Torquil Campbell doesn’t just want to make beautiful music. He wants to trick you. “Songs can’t be beautiful without a little deception,” he says. “The hook keeps you coming back, but you’re never satisfied. That’s the cruelty of a pop song.”
Stars, the band he’s fronted for over two decades, specializes in that exact kind of heartbreak—lush, sweeping, devastating. Their latest record, a masterclass in “deceptive beauty,” is one Campbell describes as their darkest. “I thought maybe this time I could escape it,” he says, laughing. “But no. The more I listen, the heavier it gets.”
Blame—or thank—producer Peter Katis for that. “We came in with songs about the orange-haired lunatic who runs your country,” Campbell says. “And Peter was like, ‘Yeah, no. I want the sad stuff.’” So Stars leaned into what they do best: songs about love, loss, and the weight of being human. “We’re people pleasers,” Campbell admits. “But this record, it’s just us. No forcing it.”
Loneliness is a running theme, which makes sense. Stars have spent years chronicling heartache in all its forms. But Campbell believes loneliness has taken on a new shape in the digital era. “We all know these screens are making us miserable,” he says. “We’re addicted, we love it, but is it helping us? Don’t think so.” He pauses. “It’s hard to write about without sounding trite. You want to capture modern isolation, but by the time the record comes out, things have gotten even worse.”
That sense of technological whiplash is something Stars know well. “We’re an internet-era band,” Campbell points out. “We started in 2000, back when blogs were king, and Napster was this scary new thing.” He’s watched the music industry crumble in real-time. “When we started, 2000 was the biggest year for CD sales in history. Our entire career has been one long decline from there.”
His favorite story? The time Stars’ first record deal almost didn’t happen because of a little thing called Google. “The guy signing us was like, ‘You need to change your name. There’s this thing called Google, and people won’t be able to find you.’ And I was like, ‘That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. People find bands in the Village Voice, man.’” He sighs. “I had a real deep understanding of the future.”
Now, survival as a band means fighting for relevance in a streaming landscape dominated by algorithms. “Your fans can love you, play your records all the time, but if they’re listening on CD? Doesn’t count. Doesn’t register. We have to convince people to go press that like button on Spotify just so we exist in the modern world.” He shakes his head. “If I were a young band now, I’d throw my hands up in despair.”
But Campbell isn’t giving up. He’s spent the past year throwing himself into other artistic endeavors, including a one-man true crime play and scoring Angels in America. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” he admits. “Seven hours of drama, angels bursting through ceilings, entire worlds collapsing—it’s like a Hollywood epic on stage.” And eerily relevant. Angels tells the story of Roy Cohn, the lawyer who shaped Trump’s public persona. “Cohn was one of the most evil people to ever live,” Campbell says. “And the way he denied reality—denying he was gay while working against gay rights, denying he had AIDS as he was dying from it—well, that kind of vicious, shameless lying? We’re living in the aftermath of it.”
For all his cynicism about the world, Campbell still believes in the power of art and human connection. “The audience is an act of faith,” he says. “You buy a ticket, you stand in the dark, and for two hours, you make it about someone other than yourself. That’s incredible.”
And if Stars have proven anything, it’s that they know how to last.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the video below.
