Sienna Bentley

A decade into their journey as an indie five-piece, Swim Deep are redefining their path. Fresh off the back of the release of their fifth album Hum, we sat down with frontman Austin Williams to get a closer look into their insane trajectory and how they’re carving a space into where the music industry stands today. 

It’s not easy to be an artist in the modern age, as we’ve discussed with several bands over these past few months. But it’s that perseverance, commitment to the craft and the genuine love of the game that is so inspiring and what seeps through into the music and keeps it alive. While the industry and the ways that we consume music are practically unrecognisable compared to when Swim Deep made their big splash (sorry), the music evolves, the artists grow and the fans remain. 

You’ve been a band for over a decade. What does success mean to you, compared to when you started? How does this compare to the industry’s version of success?

Austin Williams (AW): I’m not sure if it’s changed much. I think I’ve always just wanted to make music full time and make a living off it. I’ve been close to making a lot of money from it, and I’ve also lost money doing it, but what has never changed is the desire to create and play shows with my friends. I love it.

Do you still feel like you’re part of a scene – and do you think that idea even exists in the same way today?

AW: No, not really. I feel like our scene lasted about 20 seconds relative to our career. The ‘B-Town scene’ was before the fact – it was us in each other’s living rooms at 5am after heady nights dancing to house music dressed like zombies, exchanging demos and telling one another we could make it big.

I think there was a short scene after that with great Brum bands riding the wave, but sadly I think they got overlooked and Birmingham was once again shadowbanned from the world. There was a time in 2013–2015 when I lived in a warehouse with Theo Ellis and Sasha from Splash, and that felt like a scene because we were all on an upward trajectory and revelling in our newfound indie glory. But again, it felt more like a friendship thing than a music thing, which I think is integral for a scene to exist beyond the press.

Do you think it’s harder or easier for new bands to sustain themselves compared to when you started, and what advice would you give them?

AW: We were on the cusp of the normalisation of music being a free commodity. So we’ve witnessed firsthand it becoming harder. God knows how we still cope doing it. If it wasn’t for the fans coming to the shows, it would be tragic.

So yeah, I think it’s harder. There are a lot more hoops to jump through. Artists now have to be content creators and sell their art in more compromising ways. But through that well-known struggle comes good art, and people who get into it know how bad an idea it is financially.

Being working class and having no financial comfort or stability shaped the music and the person I am, and I like to think that has made the music relatable and tangible. But we were lucky at the start and got opportunities that not everyone is lucky enough to get – hence fewer working-class artists, etc, etc.

What was the question again?

What’s the most unexpected skill you’ve had to learn to keep the music alive?

AW: Pouring a pint.

What does maturity look like in a band context, sonically and personally?

AW: In a band context, it means everyone’s got their lives a bit more together, I guess. It means we’ve all grown together and we understand one another a bit more. Sonically, that follows, and we are more comfortable with our sound and less reactive to press or critiques.

Personally, it means I have persevered with something against all odds, and that feels like an accomplishment on its own.

How has your relationship with your audience changed in the age of constant visibility and social media?

AW: This is an interesting question because we came up in the first wave of Instagram. No one was using it for their band; it was just personal photos. And we loved that whole early Instagram aesthetic. We were in our coming-of-age era, always with each other, smoking weed, skating – it was all just a ‘Rise’-filtered movie for us.

And we put everything out there, and our fans would whack everything we posted onto Tumblr. We grew a unique and special connection with our fans worldwide through Instagram and Twitter. It felt very freeing.

But now, 14 years on, it feels tired and laborious. Obviously, we aren’t hanging out and having sleepovers or wanting to take pictures of ourselves smoking massive joints anymore, so we have to make content. And to be honest, most of the time it feels like you’re just shouting into an abyss anyway.

So the live shows, again, are now the only way for me to feel a tangible connection to the fans, and probably vice versa. I think it’ll turn again soon. Something has to implode, and it’ll change the way we connect once more.

Hum leans into family, loss and responsibility. How have these concepts shifted the way you approach being in a band? Do you feel like musicians first, or something else?

AW: We are friends first, then musicians, and it’s always been that way. Except now we are all better and have done our 100,000 hours or whatever, so we can rely on both factors to make good music.

Do you think your audience has grown with you over the years, or are you writing for someone different now?

AW: Yeah, definitely. I’ve seen it in real time. At the start, it was bouncing kids on MDMA, which reflected us at the time. Then, as we grew and our music grew and evolved, our fans also grew, evolved and matured.

It’s also still wild to me that we have 24-year-olds come to gigs and say they first heard us 10 years ago, while we also have 60-year-olds who have just found our music for the first time. It’s a reassuring thing.

One of my insecurities at the start was that people just came to our gigs to take drugs and start a pit, not for the music. Saying that, I also didn’t care because it was a hell of a ride to play those early shows.

What do you hope Hum gives people?

AW: Belief.

Rapid-fire questions

A lyric you wish you’d written
Currently: “You can be free and still come home.”

Streaming: friend or enemy?
Enemy.

Your one non-music gig essential
TV shows.

What does a perfect day off on tour look like?
A city or town we’ve never been to, with my own hotel room. Ending the day with some good food with the guys.