Serj Tankian paints the way other people breathe—instinctively, constantly, and usually with clocks. “My first painting was literally the first measure of a musical composition,” he explains. “The clocks denoted the notes, the arms became the tails. I called it Disarming Time.” Since then, the System of a Down frontman has been obsessively marrying music and visual art, sometimes through physical exhibitions, sometimes through immersive NFTs, sometimes just in his studio with his hands covered in paint.
He swears he’s not chasing style, though. “I’m not sure I’ve even found one,” he shrugs. “Half the time, someone sees a mermaid in my work and I’m like, ‘What mermaid?’ Then I look and yeah—there’s a fucking mermaid.”
Clocks have been his constant. He remembers gifting bandmates arm-ripped pawn shop timepieces during Mezmerize/Hypnotize. For him, timepieces are symbols of timelessness, which is the kind of paradox that makes perfect sense in Tankian’s universe. “You’re using time to denote timelessness,” he laughs.
Not all the art is quite so metaphysical. One painting, Bowie R.I.P., was for his husky—two different-colored eyes, just like David’s. “When she passed, I painted it for her,” he says. The real Bowie died later, and suddenly a tribute to a dog doubled as a tribute to a rock god.
The music tethered to these paintings can be just as surprising. One piece, Jasm Up, plays like a lost jazz classic. “I made a concerted effort to make it almost like a kids’ painting,” Tankian says. “Really bright, neon colors. The music had to match—lively, positive.” He admits a lot of the jazz was cobbled together with loops, but it still sounds like a smoky club in 1959. “Compliments taken,” he smiles.
Others lean darker. Projectiles explodes midway, both visually and musically. “They look beautiful before they fall,” he says. “That’s the art of it. Before they land, before they destroy, there’s this weird beauty.”
And here’s the kicker: if you love one of these pieces and want to stream the soundtrack later? Forget it. “You can’t,” Tankian insists. “It’s only available when you’re standing in front of the painting. Music has become so commodified it’s worth nothing. By making it exclusive, tied to the art, it regains value.”
Of course, Serj being Serj, this is just one lane of his twelve-lane creative freeway. In a single year he’s released scores (Truth to Power, I Am Not Alone), a poetry collection, a piano concerto, two Cinematic albums, Elasticity, live records with the FCC, and a handful of exhibitions. Next up? Possibly an operatic choral piece he’s calling Invocations, which he casually dropped into conversation like it wasn’t a huge deal. “Operatic singers, death metal singers, full choir, full orchestra—it’s wild,” he says. “But ask me again in December, I might be writing rock songs.”
That’s Tankian: scoring films, painting clocks, mourning his dog Bowie, and reminding the world that music still matters, even if he insists it’s worth “nothing.”
Watch the interview above and then check out the videos below.
