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An Inspired Chat with Daisy Forester & Seth Hynes-Marquette & Duncan Macklem-Johnson & Mark Estephan of Twin Cities

Daisy Forester & Seth Hynes-Marquette & Duncan Macklem-Johnson & Mark Estephan shared their story and experiences with us recently and you can find our conversation below.

Daisy & Seth & Duncan & Mark, really appreciate you sharing your stories and insights with us. The world would have so much more understanding and empathy if we all were a bit more open about our stories and how they have helped shaped our journey and worldview. Let’s jump in with a fun one: What do you think is misunderstood about your business? 
The indie grunge musician is easily stereotyped one-dimensionally; immature, unserious, unmotivated, degenerate, and loud. Though we are in no position to wholly deny the latter two, our work is, in reality, driven by the same exhibitions of passion, intention, and expertise that drives the work of entrepreneurs and executives; we just apply our drive through our guitar pedals, performances, and art promotion. The real music ecosystem that exists obliquely to the major labels and artists whose names we all know and love is complex, rich, and vibrant, and is rooted in the efforts of hard working, committed, and talented individuals that collaborate to mutually support each other in a culture that too often fails to take independent music, especially punk and grunge, seriously. Our work is generally considered as reserved for young, apathetic “punks” when in reality, music is the lifeblood of our civilization. Music is everywhere; it is in our coffee shops, shapes our television and movies and social media content, overtures our daily commutes and conversations, energizes cultural shifts and provides comfort, solace, and connection. Our craft is ubiquitous and therefore taken for granted, and the unavoidable truth that is rarely said out loud is that the commodification of our art has displaced the consumer’s association with and connection to the artists that produce the soundtrack of our world.

Being written off as a garage band when all of our time and energy as artists is committed to creating and sharing authentic, unifying, and empowering music through intentional marketing, promotion, and performance organized within quarterly goals, strategic partnerships with community collaborators, and specific task and role delegations within the band structure. There is purpose and passion and intention behind our work that is dismissed, even undermined, by the overarching narratives and industry structures that devalue and misidentify the reality of everything we put into music; and we truly do put everything into music.

Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
This band was actually formed to collaborate with a touring punk ballet act on an upcoming event; the band has since evolved through structural and sonic shifts to be the Oister Boy that exists today. We are Daisy (bass/vocals), Mark (guitar/vocals), Duncan (guitar/vocals), and Seth (drums/vocals). We all sing, we all write, we all do little dances, and we all have wide, diverse skillsets and networks that enable us to successfully create and share our music under a fully DIY-or-die mindset.

We gift ourselves the opportunities to explore and push open the boundaries of creative space that we exist within, from hosting creative, unique themed events to developing an Oister Boy combat video game with a fully original soundtrack and design. For us, music isn’t a part-time gig or a hobby, though it is where we turn for self-expression and rejuvenation; we are thinking about our creative exploration and evolution all day, every day. Oister Boy was born from a mix of angst, urgency, and DIY grit; we are not a polished act, and that’s exactly the point. Our work has always prioritized connection over perfection. Lyrically, we dive into heartbreak, mental health, growing pains, and the aching absurdity of modern life – real, messy, and loud. We’re not trying to escape the chaos; we’re soundtracking it.

Okay, so here’s a deep one: Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Who said we listened?! As soon as we were told we couldn’t grow up to be dinosaurs or fairies, we only wanted to do music. There has never been an alternative for us. We’ve had plenty of opportunities to become who the world wants us to be, or who the world is more comfortable with us being, and at every turn we have chosen authenticity over the fear-rooted myth of stability that pressures artists to “get a real job”. Our identity and the practice of creating music and being ourselves has never been in question and is inherently inextricable. When we are faced with a path that requests us to alter our core identity or passion, we turn the other way.

What have been the defining wounds of your life—and how have you healed them?
Through music, we are able to not only express the pain without it consuming us but also lend that process of grieving, healing, and growing stronger to others. Humans have understood at every point of our evolution that art enables healing, whether that’s through lyricism driving shared understanding and introspection or the collective effervescence that a good mosh pit provides.

Both individually and as a community, we’ve all been through a lot. As a band based in the Twin Cities, creating art that is separated from the traumatic political and cultural reality of our environment is not an option. Through personal and professional betrayals and tribulations, experiencing our communities undergo globally-witnessed state violence and occupation, and the broad-strokes loss of innocence that comes from the loss of ignorance, we’ve (out of necessity as much as intention) developed a community and creative process that enables us to create truly authentic, healing music that empowers and connects us to each other as a band and the community that our music is gratefully nestled in.

Our music is rooted in the nostalgia of transforming past wounds to shape a more beautiful reality, and we’re honored to stand with our communities in Minneapolis doing the same.

I think our readers would appreciate hearing more about your values and what you think matters in life and career, etc. So our next question is along those lines. What are the biggest lies your industry tells itself?
The music streaming industry has conditioned music appreciators and musicians alike to accept that art shouldn’t have to be paid for; when music is seemingly available “at your fingertips”, the actual artistry is diminished. This cultural shift is exacerbated by the recent rise of AI music, which completely commodifies and devalues our work to and displaces the art from the artist, the consumer from the art. Additionally, the normalization of replacing art that’s rooted in years of hard work, practice, and learning with entirely derivative work available at the push of a button reinforces the narrative that the only purpose for music is to make a living, and that the brass ring is the only reasonable pursuit. Music, and art overall, is such an important pillar of our civilization, and commodifying it evaporates the human essentialism that music serves.

The dominant music industry and audiences’ current relationship with music also promotes the belief that an artist needs a label, a manager, a booker, and a crew of gatekeepers to open the doors to a music career in order to be successful. There are different purposes to making music than being a world famous performer (eg. being an engaged and supportive community member, connecting with intimate audiences, engaging in a vibrant local scene, etc.). Anyone really can make music in a basement with their friends and share it with whoever they want, and that’s a valid pursuit. Additionally, being a musician is not a hobby. Making music isn’t just something that brings us joy and that we enjoy doing, although it absolutely is both; as musicians, however, we are putting in work all day every day outside of simply picking up our instruments and playing a song.

We are constantly strategizing, expanding our network of collaborators, learning new technical skills, and investing in building up the Twin Cities music scene in which we are so rooted. Beyond the business strategy inherent in running a band, the creative process is ingrained in our life strategy – living rich, connected, rooted lifestyles is what enables us to exist and create from genuine experiences and a place of honesty. This authenticity outside and inside the studio is the core of our connection with the audience and the music community.

In today’s economy of attention and commodification of online presence, artists are often trapped by the narrative that you have to box yourself into an archetype, a character, and drive views on social media and streams on Spotify. Everything we’re told is that you have to commit to one form or another to excel. That contradicts with all of our experiences and everything that’s enabled us to do what we love in a way that’s sustainable; we are simultaneously artists and businesspeople, creatives and strategists, and thrive at the intersections of those imposed contradictions.

Thank you so much for all of your openness so far. Maybe we can close with a future oriented question. Could you give everything your best, even if no one ever praised you for it?
We do it every day! We have no guarantee that any of what we do will pay off. Unfortunately for the bosses at our “big boy jobs”, all we do during our day jobs is coordinate shows, run social media, plan collaborations with merch creators, photographers, giddily discuss our shared dreams and co-create beautiful visions of our futures. No one who signs up to be a musician is guaranteed anything (excluding those with a decisive “in”, and even then, there’s no security of success).

We’re all doing what we do because it’s what makes us who we are; we are lucky that we get to experience the beautiful thing about music being an essential factor of humanity in that making music is not just what we do with our time, but an essential and immovable part of who we are. If we were stranded on a deserted island, we’d get rescued with three full length albums fully written and a full tour and promotion strategy in place. We understand that nothing is guaranteed and we still show up; we never punch out, and we never feel that we need or want to.

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Four people sit among fallen branches in a wooded area, with one person standing behind holding a large branch structure.

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