If there’s one thing The Kick doesn’t want to be, it’s boring. As we sit down, anticipating their debut record 1+1, it’s clear the pair take their fun very seriously. Beneath the Californian cool, the easy jokes and breezy warmth, there’s an offbeatness to LA natives Charlie Ziman and Nathan Tsunoda.
Neither hails from an inherently musical background. Ziman, raised by parents in the restaurant business, and Tsunoda, raised by pharmacists, bonded over their musical autodidacticism. Creatively, they came of age together, embracing the trial and error that comes with adolescent experimentation: “Honestly, we met in high school, and we were just fucking around; we didn’t know what we were doing; that was kind of our whole thing”, Ziman explains. Quickly, the pair found the lockstep ingenuity that underpins their personal and professional partnership. “Trust is the foundation of everything. We have great chemistry, and we’re so open to each other's ideas,” Ziman explains.
Their nascent collaboration paused when Tsunoda began college, a time Ziman dedicated to his music and the work of Malcom Todd, a close friend of both. Ziman feels a natural loyalty to Todd, a call to service he describes as his “bat signal being switched on.”
When asked about their dynamic, Ziman explained: “When the last album came out, that was that bat signal being on. I was like, 'I’m going to New York, to Electric Lady Studios'. I guess that’s what I meant: when Malcolm makes another album, the bat signal will be back on.” Their collaboration proved fruitful, with the pair producing and co-writing some of Todd's biggest hits, including “Roommates,” “Sweet Boy,” and “Earrings,” which reached number one on the Spotify Global chart.
Now, Ziman, alongside Tsunoda, is stepping into the limelight. On November 11th, the pair release their debut record 1+1, trailed by the album's lead single “Wish 4”. At 7 minutes long, it’s a kaleidoscopic insight into The Kicks' inhibition. Bopping between surfer rock, psychedelia, and garage punk, it navigates a tightrope act of sonic exploration, one that’s held together by their self-confidence. It’s tempting to fall into the trap of labelling them indie sleaze, a genre that’s enjoying a revival thanks to the success of acts like The Dare and LUCY; it’s a temptation the pair are eager to resist. Ziman, keen to elaborate their objection, told me, “There’s so much more to be discovered in a song, and I think there’s a beauty in it. I think stopping that discovery at just being like, this is a punky song, would be very minimal.” Ziman digresses: “For me, the fun in it is pushing the song. Seeing what works and going all the way to the brink of what can work in a song. That pursuit, that takes the song away from indie sleaze.”
Back to the idea of serious fun. In conversation, it’s evident that they love what they do; it’s their craft, and the craft is fun. But the music itself? Entirely serious. They’re unafraid to critique the industry built around it, and lament the encroachment of cookie-cutter production. Ziman voiced their opposition: “There’s a lot of repetitiveness in the current state of music; this whole album is our fuck you to the people ripping off artists; it’s something very special. We want to do something fun and different,” “we want everyone to have fun listening to our songs,” Tsunoda added.
They wear the dichotomy lightly, seeing no contradiction between their love for what they do and the weight they place upon it. And why should they? They’re talented and dedicated, creatively polished and yet personally affable, aware that they've enjoyed early success, but still hungry for more. Ziman closed our conversation with a summary of their musical worldview: “I’ll say this, at the end of the day, it’s not that deep, but it’s also the deepest thing ever. We’re still learning, and you know, we’re gonna have fun. I’ll leave it at that.”