” shares Espinal. “We all know who we are.” For him, their identities will shine through their music over time whilst they’re still figuring out how to do that. This movement coming from a place of wanting validation and security, a feeling that has taken the band time, but feels tangible nowadays.

 

“My needs from the show and my needs from the music evolve, and so the band evolves” explains Nelson. Espinal is the main writer of the band. It all still starts in his bedroom, a process that’s shared later with the crew. The band would not be what it is if it was just him. For Espinal, Genão’s bass grooves, Georgie’s riffs (he calls him The Whale), and Luis’ rawness are ever growing and challenging. “After a show I ask Georgie, ‘like how did you do that?’ It’s so beautiful to play shows with him and have him in the band. I’ve gotten better as a player because of him. His influences have helped push what the songs are,” Nelson gushes, “and Luis is just a fucking clock. A machine.” The system and the way it works, changes, but the group has made their influences come forward without overstepping each other. It’s a dynamic that’s brotherly. “I don’t have to tell them what to do, they take what I come up with and push it.”

 

Stuyedeyed has toured extensively throughout North America — first booking their own shows, and now propelled by the help of a booking agent who they’ve work with for a little of over a year. More so now than ever, their tactics for touring have shifted into taking the right shows and having a more serious end game to it. The last year they did 117 shows. Quite a lot for a band with no full releases, except for an EP and singles in the digital stratosphere. Having an agent has allowed them to delegate responsibility amongst the group and sit back a bit, giving them more time to focus on the reason why they are doing all those dates — their music.

 

On stage, Espinal transmits confidence. “I feel like I am the same person, but there’s a switch that just makes me like a ringleader,” he shares. For Espinal, there’s an illusion of control attached to his performance. A psychological trip that takes away from a typical rock show. An experience that’s transformative for the show runners and the attendees. “I don’t want to be a rock band [playing a rock show]. I want it to be a gathering,” continues Nelson. “There’s a freedom that comes from crawling into people’s spaces and life,” he adds. “It’s an anxious peace.” There’s a show, a set list, but not a routine. Unconsciously, they would not repeat the experience. Grasping from each room, grasping from the feelings and emotions transmitted from those who are there to see them, is something that moves them.

 

Espinal recently started therapy. Honesty has been a big thing for him. Currently sober, the search for honest moments has allowed him to show a moment of sincerity on stage. “It feels necessary for me to freak out,” he says, “I am really listening to the shit that I am singing in these songs. Like why am I saying that, or screaming, where does it come from? Keeping that as an act of process helps the show feels more raw. That search for intimacy within the band and me, it’s really what drives it.” Seeing bands like Combo Chimbita, has encouraged that search. “Seeing Carolina, she’s like giving. It doesn’t feel like a showcase, it feels like she’s grabbing something from the back room and bringing it out to the crowd. That inspires me!” He continues, “Like, fuck the fashion show. Fuck how cool we’re supposed to be. I love the humanity that’s involved in what we do. Sharing a space. Sharing a message. That’s why we don’t play with lights on. It’s a campfire. Fuck all the frills. I don’t have money to keep breaking guitars, but I keep fucking tossing them. And then I have to borrow a friend’s guitar,” he laughs. “There’s a quest for honesty. I have to get in with the crowd and feel that and get into the mosh pit,” he says.

 

Thinking about it, Espinal is an instigator. Controlling the crowd is part of his idea of transmitting the message that we are all the same. He started seeking therapy because he felt he was being dishonest with himself. The validation battle fueled by wanting to find a place of happiness and comfort without vices. “As music is therapeutic, it can only help you so much,” he shares. “You start getting caught up in your own bullshit. If you ain’t loving yourself, you don’t have the capacity to love anyone else.” His family background and the absence of a traditional family upbringing pushed him to find ease and manifest in “shitty behavior.” “I wanted to also break the cycle of machismo from my family. Like, the mom is always babying the boys, that sort of thing just developed into some other shit. My family is not big on therapy. I recognized I needed to break that, and not be a shitty dude. I needed to learn to take a step back and not be afraid to say ‘I need help’ and going to get that help yourself. It’s important to speak about that stuff. It’s crucial to change that dialogue. It starts at home, where you rest your head. I’ve had that conversation with my dad. I am out seeking help. Some people go to church, some people to therapy, some people drink. We all have our own ways to figure it out. This is the way for me.”

 

Sobriety is not a definite plan now, “I don’t know if it’s going to stay forever, I gotta take it day by day,” he says. But it is a way for Espinal to avoid distractions. Luckily, the rest of the band has been a support system, respecting and accommodating the process. “We all respect our individuality. They celebrate the fact that I am trying. We inspire each other to try and be better. Whenever I am having an anxious moment, they’re like, ‘dude, you got it.’ We’ve been hitting it hard forever. They’re glad to see me less angry. The shows are better then, there’s a level of presence,” he says. “The dynamic and relationship with the music and the performance changed drastically — it has morphed. I feel like we’re fucking cooking.” While sober, feeding off from the crowd makes him vulnerable. A reaction that was before not fully understood, he says it’s almost like “breaking a fourth wall” for the group now. “Doing that and saying ‘fuck the separation, we are all the same’,” Nelson says, “we are all there.”

 

Going forward, with this new mindset, the possibilities of the band are limitless. “I think we can do whatever the fuck we want,” says Nelson. Having the opportunity to allow themselves to have a clearer and present mindset, everything seems possible and there are far fewer distractions. For Nelson, specifically, “It feels like I got a new lease on life, dude!” he laughs. “I hit the reset button. Everything feels fresh and new, everything feels exciting. We’ve been playing the same songs for a long time and that can get really tiring. But re-envisioning the songs like we have; it feels like everything now is open territory.” I tell him that it can get really frustrating to not allow yourself to create beyond your personal experiences — at times it feels that you almost have to misplace yourself in order to find yourself. When you water things too much with the same, I tell him, “Your plant, it’s just going to die.” He responded with attention and laughter, “I literally said that yesterday!” I explain to him that if you keep putting the same emotions into your art, nothing will shift. He agrees. Nelson has had his pot and soil changed. “I think the main thing with this band has been identity. What does it mean to be a 24 year old male that is deeply rooted in Latino culture, but doesn’t speak Spanish that well, who in his own family is the black sheep because he’s making rock music? This pushes and pulls on growing up the way that I did. What does it mean in the music? How can I share that in a really healthy way? How can my brothers also get out and express who they are and their unique identities? How do we put that out for people to listen and enjoy,” Hernández-Espinal express. He concludes that the best way to do so is by, “cutting a lot of the bullshit in the way we operate and realizing ain’t nobody is going to be opening doors for us. We are not fucking four white dudes with leather jackets. We are not a copy and pasted thing. We are unique to our own experience, and unique to who we are and what we are saying. Our identity is just that, we are going to do whatever the fuck we want, and nobody is going to carve that space for us, so we’re going to carve that space ourselves,” he adds.  

 

Separating themselves mentally from a formulaic music experience lets them create a community of their own, with no gimmicks that makes things more “comfortable” for them in the “bigger world,” Nelson adds. Humans, in general, long to be distinguished by their differences and are driven by their individuality to experience it. There’s pride in the word, in the search for it, in what it implies. A social construct that goes beyond characteristics and has become personal and overwhelmingly broadens its concept and awareness. The current state of mind in Stuyedeyed feeds from it, and it’s more relevant to the group than ever. After Nelson’s experiences and finding therapy, for example, “You have to really dig to find who you are. You have to be extreme versions of yourself to find who you are,” he says. He feels the path seems easier. The path seems different. His expectation have changed, along with his identity. “Maintaining honesty, pushing forward, and finding what makes you happy. Just go figure that out,” he says. “I know what I like, what I don’t like. I know what makes me feel good, and I know what hurts me and I’ll keep doing that until I find something else that I like. I’m just chiseling away,” he adds.

 

“That’s the beauty of finding more efficient and soothing ways to your soul to get some feelings out,” he says. The approach to Stuyedeyed’s writing comes from an honest place underlined by understanding. “It’s harder and easier to write music now, I’ve scrapped a lot of shit because it doesn’t feel good or sit. You know when you write a song and it clicks, that’s the feeling,” Nelson says. “I have written a lot of bullshit and that’s why that stuff doesn’t exist on the internet, but definitely as I grow the things grow,” he says. I ask him if he feels afraid of writing anything that he would eventually want to delete again. Would you let it be part of your growth, I ask. Nelson reacts by saying that now he doesn’t regret anything they’ve done recently. Stuyedeyed started when he was 18. He feels more comfortable with the process and the tracks that they have released since Funeral. There’s no reason to take that away, he says, and that specific EP represents a moment in time for them that was captured and that they’re proud of. I tell him it’s the internet’s fault. “There’s definitely stuff on the internet that you see, and you go whyyyyy,” he laughs.

 

The freedom that social media platforms gives to users, from music, opinions, attacks, it all comes down to one thing, and that is validation. “Validaatiooon,” sings Nelson, “because everything is so instant and you get something, put it up and then just wait. We are so dependent [on] that instantaneous result.” He thinks it should not matter, but the real benefits from it and for Stuyedeyed lies in the fact that people come to their shows and pay to see them. Regardless of getting lost for hours on Instagram, in the end, “We are performers. And it’s a super huge tool. But fuck the immediacy,” he adds. “We have to remind ourselves in the musical community in Brooklyn, that some people shoot up and make it right away and have the means to do that. We didn’t grow up with the means, but it’s not a fucking competition, one, and secondly, we are forced to take our time and make the most out of what we are able to do with it. But everybody comes from different places,” Espinal says.

 

Nelson used to work in his uncle’s liquor store in Brownsville, New York, sometimes up to 75 hours a week. “I wish I didn’t have to work as much as I did to pay for the van,” he says. I tell him that that’s still working towards the group. He agrees. He knows this. “It was a good and bad thing working there. Bad because I am sober and being in the hood and in a liquor store makes you want to drink. It’s hard. Putting those hours. But it’s worth it. Because I get to play the songs that mean the world to me to people that has never heard them before. Playing for people that come back to see us. That’s really what makes our shows as honest and real and powerful, because I just spent 70 hours in a liquor store, in a box, behind plexiglass. So yeah, I am going to yell. I am going to scream at the top of my lungs because I’m like a fucking caged animal. It’s necessary.”

 

Stuyedeyed’s Indiegogo campaign surpassed their $5 thousand dollars goal. Moments of Terribleness is out November 1st. You can keep up with the band on Instagram.



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