Anjimile Had an Uphill Climb. Now He’s Making Cathartic Indie Folk From on High

“When I was growing up, it was the kind of household where what my parents say goes and any dissent is not allowed,” he explains, underlining the album’s thematic focus on releasing bottled-up emotions. “I wasn’t allowed to express anger as a kid towards my parents or really anyone. It’s very healing to have this record—in both senses of the word—of me being angry. It helps me let it go.”

Those familiar with Anjimile’s vulnerable past music will find more of those heart-rending songs on The King. He laces the project together with straightforward, personal ballads, like the heartbreaking “Father,” written from the perspective of his parents when he entered rehab. “Are you still drinking?” he sings in a quaking, near whisper during the song’s opening, “What were you thinking?” He explains that the song is more about his mother, whom he no longer has a relationship with following his coming out as trans. “When I’m lucky, it feels like the songs write themselves,” he says. “Then afterwards I’m like, Oh, I guess this one’s about my mom again. Sometimes I’m surprised when I have to listen back to these songs and I’m like, ‘Damn, that’s kind of a lot.’ The music is revealing, but it just feels like what happened.”

The King’s raw, ragged experiments are a way of unraveling a new sense of self slightly less burdened by pain and anger, even as they occasionally resemble “a folk guitar album run through the layers of hell,” as Everett puts it. “I hope that rather than overwhelming the listener, although that might be the case, that there’s a sense of catharsis. Not necessarily reaching any sort of emotional resolution, but coming to the conclusion that there are uncomfortable feelings that exist, period,” Anjimile explains as we duck out of the museum and back onto the busy sidewalk. The sentiment extends to his own personal growth, too. “That’s a big step for me as someone who has a hard time expressing my feelings unless I’m fucking singing them.”

To Anjimile, the process of self-recognition is ever-evolving. He recently turned 30, a milestone he feels like he’s been waiting for. “I’ve got a little bit more money, a little bit less anxiety, gayer than ever,” he says with a laugh. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.” He’s still skateboarding, too, after all these years. “Bad at it then and bad at it now,” he admits. But then he finds another silver lining among tough breaks. “Falling off my skateboard and getting back on means a lot to me for some reason.”