Part 1

Name: Lunar Noon
Members: Michelle Zheng, Théo Auclair, Brian Lach, Christopher Healy
Interviewee: Michelle Zheng
Current release: Lunar Noon's A circle's round is out now.
Recommendations: On Body and Soul, directed by Ildikó Enyedi; the music video for "Estrelas e raiz (A capela)" by Silvia Pérez Cruz, Rita Payés, and MARO.

If you enjoyed this Lunar Noon interview and would like to know more about Michelle Zheng and her music, visit the band's official homepage. She is also on Instagram, Soundcloud, Facebook, and bandcamp.



When I listen to music, I see shapes, objects and colours. What happens in your body when you're listening? Do you listen with your eyes open or closed?

The music I connect with most usually inspires very concrete visuals in my mind. I’ll picture specific scenes, as if the songs are places I can walk around in. It’s a way for me to access memories, daydreams, and fantasies in vivid detail.

I’ve found that more rhythmic and/or intense stuff takes me completely out of my head and into my body, though - I’ve been learning recently to love that kind of experience a lot more. Head empty, just movement.

I listen best while on long walks, so definitely with my eyes open. I don’t like to sit still, so moving helps me take the music in better.

Entering/creating new worlds through music has always exerted a strong pull on me. What do you think you are drawn to most when it comes to listening to and creating music?

I hit a point of clarity about this at one point last year in the middle of working on the new album. I wrote in my journal: “Your power is to go where nobody can find you and invite them in”.

I’ve spent so much of my life feeling like an outsider or somehow misunderstood, and I think part of that is related to the fact that I haven’t been able to satisfactorily communicate what my inner world looks like to others until very recently, via music.

For this reason, being able to collaborate with others feels very healing. It makes me realize it’s not impossible to let people into that sacred-feeling space inside, and that I am capable of feeling open and completely myself while sharing that experience. It’s helped me reframe the world in a way that makes me feel much less lonely.

According to scientific studies, we make our deepest and most incisive musical experiences between the ages of 13-16. What did music mean to you at that age and what’s changed since then?

Around age 15, I found Jónsi and Sigur Rós’ music. The first song that really got me was “Tornado” from Jónsi’s first solo album; then the Ágætis Byrjun and Takk albums sealed the deal.



Going back to what I said about visuals - their music made me picture things that felt impossibly unknown, expansive, and compelling. There’s an organic, magical universe of landscapes inside of it that I would get lost in for hours and hours.

I became a Tumblr kid through following the online fan community, and made real-life friends with several people I met online through who I’m still in touch with today. I also started following the larger Icelandic music scene, which opened my mind to all sorts of genres I’d never heard of. Coincidentally, I’m writing this coming back from my first time at Iceland Airwaves now, Smekkleysa tote bag and vinyls in hand, which feels very full circle to that origin story!

At that age, it was a way for me to figure out who I was by following my intuition around what I liked. I had an Animal Collective lyric around this printed and taped to the wall of my childhood bedroom: “Am I really all the things that are outside of me?”



We’re all more than our taste, but I do think our taste points to real things underneath.

Tell me about one or two of your early pieces that you're still proud of (or satisfied with) – and why you're content with them.

I’m proud of “Gold” from my first album.



Listening to it now, it still feels like it captures very strongly the feeling and moment in time it was written during - I was looking out the window in my closet watching a purple and pink sunset over San Francisco from my pandemic apartment, and thinking about what it might’ve felt like for each of my parents to watch the last sunsets they experienced in their respective hometowns in China before immigrating to the US.

I think of the texture of the blue cushion I was sitting on in my closet and remember showing my housemate the first mix in the kitchen. That song still feels like such a clear expression of something precious I wanted to remember.

What is your current studio or workspace like? What instruments, tools, equipment, and space do you need to make music?

I do most of my work in my room at a desk next to my Nord Grand, which faces my landlords’ lovingly tended garden that’s very refreshing to look at for breaks from my computer.

I work out of Logic and usually don’t need too much more than a midi input and mic to do most of my home recording (for vocals, strings, and anything else portable that just needs a one or two mic setup). Once in a while, I’ll break out my Minilogue.

I do vocal takes in my closet, which is set up to be a warm, safe, meditative feeling space - there is an altar above, warm lighting, dried flowers, draped fabrics and scarves, and a poster of the beach I grew up next to.

Setting up that closet to be comfortable turned out to be really important for my process, given I would spend hours at a time doing takes in there, lost in another dimension without windows to remind me of the state of the outside world (or to stop singing so late at night!).

From the earliest sketches to the finished piece, tell me about the creative process for your current release, please.

The songs were written between autumn of 2022 and winter of 2023-4. All of them began with me playing with ideas at home by myself, building demos until they felt right and then recording fresh, finalized versions of them. The process varied so much from song to song, but there were a few common paths:

1. Iterating with the core band on the rough demos. I’d come in with the core of the piano and vocals sketched out, but the sections/flow would be all wrong and I’d have no idea what the instrumentation would be yet. The core band of me, Brian Lach (violin), Théo Auclair (drums), and later Chris Healy (cello) would play through different ideas with me. I’d take recordings for us to then listen through and comment on afterwards. Iterating week to week like this, eventually we’d land on what felt right.
2. Working completely on my own on electronic/vocal production in Logic, and then telling my collaborators how to play on top of it.
3. Nailing down piano and vocals first and then writing scores for all the string parts.
4. Hiding in my closet in deep solitude and not coming out for hours, listening to the sound of my voice piling upon itself.

For most of the songs, the recording process was extremely long and took a lot of coordination, since there were so many different parts that had to be layered on, and in a particular order. Given how many unique instruments are on the album (23 last time I counted), it was impossible to get everyone who needed to play in the same room at the same time. It felt like I was weaving a giant quilt out of many different pieces. It’s a good thing I’m a spreadsheets and calendar events person, or this could’ve taken an extra year.

I find myself envying standard four-piece bands now at the end of this laborious beast of an album - I want to spend more time directly playing with others, and less time alone on my computer the next time around!

What role and importance do rituals have for you, both as an artist and a listener?

When deep in the writing of this album, I had the luxury of being able to take time between jobs to dedicate just to music, and a routine that you could call a ritual that helped me work consistently without burning out.

I’d wake up early and take a walk around Blue Heron Lake in Golden Gate Park, which is one of my favorite places, tucked deep in the park away from houses and streets yet still close to my apartment at the time. Then I’d come home and have some breakfast with tea (I still associate this period a particular extremely strong, bright green sencha). Sometimes I’d read a bit, to take in a little more of the world before trying to pull things out - a lot of Thich Nhat Hahn and Ocean Vuong at the time.

After all that, I’d go over to my music corner and work for as long as I’d have the indoor-energy and inspiration for (with a lunch break of course!), either doing something more task-oriented like editing scores or coordinating with collaborators, or continuing some fiery writing rampage from the night before. But I’d always stop in the late afternoon to go for a run, and then get out of the house/invite people over to cook with as to not be a total hermit.

After that … for better or worse, a lot of my most intense inspiration hits late at night, and given how intoxicating that feeling is, I’d always let it drag me through the hours until I’m too tired to go on. But having a more thoughtful and regular morning helped tether me back to reality.