It’s funny how a place can become so ingrained in your identity, isn't it? For Tucker Pillsbury, the artist known as Role Model, Maine is that anchor, a constant hum beneath the surface of his music. He likens it to Dorothy’s Kansas, a place of origin that, while left behind, continues to shape his journey. His latest record, Kansas Anymore, feels like a direct conversation with that past, a deeply personal exploration born from homesickness and, as he’s shared, heartbreak. It’s a noticeable departure from the raw energy of his earlier EPs, leaning into a vulnerability that’s both brave and compelling.
His move to LA in 2018, swapping the familiar East Coast for the sprawling West, felt like his own personal twister. He traded in his ruby slippers for a Stetson and some well-worn 501s, a visual metaphor for the shift in his life and career. This new chapter, however, isn't just about geographical distance; it's also about navigating the aftermath of a public breakup, a theme that clearly underpins Kansas Anymore. It’s a record about looking back, processing, and ultimately, moving forward.
There’s a warmth to his live shows, a sense of connection he fosters with his audience. Take his hit track, "Sally, When the Wine Runs Out." He’ll often pause, a playful glint in his eye, and call out, "Where’s my Sally tonight?!" It’s a moment that invites collaboration, often bringing another artist onto the stage. Recently, at The Wiltern in LA, Reneé Rapp answered that call, their shared performance igniting the crowd. It was a spontaneous, electric moment, the kind that makes you feel like you’re right there with them.
Later, in a conversation that felt more like catching up with old friends than a formal interview, Tucker and Reneé found themselves in a playful back-and-forth. Tucker, with a mischievous grin, joked about quitting music for football, claiming a big game for Syracuse. Reneé, ever the sharp wit, played along, questioning his sudden pivot to college athletics. It highlighted a shared understanding of the artistic journey, the need to branch out, to diversify and find inspiration in unexpected places. Tucker’s own path included film school for three years before he dropped out, a testament to his multifaceted creative spirit. Reneé, too, spoke of her own academic and artistic rejections, a shared experience that underscored their eventual triumphs.
Their chat touched on the realities of touring, the finality of a last show, and the anticipation of returning home. Reneé’s mention of being in LA and Tucker’s question about her current activities – giving mix notes for her upcoming album – painted a picture of artists deeply immersed in their craft. She described her album as a "party girl album," a reflection of her experiences over the past two years. Tucker’s gentle teasing about her being "method" felt less like criticism and more like an affectionate observation of her authentic approach to songwriting. "That’s not method," he quipped, "that’s you being your own writer, and however you’re actually feeling or what you’re doing is what you’re going to write about – you fucking freak." It’s this kind of genuine banter, this easy camaraderie, that makes his music and his presence so relatable.
And then there was the invitation: "You have to come home and hang out with the lesbians. We really want you to hang out with us." Tucker’s playful response, "Am I allowed in the circle? I feel like with my haircut alone I’m allowed in the circle," perfectly captured the inclusive, welcoming vibe he projects. It’s this blend of artistic depth, personal vulnerability, and genuine human connection that defines Tucker Pillsbury, both on and off stage.
