Ryder The Eagle writes songs like cinematic visions. Lo-fi synths hum like fading neon signs, melodies flicker somewhere between heartbreak and hypnosis, and lyrics bleed like old postcards – full of lyrical ache, late-night longing, and surreal worlds. Based in Mexico but forever wandering, the French-born balladeer is a self-made myth; equal parts karaoke cowboy, romantic drifter, and dive bar philosopher. On stage, he’s a captivating performer, moving with the instinctive chaos of someone who’s been broken open – and decided to dance with it – offstage, he’s on the move, rewriting the rules of the modern ballad, with a wink and a wound. Following the release of his exceptional new record Smile, Hearse Driver! – featuring such amazing titles as True Romance Is Out On A Cruise Wearing Impeccable Deck Shoes – we asked Ryder to give us a full breakdown, track-by-track.

1. Brakelight Sonata
“This song was originally composed about two years ago. I’ve always been obsessed with the opening theme of The Deer Hunter, Cavatina by John Williams. I tried to learn it, but it was too difficult, I’m self-taught on the guitar so it was pretty much inaccessible to me. But years later, I found myself composing this classical-type melody that was not so technical. It was one of those instrumental pieces I sometimes write, knowing that there’s no way it will ever become a real song. These hide in my voice memos and I enjoy playing them every once in a while. I tried to include it on my second album Megachurch and I was whistling the melody over the guitar, I liked it, but I just felt like it didn’t fit the album. When I started writing the new album, it felt obvious that it should be the opening song. I thought the melody would sound great on the theremin, so I asked Peter Theremin to do it, and he accepted. I recorded the guitar on my 4-track, sent him the track and he recorded the melody over it.”

2. Smile, Hearse Driver!

“Often when I write an album, the title comes to me before I go record it somewhere. My girlfriend [Bambi] and I were on our way to Sicily, where we would spend three months – my plan was to record an album, hers was to finish her next photo book and create the album artwork with me. We made a stop at my grandpa’s mobile home in Marseillan-Plage, France. Bambi had to ship some prints at the post office, so I gave her a ride. While she was inside doing her thing, I was sitting in my car and started singing what would later become the chorus of this song. I could already hear the backing vocals (later performed by Melanie Chambers), the chord changes, and I couldn’t wait to get to Sicily and play it on the organ to see if it could become something. We drove for a couple of days, I finished the lyrics in my head while driving. We arrived at the house, got the organ out of the car and painfully carried it all the way to what would become the music room. I played the song for the first time that night and finished the title track the very day we arrived, before even turning on the heater, it was a good way to kick off this Sicilian chapter.”

3. The Room Where Love Comes To Die

“I used to think you could only write a break-up song while going through an actual break-up, that songs had to be a testimony of a real-life experience. It took me over 30 years to realise a song is just a channelled emotion, nothing more. And that realisation was freeing. You can feel something pretty strongly, not act on it, but still capture that emotion into a song. That’s what happened with this one, which was written on tour during a particularly difficult time for me. I also wrote this one entirely in my head while driving from one city to another – I can’t remember their names. I had all the lyrics, melody, and chords ready, and was hearing a weird chord on the second chord of the song that ended up being a Eb7♯11/+Db+F#, but also ended up just being one bass note because I decided to record the song in a very stripped-down way, just bass, drum machine and vocals. Who cares about that weird chord anyway.”

“It kind of sounds like a beach-bar karaoke singer found an old folk complaint from Eastern Europe and made a quick karaoke version of it…”

4. Dead Letter From A Long Distance Godfather

“I’m the godfather of a little French girl named Winona, and ever since her parents chose me, I’ve felt guilty and sorry in advance for the absent godfather figure I was gonna become – since I’m a touring musician living in Mexico City. It was hard for me to take the job when I knew for sure I was gonna be bad at it, like when you apply for a vacant welder position perfectly knowing you can’t weld for shit (I did that). So I wrote this song, which is basically an excuse letter for the irresponsible godfather I was gonna be, and thought a good number of fathers should hear it as well. For the record, I’m seeing her in three weeks from now and got her a traditional Mexican floral dress and a little plastic toy car on its little plastic race track. Music-wise, the song features Peter Theremin on theremin and me on the mandolin, which I bought only to play on this song’s chorus. Don’t ask me to play any chords other than these – I can’t.”

“Getting political for half a second gave me a gag reflex, so I replaced Berlin Wall with Plaster Wall.”

5. The Bed Was Comfier In Hell

“This is a song about feeling sad and cosy, and not willing to make the choice of happiness. I struggled with that feeling for quite a long time, also fearing that happiness would make me write bad songs. One comment on YouTube stated so, so it might be true – but I don’t agree. If you agree, don’t worry, it shouldn’t take long for me to be sad again.

The song was initially way more arranged, it was also up-tempo and kind of restless. At the end of the recording process, I felt that something was off with this song and decided to just play it on the organ and sing it, and that’s the version on the album. I wrote a theremin melody that was played by Peter Theremin.”

6. Why Lost Items Get The Blues

“This one was composed directly on the organ and instantly sounded the way it sounds on the record. I like that there are so many chords in it but it still sounds somewhat ordinary. It kind of sounds like a beach-bar karaoke singer found an old folk complaint from Eastern Europe and made a quick karaoke version of it so he could add it to his repertoire. The lyrics are pretty dark and show that I can apparently be happy and very sad at the same time. But in the end, it’s just a love song: I’m just a lonely glove / shat on by a dove / and all I understand is the warmth of your hand (in real life it was a pigeon and not a dove).”

7. A Heart That Can’t Deny Your Love Is Sharp As A Knife

“This is the last one I wrote for the album, a few weeks before we had to leave Sicily. I’m very scared of knives (would rather get shot than cut if asked) and kept reading French news about teenagers stabbing each other on a daily basis. I would turn to Bambi in our rattan-framed queen-size bed and say, “See, another dude’s getting stabbed.” She would politely nod in agreement and never complain about how fixated and obsessed I was with the damn thing. We spent three months glued together and still felt like it had been two weeks. I wondered if I should blame that nice feeling on the delicious pizza, the cosy fleece pyjamas or the friendly dogs next door – but really it was all because of Bambi’s sharp love. So it was time for another love song, but with knives this time around.”

“I’m sick of these new cars – they do look like orthopaedic shoes and they break down all the time.”

8. True Romance Is Out On A Cruise Wearing Impeccable Deck Shoes

“Writing this song instantly turned me into a bitter old man, and I couldn’t care less. I’m sick of these new cars – they do look like orthopaedic shoes and they break down all the time. I bought my 1992 Volvo 940 station wagon nine years ago for 1,200 euros – it failed inspection but it still runs perfectly. Not everything used to be better back in the day, but cars definitely were. Cars and biscuits.”

“…starting it with a fade-in and ending it with a fade-out like an unapologetic lazy rascal was the best feeling.”

9. The Girl With The Makeshift Tie

“I wrote that one in less than twenty minutes. It was so quick and fun, it didn’t even feel like writing a song. The tone was way more playful and light than the other songs, and maybe I had to write something to remind myself that even if I was recording my darkest album to date, I was doing it in the most fun, enjoyable, and loving way – which is hard to believe, even for myself. I finished the song, called Bambi, who was printing in her darkroom, and asked her if she’d be down to sing this one as a duet. I played her the song, impersonating her voice for every line that was supposed to be sung by her, and watched her giggle and chuckle while she was listening to the lyrics. Then she tried singing it with me, and it was instantly perfect for her voice. Making such a simple, naive song, starting it with a fade-in and ending it with a fade-out like an unapologetic lazy rascal was the best feeling. My favourite duet with Bambi so far!”

10. The Agony Of A Color That’s Dying To Be Seen

“My mum had got me an antique accordion for my birthday a few months before Bambi and I headed to Sicily. She joked that I now had to play the accordion on the album, which I tried to do on this song.

I wrote that one in my grandpa’s mobile home, on the organ that I then brought to Sicily. I had visited him at the nursing home and felt quite shaken by it. You know the feeling. It’s a song about fatality, horny gods peeping at lovers French-kissing themselves goodbye, and old symphonies biting their own composers in the ass. Maybe just a song about death.”

11. Love Will Fall Like A Plaster Wall

“Initially titled Love Will Fall Like The Berlin Wall. Bambi pointed out that the fall of the Berlin Wall was a good thing, and that the fall of love is not. I replied that good or bad wasn’t the point, the point was that all things end up collapsing in the long run. Getting political for half a second gave me a gag reflex, so I replaced Berlin Wall with Plaster Wall, and I’m sorry if any of these inexpensive walls were offended in the process. This song was written by a pessimistic divorced man trying to make sense of the succulent idea of everlasting love. The end of the song is just Bambi endlessly repeating, “Everything dies“, while I’m improvising on the saxophone and the guitar, and I just couldn’t stop. It was way too long and kind of uninteresting, but the symbolic side of it – a hopeless romantic not ready to say bye to this idea like a dog that can’t let go of its stick – was good enough to make it a ten-plus minute never-ending song. I’m sorry.”

Ryder The Eagle’s record Smile, Hearse Driver! is out now.