An Interview That Cuts Through the Noise –

Few bands manage to distil rock’s untamed core without leaning on nostalgia or theatrics, but Hallaballoo is a rare breed of authenticity. In this candid interview, the band pull back the curtain on Gravity, their forthcoming EP recorded in the hallowed halls of Pachyderm Studios. With reverent nods to the space’s past and a fierce commitment to immediacy, they unpack the tension between surrender and defiance that runs through their sound. From instinctual recording techniques to community-driven evolution, the conversation spills with insights that reflect their refusal to smooth the raw edges of rock.

Welcome to A&R Factory, Hallaballoo. It’s a pleasure to have you here with us. Your upcoming EP was recorded at Pachyderm Studios, a place with plenty of history tied to it. Did the energy of the space influence the way the songs came together?

Absolutely. Pachyderm isn’t just a studio—it’s a living instrument. You walk into those rooms knowing Nirvana cut In Utero there, PJ Harvey tracked Rid of Me, and you can feel that lineage vibrating in the walls. The acoustics, the console, even the air in the place—it all forces you to play differently. We leaned into that energy instead of fighting it. Gravity carries the fingerprints of Pachyderm as much as it does ours.

Your previous work has always carried an unfiltered rawness, almost as though the music writes itself through you. Did the recording process for this EP hold on to that same immediacy, or did you approach it differently this time?

We’ve always trusted the moment, and that hasn’t changed. We hit record with the mindset that a take doesn’t need to be perfect—it just needs to feel alive. Gravity is full of those takes where someone pushed a little too far or leaned into the room differently, and instead of “fixing it,” we let it stand. That rawness is what makes it human.

The EP title alone hints at weight and force, but also surrender. What themes were driving the writing of Gravity?

Gravity came from a place of recognizing pull and resistance—the way life anchors you, the way people ground you, but also the way you’re constantly pulled toward change. Lyrically and musically, it wrestles with that tension: heaviness versus freedom, surrender versus fight. It’s about accepting that weight while still finding ways to move within it.

Many rock records today lean towards excessive polish and reinvention, yet your sound feels like it rejects both. What compels you to keep things so true to the spirit of the genre?

Ron Nevison once told me, “It’s not up to me to decide what people like.” That stuck with us. We’re not here to reinvent rock or sand down its edges. The compulsion comes from wanting to capture what’s real in the room at that moment. Rock has always been about imperfection, grit, and spirit—that’s where the truth lives.

When you’re in the studio, how do you balance instinct with structure? Do you allow imperfections to stand, or do you push for a more refined outcome?

We walk a tightrope between the two. The songs always start with structure—hooks, arrangements, grooves—but once we’re in the room, instinct takes over. If the vocal cracks, or the guitar pushes ahead of the beat, and it makes the hair on our arms stand up, we keep it. Refinement for us doesn’t mean erasing character—it means shaping the chaos just enough that it still feels dangerous but cohesive.

Beyond the music itself, what role do you feel Hallaballoo plays in today’s music landscape?

We see ourselves as part of the thread that keeps rock unpasteurized. A lot of the industry leans on algorithms and polish, but our role is to remind people what it feels like when a band locks in together and creates something that can’t be replicated. We’re here to hold space for improvisation, community, and collaboration in a world that moves too fast for all three.

Looking back at your earlier releases compared to where you are now with Gravity, what personal evolutions have fed into this new body of work?

The early records were us finding our footing—capturing the energy we had live and bottling it as best we could. With Gravity, we’ve grown into collaborators. Bringing in Katie Hart for Undercover Bitch, working with multiple mix engineers, even handing songs to outside lyricists—that evolution comes from letting go of ego and trusting that Hallaballoo is bigger than the sum of its parts. Personally, we’ve learned to be more open, more patient, and more fearless.

Rock-leaning releases often thrive on chaos, but it also requires deep conviction. What keeps your fire stoked when the industry can be quick to douse the flame?

For us, it’s the collective. Every year we add more voices to the circle—musicians, engineers, collaborators—and it raises the bar. That sense of community keeps the fire alive. Plus, every time we step into a legendary room like Pachyderm or London Bridge, we’re reminded why we do this. The history, the energy, the ghosts—they all whisper, “don’t stop.” And we don’t.

Interview by James Gross

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