Steinza isn’t chasing perfection, he’s letting the first feeling win. The Nashville-based songwriter’s latest work leans into rough edges, emotional honesty, and the kind of songs that arrive all at once and refuse to be overworked. From writing “Weep” in the aftermath of heartbreak to finding inspiration in Nashville’s deeply talented songwriting community, Steinza is learning to trust instinct over polish. In conversation, he reflects on grief, growth, live performance, and why the moments that feel the messiest often end up being the most true.

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“Cabernet Serenade” feels like a natural evolution of your folk alt-pop blend. How did the production process for this track differ from your earlier work, like “Cherokee”?

Steinza: I think “Cherokee” is such a throwback. For the songs on the album, I was really compelled by the idea of letting things exist as they first existed. In the past, I’ve been guilty of over-editing or overcomplicating production. With this album, I had this epiphany that sometimes the first version of something is the best version, not being a perfectionist and allowing the first paint strokes to exist as they are. That was definitely true for “Cabernet Serenade.” It was a weird mix, a bit rough around the edges, and it broke some fundamentals, but I’m really happy with it. I think it exists exactly how it should, which feels good.

You’ve often been described as a confessional songwriter. What was the specific headspace or memory that triggered the writing of the new single?

Steinza: I toured a lot in 2024 when I wrote that song [“Weep”], and long story short, when I got home, I found myself alone and got really drunk by myself. I mean, I’ve done that maybe twice in my life because I kind of hate it, but I did it. I ended up getting the spins and thinking about this girl I used to love. I laid on the ground with a guitar, and “Weep” was one of those songs that came out in one sitting. I woke up the next morning, listened to the voice memo, and demoed most of it. The headspace wasn’t a good one, but it’s one I’m glad I documented. You go through stages of grief in a breakup, and that was a late stage for me. There was no more anger, bitterness, or hurt, It was just sadness. It felt like the final stage before you’re ready to move on.

You moved to Nashville to find your voice. How has the city’s songwriting culture specifically colored the modern, expansive arrangements we hear in your 2025 and 2026 releases?

Steinza: I had this experience growing up where I started playing guitar because my sister got one for Christmas and didn’t want to play anymore. Nobody in our family really played—my dad played drums, so he was musically savvy—but for the most part, I was learning guitar on my own. Then fast forward a few years into my preteen years, around 11 or 12, I started playing with a church band. These dudes were just nasty at their instruments, really great musicians, and I noticed myself getting better quickly because I was immersed in people who were that good. I think the same thing has been true in Nashville. There’s so much talent here, and so many people pursuing good art and pure expression. That’s been huge for me. It’s been really disarming and really inspiring to be surrounded by peers who are incredible at what they do—people on a whole different level that I get the privilege to look up to. Nashville feels very music-forward, and I love that.

You just mentioned your father, who’s a drummer. Do you find yourself subconsciously auditioning your new songs to your family first, or do you keep the process private until it’s finished?

Steinza: My process is very private. It’s funny with my family, I love them, but I’m not sure they really know what’s going on. They’re supportive at a baseline, though. If I sent them music, they’d probably be like, “What?” I usually send songs to my best friend Eli, who’s a good thermometer for me. Sometimes you make something and there’s immediate excitement because it’s new, it’s the thing you wrote ten minutes ago, so obviously it’s the best song you’ve ever written. Then two days pass and you come back and it’s like, oh… this song is actually ass. It was recency bias. So yeah, I’ll send it to a few people, but for the most part I’ve learned to keep things to myself until they’ve survived the test of time.

You’ve spent years opening for massive, high-energy acts like Shaboozey and Matt Maeson. What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned from watching them command a crowd?

Steinza: Everyone’s show is different, but the biggest takeaway for me is this: are shows about music? Yes, 100%. But if you strip it down even further, putting on a good show is about entertaining people. People won’t always remember your setlist, or how you sang a certain bar, or played a specific line, but they will remember how the show made them feel. That’s influenced how I perform. I’m notoriously a yapper, as you can probably tell. I talk a lot on stage, and early on I used to get shit for that. But now it feels like part of the show. I love talking, and I think people feel entertained by it. To me, that’s mission accomplished. Everyone has their own recipe for entertaining people.

We often focus on the vibe behind music and performance, and your aesthetic feels very warm-toned and nostalgic. If your 2026 music were a film, who would direct it, and what would the opening shot look like?

Steinza: Oh man, I’m a film snob—that’s a hard question. I need to consult my Letterboxd. Aesthetically, the album feels similar to Good Will Hunting, which is a Gus Van Sant movie. That’s the closest thing that lines up for me. It feels warm and nostalgic. At the same time, though, some songs, like “This Place”, have a more whimsical feel, almost like a Wes Anderson thing. Maybe a Fantastic Mr. Fox vibe.

You cite Noah Kahan and Bon Iver as influences. If you could curate a three-song playlist to prepare someone for your 2026 tour, what would it include?

Steinza: I’m going with “Weep,” “Roots,” and “Doctor, Doctor.” I think those cover the ends of the spectrum.

If you could go back in time and give yourself one piece of advice before you started making music, what would it be?

Steinza: I’d tell my younger self that he’s worthy of liking himself. Learning to like myself was something I really struggled with when I was younger. I feel like I’m in a good place with it now, and it’s been foundational for my art, my life, and everything in between.

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