of Montreal: Kevin Barnes Is Still Growing On Aethermead
- Josh Kitchen
- 2 days ago
- 10 min read
By : Josh Kitchen / June 5, 2026
I often liken artists with long careers and dozens of albums to the life of a tree—you get to watch them grow and change. Sometimes they lose a branch here and there, but the ones that stand the longest often bear the sweetest fruit.
Today, of Montreal release their 20th album, Aethermead, and witnessing Kevin Barnes guide the band through enough transformations to fill several careers—while constantly reinventing both his sound and himself in the process—has been as fulfilling an experience as a fan could ask for. On Aethermead, that spirit of reinvention and growth feels particularly personal.
Created after Barnes relocated from Vermont to Brooklyn following the end of a long-term relationship, the album captures an artist rebuilding in real time. It's a record filled with reflection, self-examination, and a renewed desire for connection through friendship, collaboration, meditation, and the communal power of live music itself.
I had a long conversation with Barnes, who was remarkably open about the life changes that informed the album, discussing everything from creative restlessness and heartbreak to the strange balance between happiness and the dissatisfaction that often fuels great art. Along the way, we also talked about Joni Mitchell, Prince, live music, guitar solos, and why, three decades into his career, he still feels compelled to push forward rather than look back.
Aethermead is of Montreal's 20th studio album - an incredible feat. There was something you said in an interview a couple years ago talking about the 20th anniversary of The Sunlandic Twins; "The old songs are fun and cool, but I don't really get that self-esteem blast from having written a song that people have liked. I only get that self-esteem blast from writing a new thing. It's so important for my self-esteem to continue to make music that is different from things I've made in the past. I feel like I'm still growing as an artist."
When I hear Aethermead, I feel like I get your feelings there. I was hoping you could talk a little bit more about that because what's so exciting about this record for me, and I imagine for fans of yours, is that it is so new. We all love the nostalgia hit of seeing a 20th anniversary show, but my favorite artists - I'm there for the new stuff as much as the old stuff.
Yeah, that's the best. People who ride with the legends all the way to the current moment—people who love Bowie's more recent albums or people who continued to listen to Prince deep into the 2000s and 2010s—that shows such a deep appreciation for the artist. Like you said, it's not really just a nostalgic thing of, "Oh, I remember when I was 24 and this record really hit." It's wanting something more from that artist. A lot of people are like that. I'm like that with a lot of people too, so I'm not really judging anyone. But it's kind of an extraordinary thing if you find an artist that you love and you're able to get something out of their evolution, whether it be creative or personal, because everything's connected to personal life as well.
Following Joni Mitchell and seeing all the different directions she's taken in her life as an artist and as a human being, or Leonard Cohen—there are so many examples. It's pretty rare that somebody is still deeply engaged their whole life as an artist, especially as a musician.
It's something I think about sometimes. Is it inherently juvenile to write about your love life? It seems like such a teenage thing, but in reality, we're all just kids. It doesn't matter how old you are—you're still a kid.
I think what's great about this record is that it comes from you at a time of transition—not just in your personal life, but in place, going from Vermont to Brooklyn. There are so many fun ways that you sing and talk about that on the record, from the early parts of the album to closing it with lyrics like, "I'd rather be a star in New York than a hick in Vermont," which I think is so funny, but also so true. If people know you, they get it. It's really exciting to hear your life changes on this record.
Thank you. When I was in Vermont, I wasn't very productive. Once I moved to Brooklyn, I felt this rush of inspiration and reconnected with that part of my brain that longs to express what it's experiencing and take something ugly or sad and try to turn it into something more beautiful, relatable, or sensible.
It was important for me to get out of Vermont and shake things up. That's kind of a common theme for me. I do that often. If I start feeling stagnant in a situation, if there's not enough movement or dynamism, I start to glitch out, which is probably problematic on certain levels. But I'm starting to accept that about myself and accept the reality of who I am, how I function, and how I interface with reality.
"Wanting to Hear" and "Listen to Music and Cry" have some very confessional lyrics like, "My only regret was I wasn't more than a friend. I could have done better at the end." I really love how open and transparent you are on this record.
It's funny because with that one, I'm kind of like, "Was I being too abstract?" It's always a balance—trying to figure out when to be more direct and simplistic and when to be more poetic and abstract.
Word choice is important, but sometimes a vibe can express more than words can. I'm trying to be a bit more generous in the way I portray the past and portray people I've had relationships with. Sometimes I get angry, bitter, and resentful, and that comes through. But then I remind myself that what I experienced with that person was really important. I loved them, and somewhere I'm sure they still love me, deep in their heart.
You're 30 years into of Montreal, but that doesn't mean you're not going to keep learning and growing as a person. Sticking with an artist who's been making music for a long time is interesting because it's like the life of a tree—you get to watch it grow, and every part of it hopefully bears fruit.
Yeah, definitely. It's interesting because there are elements of things I've done in the past and some new things that I'm incorporating. Sometimes I'm like, "Oh, I really want to make something that doesn't sound like anything I've ever done before," but that's not really possible because you are who you are. Unless you get a lobotomy or have things removed from your brain or new things added to your brain, you're not really going to change who you are or how your creative brain works.
In the past, I've tried to make things that were more progressive, unpredictable, or unconventional. With this record, because I was writing most of the songs at my kitchen table on acoustic guitar, I had a desire to make something that was more communal with the band members who were going to play on the record. I wanted it to feel less like an insular project where I was tracking one instrument at a time like I've done in the past.
Sometimes those recordings can feel kind of claustrophobic. With this record, it was really important to me to make something that was connected to other humans—their bodies, their brains, the people I've worked with in the past, the people in the touring band, and Drew Vandenberg, who has engineered a bunch of our albums. We did it on a tape machine, in Brooklyn.
There were a lot of little things where I was creating a checklist of the elements I wanted to exist. This is the way I wanted to produce it. I wanted to work pretty quickly. I didn't want to labor over it for six months and drain it of all its vitality. I wanted it to be fast, kind of "Instant Karma!" vibes.
I imagine you're excited to get these songs on stage.
Yeah, I think they'll translate well live because the instrumentation isn't that crazy. It's not a bunch of software instruments or a ton of session musicians. In the past, we've sometimes had backing tracks because there were so many elements that made a song what it was.
With this record, it's basically four or five instruments, so it's much easier to pull off live. It's something where we're all like, "Yeah, we can do that. We don't need to buy anything new." Just use the guitar you recorded with, use the amp you recorded with, use the three pedals you had. It's pretty cool to make something that translates that easily to a live setting.
Glad you mentioned guitar - "I Take the Form" opens with the sickest guitar solo. That's going to rip. I feel like that one will invite experimentation and exploration on the road.
Yeah, totally. We're adding another member for this tour, and he's going to be playing the guitar solo. I'm not going to tell him, "Play it exactly like the record." I want him to do whatever he feels in that moment. It's kind of like, "Here's your space to do a solo. It can be whatever you want."
Here's a heady one: if the record is about rebuilding yourself, what parts of you didn't survive the process?
I kind of feel like the things that didn't survive are the things I didn't want to survive.
Maybe the more petty parts of me. I still feel like I'm in the process, though. Even though it's been almost a year since my breakup and I moved to New York, I still feel like I'm figuring things out. Being single has helped me start valuing friendships more than I have in the past. In that eight-year relationship, we weren't necessarily codependent, but it was easy for me to get fully absorbed into the dynamic of the two of us. Especially when we moved to Vermont, because we were pretty isolated out in the woods and I didn't really have that many friends there. I was kind of floating in a way.
A realization I've had recently is that my way of coping with reality is often to dissociate and ride that wave—sort of float above my body and my life and not feel that engaged. So I've been doing a lot of meditating. I've been doing acupuncture. I've been doing these self-care and self-regulating practices that have helped me feel more embodied.
I'm in a happier place right now. It's funny because I don't want to be too happy. I kind of need anger. I need some level of dissatisfaction, frustration, passion, yearning, and anger to create the alchemy that produces art.
I don't want to be completely blissed out, but it is important not to spiral. When I spiral, I'm very unproductive, and it's annoying for everyone, mostly myself. So I'm finding my footing. It's exciting too, because I feel like, "Oh, I am a human. I am a person. I'm waking up. I'm alive. I'm in this moment." I'm not just in some fugue state. I'm actually charged with energy and excitement for the future.
It's great to hear you talk about that because I found meditation to be something I can't imagine life without now.
I like the idea of it being a piecemeal approach that doesn't have a foundation of any kind. It kind of fits my chaotic approach to life in general. I think it's easier for me to feel like it's not a chore, not a job, not a responsibility. It's just something that I do to slow things down, like you said, and feel embodied.
I'm not going to beat myself up if I catch myself ruminating. I think that's the thing. Maybe in the past, when I've tried to meditate, I'd think, "Oh, this is depressing. I'm just staring into the void of nonexistence," or whatever it is. It felt scary and created anxiety. But somehow that's changed since I moved here and started this new practice. It's great to sit by the window where the sun comes in and close my eyes. I move my upper body in a way that feels in line with the acupuncture treatment and the concept of chi and the meridians and the pathways of energy. I try to keep things from feeling blocked and just let it all flow in a healthy way.
What's the last record you bought?
It's funny. I'm always like, "Do I even like music?" So many days go by where all I listen to are singing bowls.
That's music!
That's kind of the only music I listen to sometimes. Then occasionally I want to hear Revolver. I want to hear Purple Rain. I want to hear the Under the Cherry Moon soundtrack. I want to go back to things that make me happy and make me feel powerful and energized.
As far as new music is concerned, it's kind of interesting because of the whole discovery that people are gaming the algorithm to become seemingly popular when they're not actually popular.
We won't mention any band names here.
It's such a weird thing because there are so many bands and so many people like me wanting to put out records and do things. I've actually been going out to concerts way more than I did in Athens or Vermont. There's just more to do here. Whether it's a jazz ensemble, an avant-garde classical orchestral performance, or a more traditional symphonic concert, that's actually been a really positive development for me. Just going out more and seeing things live.
There's something more connected about it. Obviously, it feels like you're more connected to your fellow humans that way. You're sitting down facing the stage with a bunch of other people doing the same thing, and the people on stage are creating this incredible tapestry of sounds. You're all experiencing it at the same time.
It's very transportive. It feels really extraordinary and really special.
The ability to be in your shoes and be that for somebody else has to be so powerful. Hearing you talk about some of the scary things you've gone through just makes it all the more special.
Yeah, man. I try to remember that because I feel like in the past I've taken it for granted.
It's just what I do. We put out records, we go on tour, we play shows every night, we come home, and then we do it again. Recently, though, I've been talking to people who have been to some of our shows and hearing them say things like, "It was so cool. It was so powerful. It was so interesting and beautiful."
For me, it's kind of like putting on the same pair of pants. It doesn't necessarily feel extraordinary because it's my everyday reality. Unless you're Kanye West, you're probably not walking around thinking, "Oh my God, you're so lucky that you're seeing me." You kind of have to have a certain modesty and detachment to be able to do it. But I want to be a little less detached on this next tour. I really don't want to take it for granted because you never know when it's going to be your last one.
It's so special because our ensemble is basically the same group of people who have been doing this together for over a decade. Those relationships are incredibly special, and I don't want to take them for granted. I want to value them more and appreciate them more.
I'm really looking forward to the opportunity to travel with these people again and play music again. I think it's going to be really beautiful.
