Cherland keeps the creative process flowing

The line between profession and passion in creativity is a fine one. Artists are always riding the razor-thin margin between the two, lest one consumes the other.

The artist can’t be so encumbered by commerce that joy evaporates from the work. They must also have some business sense to ensure a long creative life. The ebb and flow between the two keeps the process flowing.

“I got tired of everything being this cutesy, solo, acoustic thing and really wanting to make it an emotional experience,” singer-songwriter Conner Cherland said.

The Antelope Valley native-turned-Angelino began his journey, in 2014. Much of his youth, prior to that fateful year, was spent on the volleyball court, not on the stage.

He had a secret fascination with songwriting expressed only in the privacy of his room. Cherland finally set a challenge for himself: write 40 songs within six months. If he couldn’t find a good one in that batch, he would quit.

Needless to say, Cherland continued on his path, releasing two albums on his own. His latest EP, “Call Waiting,” was released, in October 2022, through Santa Barbara Records. This newest sonic endeavor harnesses two of his main sensibilities: fully electrified Alt-Rock with two stripped down acoustic tunes in between.

Varying from “Love

Songs,” released, in 2021, the demeanor shifted from tracks filled with quirky observations about relationships to expressing something deeper.

“The emotion I really leaned into from the beginning was ‘Clever guy writes songs,’ ” Cherland said. “Then I thought, ‘The artists we love are clever, but that’s not the first thing you think of. The first thing is that you feel moved then you realize how clever they are.’ ”

The early years of grinding it out six nights a week in bars and clubs surfaced in the writing.

“All the muscles I needed to do that were jacked,” he recalled. “I could sing, stomp my feet and strum forever. I felt super strong, but no one was listening. I wasn’t raised as a musician, so I needed those hours to catch up.”

On the surface, his friends and colleagues were happy for him, but inside, Cherland was slowly burning out from making his inner passion public.

In the pursuit of paying the rent, he slowly stopped collaborating with other artists, taking lessons and networking in LA.

“I feel like you hear a lot of frustration on the record and a lot of those getting ignored acoustic gigs, that is the chip on my shoulder I’ll have to work off for a while,” he said.

Eventually for his financial and creative benefit, he stopped playing clubs and focused solely on wedding gigs that would allow him more time to develop his career.

“Heavy” is a new song reflecting that depression through imagery of the barren desert of his hometown.

“I felt like the world had no possibility for me in terms of a career,” Cherland said. “I gave up on changing and growing because I was afraid to make less money. I already felt like I had too little and if I gave any more, I was just screwed. I was constantly running on empty and when the pandemic hit, I had to change my entire business model because it wasn’t financially responsible to be contracting COVID for $300.”

These changes eventually led Cherland to being signed by Santa Barbara Records, an independent label located in his former home base. Alleviating this stress allowed for a breakthrough in his own creativity.

“I used to define songwriting as beating your head against the wall for three hours,” he said. “I have a three-syllable shaped hole and no idea how to fill it. I’m there, trying every three-syllable word. Now, I wouldn’t define songwriting as that and I realized that I saw my whole life that way. That’s something I think I developed from playing volleyball. I was 5’9” playing in a sport designed for people over six feet tall.

“From 10 years old, my dad had me at the 24 Hour Fitness in Rancho Vista and was just doing all this jump training until I was 18. I would have to jump as high as people who were naturally taller than me. I feel like I lived life like that for a long time.

“Everything is waking up early and doing the grind. For a lot of things that’s true, but sometimes it creates a giant chip on your shoulder. At a match, you’d see someone over six feet and think, ‘There’s no way I could win.’ In music, I felt that same way.

“Letting go of the hustle a little bit makes me able to do long hours of work. I’m not proving to myself I need to work hard to belong. I’ll find a way slowly on my own.”