BREADCOUCH

Arriving late to an unfamiliar house in Austin, a familiar face opens the door and welcomes me

into his home. The past few days have been filled with this artist’s music; his words and videos

play over and over in my head. Although it is our first time meeting in person, he hardly feels

like a stranger. Breadcouch greets me with a genuine smile and eagerly ushers me back to his

studio. Multiple monitors sit on a desk holding notes, a keyboard and a cat. Plants sit on the

window sill, art is scattered around the room, a fresh painting rests on an easel in the corner. I

immediately spot a Mac Miller vinyl sitting on a record player next to the desk.

Breadcouch is an Austin-based hip-hop artist who is in the final stages of a new project he

hopes to release this summer. His collection of songs has been steadily growing since 2020 and

he recently performed a set at Hole in the Wall in late February. After connecting through

another local artist, an opportunity was arranged for me to peak behind the curtain of his

studio to learn more about this incredibly talented artist and his work. We discussed music, the

creative process, emotional health and ‘cute shit’.

Upon sitting down in the studio, I already feel as if I am reconnecting with an old friend. We

trade an issue of Sidecar Junkaroo for a Breadcouch-branded box of matches before we even

exchange our own names. The least creative, most obvious question enters the chat first,

“How’d you get the name Breadcouch?”

“I’ve made so much shit up over the years that I don’t even know if I am sure anymore,” he

laughs. “I think the full real story is, when I was in college I wanted my Instagram handle to be

Breadhouse. I was super stoned one day and thought to myself, ‘you know, if birdhouses were

made out of bread, do you think birds would live in them or eat them?’” We both laugh.

“Unfortunately, the name was taken! Every variation was taken. I also had a really cool couch at

the time…” Queue was actually the first name under which his music was released. But after

some time, thought and a cease and desist letter, Breadcouch was born.

Breadcouch’s unreleased project is playing in the background as we bounce between bouts of

listening to the music and engaging in discussion. After a ceasing in conversation to listen to a

verse of his new project, I inquired about the evident evolution of his music.

“I do feel like I am getting better with every project,” he says. “I am really excited to still be

feeling that way. And I am very scared to stop feeling that way. But it is also this tug of war,

because I want it to be good enough to where I don’t feel like it needs to be better, but I don’t

know if that exists, to be honest.”

Bread has been on his music journey long enough to understand how one’s artistry develops

over time. His passion has remained a constant, but his ability to express it through his music is

what continues to propel his work forward from self-proclaimed humble beginnings. “I started

making lo-fi music because I could make lo-fi music…not to hate on lo-fi music but I was finding

those kind of samples easily at the beginning and I was having a good time with it.

Then I started to get a little more confident with my voice, more confident in my arrangement and

started finding a new sound.”

A long way from lo-fi music, Breadcouch’s new music incorporates more melodic depth

throughout his songs. His recent EP Sad Songs Suck appears to be a fitting title for the

unwavering smile on the face of the artist sitting opposite of me. Ironically enough, I was

unable to find a track that sucked after combing through Bread’s discography of almost

exclusively sad songs. A collection of heavy, despairing lyrics driven by relaxing, meditative keys

and chord progressions. A balancing act between these raw, emotional lyrics and colorful

graphics and playful music. Singing facetiously about keeping all this pain bottled up inside.

I ask him, “Do you find it cathartic, creating in a way that allows you to express these deeper,

darker emotions in a lighter, more colorful way?”

“That’s pretty spot on,” he says. “I also just like cute shit. But that juxtaposition is important to

me. We all lie about how we feel when we shouldn’t. It is weird to write and sing something but

also not want to draw too much attention to it – so let’s make it cute. So many people have said

this but music saved my life. Seriously though, music is always there to listen.”

It is quite apparent that Breadcouch does not only make music to address his own agony, he

knows there are plenty of people who share his same pain. “Everybody struggles with shit.

Struggles come in a lot of shapes and sizes but everybody’s biggest struggle is their own biggest

struggle.”

It takes half an hour of talking for us to officially share each other’s names. I learn the artist in

front of me is named Quinn, not Breadcouch, but the difference between the two can

sometimes be hazy.

“I think the line often gets blurred,” he says. “I feel like at first there was Quinn and

Breadcouch. I used to sign off at work and it was Breadcouch time. I feel like when I am on

stage and stuff, I am Breadcouch, I’m not myself - I mean, I am myself but it is like a different

version with played-up parts. Sometimes when I get nervous, I just want to be Breadcouch and,

just, forget that I am nervous. Like, none of this matters in Quinn’s life, it’s not embarrassing

when I get up there.”

This idea of separating Breadcouch and Quinn is an understandable, but fascinating one. The

creation of these two split, yet symbiotic identities is a catalyst for creativity in and of itself.

Something I feel many artists with day jobs have to do in order to reserve a piece of them as

their very own sacred muse. Was I talking to Quinn, or was I speaking with Breadcouch?

“Does this help protect your time when it comes to work responsibilities versus making art?”

“I think that is the goal. I don’t think it works all the time. I am trying to do better,” he says.

“It’s tough to have your foot in two different worlds,” I add.

“Especially when one is paying you far better than the other, but the latter is what you love.”

We soon find ourselves on the topic of external factors being an influence in any art that is

being made. Our emotions, our availability and our relationships all affect the creative process.

I immediately noticed a contrast between his most recent project and the new, unreleased

work we were playing in the studio. “Would you say that your new relationship has had a direct

effect on your music?” I ask him.

(Laughs) “Absolutely. This song Smokeshop Shawty is directly inspired by them. It’s just me

being horny and excited basically. They’re really cool – unapologetically themselves, which

inspires me a lot. That is how I try to act.”

“Well art has to be unapologetic, otherwise it comes off…”

“Corny as fuck,” he exclaims. “They have directly changed my sound. For real.”

Although he has less time to make music, Breadcouch says he feels more inspired than ever

before. They will pull up to the studio and paint while he runs his experiments on the

microphone, both without fear of being judged. Advocacy for his music career is a refreshing

shift from what he has experienced in the past.

“I feel like my prior relationship, there wasn’t a lot of support and respect for the music. Which

was hard. It was embarrassing a little bit. Things just changed, we grew apart.” He says.

Whether good or bad, music is a net in which Bread’s emotions can be caught. What started as

a therapeutic release of sadness has evolved into a vehicle to express an array of emotion. “I

am doing less shows, but making better music and my entire life is just generally better,” he

says. “Which is cool, but also inspires me to go do more shows. Everything just feels like it

matters more.”

Breadcouch has aspirations to perform more in the future as his catalog of music grows.

Touring open mics, Sofar Sounds shows and the occasional Austin venue, he says he really feels

like he connects with his audience’s when he is on stage. He speaks so fervidly about the

intimacy of a live show, how everyone feels connected as if the music was made just for them.

In Breadcouch’s mind, it is made just for them.

“I am very lighthearted when I perform and I do a lot of crowd work, then I will sing about

depression for 4 minutes,” he says. “When I was in Wisconsin doing open mics. I used to play

this song Do You Know / Talk to the Devil – one of my first songs I ever put on Spotify. There’s a

part when the beat drops out and I just sit down and do this spoken word part of the song and

people were crying and saying they have never connected with someone like that and I was like

dude, honestly same, and was like ‘I love y’all’.”

Although he has taken a break from doing as many shows, he says his most recent show at Hole

in the Wall on his birthday was right where he belonged. After an hour long set, he left the

stage telling himself, “this is what I am supposed to do.”

There are many things to look forward to on Breadcouch’s horizon. New music, shows and

videos are in the works to be released this year but as far as he’s concerned, “I’m going to make

music forever. Forever. It’s very fun to do, it makes me happy and I’m going to share it because

why the fuck not. I’m vibing while listening to myself so hopefully someone else will.”

You can follow Breadcouch on YouTube and Instagram @breadcouch. Check out the new EP

Sad Songs Suck on Apple Music and Spotify, and keep your ears peeled for new music. Now go

do good and create with each other.