I'm in the countryside outside of Paris, in a beautiful old manor house. The studio is in the basement, but we decided to set everything up in the old parlor and dining-room area so we can look at each other and (at) the sunshine coming through the stained-glass windows. It's pretty idyllic, and I think it's spoiling me. I'll have to go back to regular life after this.

I don't want to take photographs that I won't recognize as myself, and myself isn't necessarily just blankly staring at the lens.

I wrote the album [Metals] in the fall. In about four months, I went from zero to finished. It usually takes forever.

I spent some time in France, visited Egypt and Mexico City. I hung out, biked around, planted some tomatoes. I did everything except wake up in a new town everyday. It was really boring. It's just life.

I was in a crazy, private, awesome bubble again, and that's when I started to write.

I guess there are a lot of people out there that think they're supposed to define themselves in isolation, but that's not necessarily the case.

I just went to Europe, spent a year traveling, and then I came home with a finished album and said, "Hey everyone I'm back!" I gave everyone their lighters from Luxembourg, gave them the postcards from Italy and Rome, then said, "Hey look, I made a record, too" and played it for them. The general reaction was shock, because it was so different from what they've known me to do.