Photo by Noah Kalina
Mas Ysa: "Why" on SoundCloud.
Mas Ysa is Thomas Arsenault. He was born in Montreal, spent his formative years at a Brazilian high school, "irkingly" studied poetry at the University of Victoria in British Columbia, faked flute proficiency to get into Ohio's Oberlin College (where he befriended members of Teengirl Fantasy and Blondes), and spent time living in San Francisco with composer Warner Jepson. Eventually, he ended up rooming with experimental electronic artist Laurel Halo in an apartment with a built-in recording studio connected to DIY spaces Glasslands, 285 Kent, and Death by Audio in Brooklyn. As a sound guy, engineer, and artist, he made connections that led to his signing with Downtown Records, plus some gigs opening for acts like Deerhunter and Purity Ring.
He enthusiastically tells me the story about his most recent relocation—his landlord and the police pounded on his apartment door in Brooklyn, swiftly evicted him, and hesitantly let him come back the next day to box up his stuff while security watched. He threw it all in a U-Haul, started driving, and spent the night at a bed-and-breakfast before impulsively renting a house in Lake Hill, New York, 20 minutes north of Woodstock.
Since March, he’s been secluded Upstate, adding to an enormous backlog of material. Though he’s been on his creative grind for years, he's also still at the beginning of his career. The only thing he’s shared with the public thus far is “Why”—a song he put on SoundCloud "kind of to remind my friends that I exist and haven't just been in Woodstock doing nothing."
In Brooklyn, he used to work through the night in his windowless studio. Now, windows in his space reveal the forest and the sun. While we’re on the phone, he’s hanging out on his screened-in front porch by a wood-burning stove, and talking about his new 50-something hippie friends, his near run-ins with David Bowie at the grocery store, and his numerous bear problems. “A bear's been in my house,” he says. “The door was open and the spice cabinet was ripped down—the kitchen was trashed. And bears smell. They're like musky dogs.”
Arsenault started making music as a 15-year-old in São Paulo, surrounded by DJ culture and unenforced drinking age laws. With some turntables and a sampler, he started experimenting with sound. His listening patterns transitioned from techno to Aphex Twin and Dan Snaith’s recordings as Manitoba. “Manitoba is electronic and rigid, but it also sounds like wood—there's air in it," he says, "which is something hard techno lacks.” Later, when he returned to North America for college, his world was opened by Neutral Milk Hotel and Modest Mouse—“music made by young people in America that was really provocative and emotive.”
It’s easy to hear those formative influences in “Why”. There’s a singer/songwriter element, as Arsenault’s voice quivers through emotional lines addressing love. Then there’s the thick low-end, and some twinkling, atmospheric sounds. These days, he’s mainly listening to the work of his friends, plus John Prine, and Van Morrison’s 1980 album Common One.
When addressing his future plans—an EP later this year, an album next year—the constantly on-the-move artist hints that his current residence in Lake Hill might be temporary, too. “I'm going to see how winter feels up here,” he says.
Photo by Erez Avissar
Pitchfork: How is living Upstate different than being in Brooklyn?
Thomas Arsenault: There are all these older artists and weird people—my best friend up here is like 55. If you go to a bar and watch a hockey game, there's people to talk to and eventually have over for dinner or whatever. My life's been good here. It's seen much more daylight and been much more sober. Living in a place with no light and near four venues where you drink for free is fun, but I'm not 22 anymore.
[Being in Lake Hill] actually makes going into New York City a little overwhelming. I don't know if I'll be able to live there again. The city keeps you awake, but here you can go to work early because you didn't go to bed so late.
Pitchfork: Do you identify more as Brazilian, American, or Canadian?
TA: Well, I feel Canadian when I'm on the ice around a bunch of you Americans and I'm knockin' you down—I played hockey in Queens when I was in New York. I would go from my little terrible loft to a rink in Queens and I have always been on a team. It's a familial thing. My manager says as soon as I start talking about hockey, my Canadian accent comes out.
Photo by Erez Avissar
Pitchfork: What's your live setup like?
TA: My rig is a TR-909, an early techno drum machine, and a Kurzweil K2000—an old rack-mount synth that weighs 40 pounds. It's terrible to lug around, but at the same time, they're not expensive, so if it breaks, I can get another one. My rig looks complicated when you're looking at it from the audience, but it really comes down to two synths, one drum machine, and a vocal chain.
Pitchfork: What will your next release look like?
TA: I guess it's an EP, but I won't call it an EP. It's just kind of that scale, and it'll be priced accordingly, but the whole thing is about getting something out now. To be moving. There's a couple ballads on it. There's another banger and some ambient stuff. The stuff I'm performing live will be the bulk of the full-length. I'm finishing up some mixes now.
I've been really squeamish about releasing my music. I've been around and showing people my music forever, but keeping it very private. Then I played a birthday party for my friend at [Brooklyn venue] Zebulon. I was approached at the end of it by my now manager, who came up to me and said, "I usually hate seeing a guy with tabletop electronics and a microphone, but that was really nice. Do you want to work together?"
Pitchfork: Any other major plans?
TA: I want to make back patches. My grandfather's a deacon and my mother's a really Roman Catholic Ecuadorian—growing up, I wasn't allowed to wear the Metallica t-shirt with the guy in the electric chair or anything. In fourth grade, I wore a Looney Tunes shirt that had them all dressed up like rockers. So I've always loved guys in leather jackets or jean jackets with back patches. I don't wear either of those, but I want to make back patches for that purpose.