Both the best and worst of life’s moments are ever-fleeting. We live in a constant state of tug-of-war with grievance and celebration of what’s being left behind—a revolving door, although rarely do we have time to ponder which emotion to bring to the surface before it spits us out onto a new street to embark upon all over again. Will Westerman, who goes by Westerman artistically, isn’t spooked by a life in flux, rather embracing metamorphosis through each arrival and departure. His new album A Jackal’s Wedding is documentation of utter vulnerability and commitment to such art through a dogpile of transition that could otherwise be a means for creative stagnance.

Written and created in the midst of several European moves—London to Greece, and most recently Milan—the album is a reflection of Westerman’s comings and goings. His junior album, it synthesizes elements of his previous two projects to create an entirely new, yet familiar sound. He allows synths to lead the way this time, rather than the guitar or drums. Recorded in a mere five weeks on the Greek island of Hydra, Westerman took inspiration from not only experiential matter, but the benign, playful existence of light and shadow in Athens, Greece, and the insufferable heat of Hydra, which show up texturally throughout the record.

Four singles were released predating the album’s release: “Spring”, “Nevermind”, “About Leaving”, and “Adriatic”—each with visual accompaniment. An ode to newcomers near and far, Westerman confirms that such a title can signify so much beauty and possibility—reclaiming and redefining the word “home” again and again. It's about unearthing solace in your surroundings not despite their limitations, but because of them, and finding meaning in the once unknown.

Life keeps moving, despite our cries, shouts, jubilation, or denial. A Jackal’s Wedding reminds us that it's okay to begin again until death’s end, but to bask in the transformation as if you called for it. Allow the sun of a new home to wash over you with endearment as the door keeps revolving.

See below for an exclusive conversation with Westerman:

The title A Jackal’s Wedding evokes duality—something that could be both beautiful and feral at once, the coexistence of opposites. What drew you to that symbolism and how does it play out tonally on the record?

It seemed to fit the duality of living through a period of time where we are being bombarded with the feral continuously, and the gauntlet of trying to find ways to see the beauty within it. Sonically, I wanted to mimic the storm clouds and be able to punctuate them with iridescence, to create moments where the eye is able to focus.

Your discography bridges various genres, if you’re the type to put labels on things: dance/electronic, indie pop, soft rock, folk. How do you think your sound has evolved over time? Might it mirror your own movement through the world—constantly in flux, but grounded by moments of stillness?

I don’t think about it, it’s an instinctive thing. Thinking and music are bad bedfellows, though a lot of thinking precedes the appearance of what to try and do next. I’m really concerned with trying to allow for an imprint outside of what I plan to come into being. For that to happen, being alone is important because it releases you from the tendency to look at it through someone else’s eyes, and from the absurd notion that this is even possible.

How do you translate abstract concepts, like transience, wonder, and fluidity into intentional music when they’re often hard to define? Were there moments on Written and created in the midst of several European moves—London to Greece, and most recently Milan—the album is a reflection of Westerman’s comings and goings. His junior album, it synthesizes elements of his previous two projects to create an entirely new, yet familiar sound. He allows synths to lead the way this time, rather than the guitar or drums. Recorded in a mere five weeks on the Greek island of Hydra, Westerman took inspiration from not only experiential matter, but the benign, playful existence of light and shadow in Athens, Greece, and the insufferable heat of Hydra, which show up texturally throughout the record. where some were more easily expressed than others?

The most effective way of doing this is by following the threads that the uniqueness of the present moment is giving you before the mind has the capacity to perform its trick of telling you what it is. The most successful examples of this on the new record are “Spring”, “Nature Of A Language” and “You Are Indelibly Where I Sleep.”

Having lived across several European cities throughout the making of this album alone, have you found that your songwriting process shifts with geography, or is it bound to something internal, something constant?

I think that changing the external stimulus is very important, because when you are in a state of flux with the information coming in then you are able to access angles you are not able to access when you are comfortable and familiar. The music is, however, rooted in the soul, in my opinion.

How do you approach vulnerability in your work—do you actively lean into it or does it just happen naturally as part of your process?

I don’t release music which doesn’t pass the acid test of vulnerability, because I believe that music is a connective tool, and can traverse borders which seem unscalable outside of the mode. It’s not easy, but that’s why it's important.

What media are you consuming these days, and how has it shaped the direction of the new album? Have any particular artists, films, or books inspired you?

I listened to the song “In High Places” a lot while shaping the record. I’ve been enjoying watching the films of John Cassavettes recently, and I’m trying to read a book by Italo Calvino that my wife gave me. It’s hard when you move all the time to explore as much as I'd like.

The album was built on this idea of being a “newcomer.” Does that notion ever bring a sense of freedom for you, in the way that it opens the door for reinvention, both personally and artistically? Or potentially pressure to define yourself?

I think if you are an artist you are always a citizen of everywhere and nowhere. The embracing of this reality can lead to a certain joy which I hadn’t found before I left the place which I come from. That joy is bound up in a recognition of freedom, absolutely.

We’ve already covered your ever-evolving sound, but is there a direction you’re particularly excited to explore in your future work?

Yes, I’m working on it. Let me get back to you on that!

‍