Over the seven years between Foster the People's last album, 2017's Sacred Hearts Club, and their recently released Paradise State of Mind, everything changed for Mark Foster.
He got sober in 2018, and married the following year. In 2021, the band's founding drummer Mark Pontius, left Foster the People during the thick of the pandemic. These profound changes encouraged Foster to look inward. With touring completely off the table at that point, he took the time he never had since he started Foster the People to work on himself.
"I just dove into myself, really unpacking a lot of things emotionally, psychologically. Finding out who Mark is outside of music and getting comfortable with that," Foster tells GRAMMY.com.
Foster expresses that his success in music was tied to a deep sense of scarcity and self-doubt. "When you start performing you want to be seen, and you want to be heard. A lot of times that can be tied to the feeling that you're not seen, and you're not heard. So, it creates this hole to connect with people," Foster says. "If you don't figure out how to fill that hole with something else you can be really driven, but it's coming from this place of deep insecurity. And so a lot of the work was trying to heal that part of myself."
Foster gave himself "a couple inches of breathing room" to create without any concern for what people might think. He likened the process to being a child.
"A child doesn't have a point of reference for art. They just respond. They think what they think. They do what they do. They're not judging themselves. They're not afraid of judgment from others. They're just playing and the feeling of when that's happening is the best because I'm completely present," Foster says.
In that present state of mind, Foster explored new musical territory for Paradise State of Mind, which arrives Aug. 16. He dove into the disco/funk crossover brought about by artists like Nile Rodgers in the late '70s and early '80s, and employed synth stylings similar to that of P-Funk’s Bernie Worrell.
Foster the People has always had a certain amount of funk, an example of which is the choppy guitar of their classic song, "Sit Next To Me." But the results of Foster’s research show up in full force on new songs like "Take Me Back" which includes deep grooves, a very active bassline, and a hard shift into that historic, messy funk after the second verse. "Feed Me" sees Foster provide the kind of squealy, raunchy vocals prime for dealing out euphemisms and metaphors for sex.
Foster produced Paradise State of Mind himself — a first, though he had co-produced music previously. "I didn't want to initially, but there's only a handful of people in the world that I would have trusted to produce this record, and they weren't available or they didn't want to do it," Foster says. "My love for music on this record became deeper because I had to produce it."
Much of the album was produced in the legendary EastWest studios, where Foster's all-time favorite songwriter, Brian Wilson, made records with the Beach Boys. Many salient disco/funk influenced moments were written and recorded on the spot in EastWest.
"Those are my favorite parts of this record because I can hear the electricity in it," Foster says. "That's why I love songwriting in the studio. I was really intentional about trying to capture the spark of the inception of something. I think that we did that a bit throughout this record. There's a few times where I'm like, ‘There it is’."
Foster spoke with GRAMMY.com about capturing that spark when he brings Paradise State of Mind on tour, writing from a child-like perspective, and his internal work in the seven-year interim between albums.
Is there one song on 'Paradise State of Mind' where the child really came out to play?
There are flourishes of it throughout the record, but as a whole, "Glitchzig" to me was returning to form from a long time ago. I was making music like that leading up to Torches. It's an evolved version of that because I’m a more experienced musician now, but the kid’s all over that song.
Is that child-like mindset what you’re referring to in the album title: 'Paradise State of Mind'?
To me, the title is one of the themes on the record. One of the biggest battles for me is getting stuck in my head and that leads to isolation. Then it becomes this downward spiral. The more isolated I get, the more anxious I get, or the more fearful I get of the world.
There's a lot of themes that come out of the spirit trying to break free from the mind. There's tension in that. That's what being human is. We are these spiritual beings, I believe, and I know if I get super internal and I’m operating from a place of scarcity within myself I can get really selfish. I can be full of fear because there are so many things happening in life that we're not in control of.
But the converse of that is when I can zoom out, see life as a whole, and accept the fact that I'm not in control of most of it. Then I can start to step into peace a little bit. Knowing that I am just part of this thing that is going to move forward with or without me. So, just try to enjoy it.
How did seeing life as a whole in that way fuel the music-making process?
"Paradise State of Mind" was kind of that to me. I wrote that with Paul Epworth in London. He was that big brother that was just like, "Mate. It's okay. You're okay. Art is a space that's meant to be free. You can say anything."
In terms of social atrophy, not touring at that point for four years, going dark on social media, having no back-and-forth with fans. I had been doing a lot of that deep work of identity and my identity attached to music. So, I hadn't had any of that stuff that I'd gotten confidence from or felt connected through. For me, observing society and culture is such a muse. I'm always thinking of the future, studying trends, and trying to feel or predict where things are going.
Connecting with another artist eased those parts of myself. It opened up that writer's block in a way where it was like, "I'm just gonna be brave, and I'm gonna be honest."
But I didn't want to write a dark record, either. I didn't want to point fingers. I didn't want to be on a soapbox. I didn't want to beat a horse talking about things that everybody else was talking about. So on a lot of this record, I dove within myself. I talked about my experience and that felt honest, but it also felt hopeful. I did that because I needed to feel hopeful.
You mentioned that you’re looking to the future to inform your songwriting, but this album also explores past musical eras. How did you bring the past and the future together when you were making this album?
To be frank, the way that I write operates from a childlike flow state which is nonjudgmental and really based in improv. I can have an intention of going in to make a record, but a lot of times I don't know what songs are about until the record’s done.
A part of me is always looking back at my past life. I think that is the challenge of what it is to be human. And that's something that I'm working on a lot, which is to stay present. I think there are so many parts of me that can beat myself up over the past or reflect upon the past in a nostalgic way. Or I can future trip. Be worried about what's coming. Be anxious about things that I can't control, but all I have is right now.
So, I try every day to be in the right now, but within that, it's inherently human to reflect. That's how we grow.
Coming back to making music after that break, did you make any discoveries about the meaning of previous Foster the People songs that in turn inspired songs on this new record?
Not particularly. This feels like a new chapter of life. There was a point over the pandemic where I almost stepped away from the band when Mark Pontius left. He was my first phone call when I started the band. I knew if I wanted to start a band, he was my dream drummer.
The shift of that combined with this state of the world, and then combined with this new chapter of being married, I really had to take deep stock into what I wanted to do next with my life.
When I wanted to make music again with Foster the People I knew it was going to be a heavy lift and it was. But it was okay, because once you're bit by that thing, you know you have to do something. You're compelled to do it. You're almost rejecting yourself if you don't.
Once I stepped back into it the whole thing felt like a new experience. What does making music feel like to me now? What is the band going to feel like now? Not attaching too much baggage to it. Or too much of the past.
How do you feel about getting back on the road in this new chapter? Are you going to try and recreate that spark you had in the studio?
I'm really excited to connect with people. That's something I've really missed. To connect with our fans. To connect with audiences. Obviously from the stage, there's that connection, but then the conversations that happen on tour. The personal connection.
I feel like I need that. I also feel like we can provide that. I want to provide a space where people can come and feel safe to be themselves and connect with each other which probably sounds like some hippie bullsh-t. It's a cliche. But I have to remind myself of that because it's so powerful.
It's gonna be new. That's the other part to me. I don't want it to be a replication of what the record is. Songs are living, breathing things. They continue to evolve and change over time. That's what we're exploring right now in rehearsals. Let's learn the songs to form as they were written. Then let's figure out where we can break them.
A lot of the guys that we're playing with now come from a jazz background. They're very comfortable improving. That's going to be a big part of this live show. Stepping out and creating something new that you can only see or hear if you're in the room with us that night.
The moments when we're off-book have been my favorite moments about rehearsing. It's brought me to tears already. It's the times when we're exploring something, and the whole thing feels like it's about to fall apart. That's the best feeling for me. I'm excited about stepping into that. Stepping into the unknown.