Petey USA: I've got no wants, needs, or desires
A conversation with the musician and social media personality
Welcome to Human Pursuits, the column that features need-to-know names and stories in media and other creative spaces. Today, musician Petey USA on The O.C., masculinity, being scared of sentimentality, and his new album ‘The Yips’.
At this particular juncture, Peter Martin, better known as Petey USA, admits he is writing songs primarily for the boys.
This is neither by design nor some devious machination. Petey writes what he wants to write. People receive it how they want to receive it.
Lately, they’ve been receiving things pretty well.
In 2023, after a few years of working with indie label Terrible Records, Martin moved to the majors, releasing his album USA on Capitol Records.
More moves — many of them major in their own right — followed.
Opening for Zach Bryan in West Virginia and blink-182 in Mexico City. Filming a video with Fred Durst. Recording with former Death Cab for Cutie guitarist and the pride of Trondheim, Chris Walla.
In July, Peter released The Yips, a frenetic collection of songs recorded with Walla that forms a loose concept album about an imaginary bar and the characters who frequent it. Though often compared to singer-songwriters like Michigander, Medium Build, and Runnner, The Yips reminds me of slightly bigger bands with slightly grander ambitions. Acts like Djo, Tegan and Sara, and, weirdly, The Wonder Years, whose early records also resonated deeply with young men.
Petey and his boys are set to hit the road later this month, with stops across Canada and the U.S., including here in Vancouver.
And so, we had much to discuss.
Our edited and condensed conversation touched on his early days in Los Angeles, why bros make the best fans, his views on writing, what’s on his tour rider, and more.
ES: Remind me: you were born in Michigan, grew up in Chicago, and now live in L.A.?
PUSA: Correct.
ES: When did you settle in L.A.?
PUSA: I moved in 2014, after I graduated from college, so I've been here for a while.
ES: Were you chasing stardom, or did you just want a change of scenery?
PUSA: It was more of a California thing. L.A. seemed like the most appropriate entry point into the state. Eventually, it became so that I've been broke here for so long that I couldn't leave. Laughs. So I’m still here and life is good.
ES: What attracted you to California at that point?
PUSA: I think a lot of it was growing up in the Midwest and in Chicago. You always want to get the hell out of your hometown, and California seemed like a very grand idea. It was where I dreamed about running away to. I'm sure millions of people have felt the same thing, but I wanted to be near the ocean, near mountains. I wanted to go out West.
ES: I’m sure you’re sick of talking about The O.C., but I'm rewatching Season 1 right now as I do my cardio at the gym–
PUSA: Nice.
ES: And I've decided that I like Luke. I hated him so much growing up, but now, as a 34-year-old, I see it differently. What do you think?
PUSA: I mean, he had a really tough situation. It’s what? 2004? He’s in 10th grade. He's an alpha male, a jock, a water polo player, which, apparently, in California, water polo players are at the top of the athletic hierarchy. I think that’s weird, but it’s real.
So he’s an apex athlete, it's 2004, and he's got a gay dad, which at that time is—
ES: Unheard of.
PUSA: Unheard of!
ES: Especially in the OC.
PUSA: His parents get a divorce, and it's really public. Poor guy.
ES: I was also laughing because everything in that show happens so quickly. In the span of a month, he gets beaten up, shot, and broken up with, all before school is back in session.
PUSA: Yeah, it’s crazy. He doesn’t deserve all that, but in the end, it humbles him, and he becomes a really nice, goofy guy. What a great character. That’s such a great storyline.
ES: Speaking of storylines, I wanted to talk to you about writing because you’re writing so much, whether it’s music or comedy. Do you view yourself as a writer? Or is it just a byproduct of your other forms of creative expression?
PUSA: Yeah, I think it's a byproduct. I have trouble considering myself anything. I have trouble considering myself a musician sometimes. I just feel like everything I do is for my job right now. It's an assignment, and I need assignments because if I don't have them, I'm not making money and just wandering around.
In terms of writing, I've played drums my entire life – since I was a little kid — I was always writing songs, always jamming in bands, so I can make sense of calling myself a musician. I don't feel like I'm a writer, especially living in L.A. There are a lot of TV and movie writers out here, a lot of comedy writers, and I've met them before. They're great people, but we are so different. We have nothing in common. Before I moved to L.A., I never thought about TV shows being written.
ES: Laughs.
PUSA: I got a job at a talent agency in the mailroom, and the number one thing people wanted to do was be a TV lit agent. They thought that was the coolest thing you could be, and I was sitting there being like, “You want to represent writers? That's so nerdy.” Laughs.
ES: Dude, that is so funny.
PUSA: I've never conceptualized it as an actual thing people do. But I guess I am writing a lot. I write dialogue for my skits, and I write lyrics for my songs
ES: Maybe you relate to this, but I'm a lyrics-first listener, rather than music-first.
PUSA: For sure. For my listeners, especially, that's what they connect with. And I have to really remind myself of that as I'm writing new albums. Sometimes, when I sit down to write a new song or a new album cycle is starting, I have to find that internal motivation to keep writing music. The devil on my shoulder is often like, “Holy shit, there's so much good music out there. Have all the songs been written?” It feels crazy that I'm writing more music.
I have to remind myself that people connect with the lyrics as a part of it. You have to think about it holistically. I have to remember that my perspective right now, at this phase of my life, is important to someone, and still worth exploring.
ES: What's the split like in your audience? I have to assume you’re moving a lot of units with the fellas.
PUSA: For sure. In the first stages after COVID, when people were maniacal about going to concerts and everything was packed like sardines, it was all dudes, and it was intense.
ES: Laughs.
PUSA: It was a space for white guys to hug each other and cry. It was crazy.
ES: Are they taking their shirts off? Is that how far we're going?
PUSA: Sometimes, yeah. There's stage diving, crying, and there are Irish flags when we play in Boston. It’s a lot of intense male energy.
ES: Is that hard to perform against? I don't get the sense you're a super masculine, macho guy.
PUSA: I don't know where I fall on the masculinity scale. I'm confused by it every day because it's such a nebulous, weird thing to talk about. But I'm pretty fluent in the language. I get along with bros really well, and bros tend to accept me into their community.
ES: Laughs.
PUSA: And, for that reason, I'm friends with a lot of them, and I've gotten to know them. Bros are great fans. On the bro spectrum, if you get a really nice bro, they evangelize your stuff. They're so impressed in the most earnest way, and they still like to party and have fun. No one reads Pitchfork, no one's crossing their arms at the show. They're just down to have a good time. It's been a real blessing to have that as my core fan base.
I'd love to expand my demographics. I don't really know how to do that, because I just write from my own experiences, and these are the type of guys that tend to relate to that. But as time has gone on, as I've played more, the bros are getting married, getting girlfriends, they’re bringing them to the concerts. And the girlfriends seem to be having a better time than they used to.
ES: It seems like your music is very cathartic for these guys. Any idea why that might be?
PUSA: I think my music touches a lot on growing up with privilege and with expectations about being a man and providership and expectations to shove away your feelings. I think a lot of my fan base seems to be having an awakening or really going through it – realizing that these ideals that they learned growing up are not necessarily what feeds their soul. It's a reckoning that I've had, and I feel like I'm able to easily speak from that perspective, to the point that some people have said, “Hey, your songs have really helped me out.”
ES: What is that like when someone tells you that?
PUSA: It's cool. I'm doing VIP experiences for the first time on this tour, but I haven't spent a lot of time with my fans because I keep to myself a lot. I don't love going to parties and standing around and chatting, so I'm not at the merch booth at the end of the concerts. When it does happen, it's really cool. It's really motivating. When I sense that there's a demand for what I do, it keeps me going.
But yeah, my fans are all cool. The masculinity conversation is so funny because, on the heels of COVID, it just got such a bad rap. I think a lot of people rejected the idea. They paired “toxic” and “masculinity” together as inseparable things. And then we realized that men were struggling, whether they were super masculine or not. You can reject all notions of masculinity and still be a shitty dude. If you want to embrace the positives of masculinity, of which I think there are many, you need permission to enjoy these things while also making sure you're keeping yourself healthy enough mentally to be good to other people.
You can reject all notions of masculinity and still be a shitty dude.
ES: You worked with [Friend of the Newsletter] Chris Walla on this record. We spoke a few years ago, and I'm jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with him because he's got such a great outlook. Did it feel like the two of you got closer during this process?
PUSA: Chris and I are kindred spirits in many ways. It was weird because Death Cab is the only band that I ever obsessed over. I put all my marbles in that fandom… Over time, I grew out of obsessive fandom in general, and enough time had passed that, when we started working together, I knew there wasn't going to be that star factor. I wasn't going to be any weirder with Chris than I am around any other strangers.
He’s also immediately disarming. I would forget my history with him. We were just focused on making the record, and then, all of a sudden, we'd be talking on the couch. It’d be 9 o'clock at night, and we’d be wrapping for the day, and he'd be talking about something else, and then it would hit me who I was talking to. I would get really silently emotional about it. I would have the thought, “When we say goodbye, I'm gonna start crying or something.” I feel like crying thinking about it right now, but I'm gonna suppress it. Plus, when we did wrap things up, I wasn’t emotional at all. It was just like “See ya later!”
ES: I know that feeling so well. It happens a bit during interviews but it also lasts maybe forever? Like, I still get very emotional listening to records by people I’ve talked to for the newsletter.
PUSA: Totally. One thing that I've been noticing is that I'm an extremely slow processor with everything. I make destructive, passive decisions all the time because I say yes to things when I'm not paying attention… But it’s especially true with emotions and stuff. I really am scared of sentiment. I get uncomfortable. It freaks me out — I want to sprint away unless I'm drunk or something. I don't tell a lot of people how much they mean to me, and so I’m stuck hoping that they know, or that I'm transmitting some sort of pheromone or telepathy through shared experience and time. I really hope that's enough.
It’s only in moments by myself, when I'm thinking about something, that I'll get emotional about it and really happy or really sad… With Chris, I texted him a month after recording like, “Hey man I never said this in person but I hope you know how much it meant to me to work with you.” He's also not a real sentimental guy and he replied, “I feel the same.”
ES: You're about to go on tour, so I need to ask you what’s on your rider.
PUSA: When my team asks me what do you want on the rider, all my brain sees is a static TV screen. There's nothing. I've got no wants, needs, or desires until I am in the green room and I realize I want whatever thing. So I outsource that to my band. Everyone gets three items.
In the olden days, we used to have a litre of gin. We would make gin and tonics and martinis every night, and we were hitting it really hard. I didn't realize until my tour manager said one day, “You guys were getting so fucked up every night.” That was just a product of me being nervous. We’ve really cooled out.
I kind of feel alcohol's no good these days. It's not doing me any good, at least, so I'm doing Athletic beers. We'll still have a 12-er of some premium domestic beer. A beautiful Michelob Ultra or a Budweiser. But I think that the non-alcoholic beers have really done the trick for me. I still feel like I'm drinking a beer; I still get that same relaxed feeling.
I'm also really into meat sticks.
I've got no wants, needs, or desires until I am in the green room
ES: Like a pepperoni stick?
PUSA: I like Chomps. Chomps are great. They’re really expensive, but they should be, you know? Like, you want to pay for ethically sourced quality goods these days because you never know what you're getting. So that makes me feel good. What else… I will say: veggie trays really gross me the hell out. The store-bought vegetable platters. I take issue with those.
ES: Whenever people are from L.A. I ask them if they’ve spotted any new characters. I've heard recently about the cowboy trend and the clown trend. What are you seeing out there?
PUSA: I was in a bar yesterday watching the Chicago Bears game, and a clown walked in.
ES: Laughs.
PUSA: Straight up! It was really weird because we were at a table of some new friends, and I was really focused on the game… A clown walked up and asked a very normal question. He was not acknowledging that he was a clown, and we were not acknowledging that he was a clown. And he went away. And I just turned to the person next to me and said, “Cool clown.” And that was it.
That was the first time I've seen it, so it’s funny you say that.
ES: Dude, that's fucking crazy. I don’t get the clowns.
PUSA: It must be a real thing if I'm seeing them.
Peter Martin is a musician and social media personality. He lives in Los Angeles.