Brooklyn-based, Budapest-born itinerant songwriter Atticus Kane shares ‘Love Me Not’, the latest single lifted from his album News From Delphi. A fast-paced, rocking song, ‘Love Me Not’ turns a deeply personal experience of immigration and belonging into a meditation on the contradictions of American identity. We caught up with Atticus Kane after the release of ‘Love Me Not’.
“Love Me Not” begins with something as mundane as a series of political robocalls, yet develops into a much broader meditation on immigration, belonging and American identity. What was happening emotionally for you in that moment that allowed such an ordinary experience to become the starting point for a song?
It was a truly bizarre experience getting targeted by a robocall from a wannabe politician espousing their belief that immigrants are “ruining” the country. Once I got over my initial, ironic reaction to being the target of this call as an immigrant myself, I went down a philosophical rabbit hole. I was trying to wrap my mind around how a nation “built by immigrants” that prides itself on being a “cultural melting pot” could also harbor a segment of the population that treats immigrants as scapegoats for everything that ails the country. The phrase, “Do you love me, or do you love me not?” just popped into my head, and the song poured out of me from there.
You have described yourself as a proud American immigrant while also arguing that genuine love for a country requires honesty about its failures. How has your own experience of immigration changed the way you understand patriotism, particularly in an era when political arguments about who belongs have become so charged?
I first came to the US as an exchange student for my sophomore year of high school. Living with a host family was a uniquely educational and eye-opening experience. Growing up, you tend to think of your own family as weird or perhaps even a little crazy, while everyone else’s looks wholesome and normal. But living with a completely different family for a year makes you realize that all families are weird and a little crazy in their own unique way, not just yours. That realization helps you look at your own family—and others—more objectively. It helps you understand that you love them not because they are perfect, but because of the care, commitment, and time you invest in each other despite those imperfections. I think of patriotism, or love for a country, in a very similar vein. Most people born in a given country inherently love their birthplace, but not always. Conversely, there are plenty of examples throughout history of people who gave their lives for a country they weren’t born in. To me, the idea that only people born in a specific country can be true patriots of that country just rings hollow.
The phrase “love me, love me not” captures a very particular tension between affection and rejection. When you began writing the song, did you already understand that contradiction as its central theme, or did that idea reveal itself gradually through the songwriting process?
As an immigrant in any country, I think you can’t help but be constantly aware of the push and pull between the love some people have for you and the hate you receive from others. As you move through various spaces—making a purchase at a store, interviewing for a job, going on a date—there are always moments when you feel you are being treated differently, perhaps just because you have an accent.
It isn’t always negative. There are certainly negative experiences, but sometimes people actually give you more attention because you seem somehow exotic to them as an immigrant. Either way, the core idea of assimilation essentially means doing your best to consciously lose a part of yourself in order to better fit in.
There is an interesting contrast between the song’s fast, rocking energy and the complexity of what you are addressing lyrically. How consciously did you want the music to resist the heaviness of the subject matter, and what does that sense of momentum allow you to express that a slower or more overtly serious arrangement might not?
I’ve always loved the contrast of pairing heavy lyrics with fun, lighthearted music. I have a handful of songs that play with that dynamic—like “Mourning After” from my previous album or “Paradise, Pt 1” from Electric Ghost. There’s something about that unexpected dissonance between the sonic and lyrical experience that I find incredibly appealing. For some listeners, it makes a heavy message more accessible. For others, the true meaning flies under the radar at first, allowing them to slowly discover the depth of the song over time. Either case, I think it gives the song an extra dimension the listener can explore and connect with.
Having been born in Budapest, lived in Miami and now being based in Brooklyn, you have experienced America from several different geographical and cultural perspectives. How have those different places shaped your understanding of what it means to belong somewhere, and do you still think of yourself as an itinerant songwriter rather than someone rooted in one particular scene?
Experiencing different places and cultures is a foundational part of my philosophy and my creative inspiration. Traveling around the country and the world forces me to appreciate my life and put things into perspective. Seeing how other people live, what they value, what they strive for, and how they view themselves actively shapes how I think about those exact same concepts when it comes to my life. It even helps renew my love for Brooklyn. It’s so easy to get jaded and lost in the daily hustle and bustle. However it is such a beautiful reminder of how fortunate I am to live in Brooklyn when outside of NYC people’s eyes light up when I tell them where I live. That constant renewal of appreciation is one of the most important perspectives I’ve gained from being an itinerant songwriter.
Your songwriting often seems to move from the intensely personal towards larger questions of politics, identity and society. How do you decide when a personal experience is ready to become a song about something bigger, and how do you prevent the wider political meaning from overwhelming the emotional truth of the original experience?
I used to really struggle with this when I first started writing. I had this preconceived idea that every single song had to be deeply meaningful on a profound level. But over the years, I realized that the single most important thing as a songwriter is honesty. As long as I am writing from a place of honest emotion, observation, or experience, it translates naturally without ever becoming too preachy or overwhelming.
“Love Me Not” contains the idea that loving something can sometimes mean confronting what is wrong with it. Do you think musicians have a particular responsibility to challenge the societies and cultures they are part of, or should artists primarily be concerned with expressing their own experience and allow listeners to draw the political conclusions?
I don’t think musicians or artists have a responsibility to constantly challenge their audience. Sometimes people just want to have a good time and forget about their worries by turning on a fun song.
That being said, since ancient times music and poetry have been vehicles for highlighting universal truths, challenging beliefs, and telling cautionary tales. Hungarian folk music, for example, is full of stories that highlight local injustices, explore themes of good versus evil, and examine the plight of the poor against the attitudes of the rich. But most of the time even these songs simply paint a picture without offering solutions. It is up to the audience to ponder how these ‘pictures’ move them.
Your influences include Courtney Barnett, Sam Fender and Declan McKenna, three artists who have different approaches to combining personal storytelling with social observation. What have you learned from those kinds of writers, and what aspects of your own background or musical personality do you think distinguish your work from theirs?
All of the artists you listed are entirely distinct and unique in their own right. They come from different walks of life and carry their own philosophies, sounds, and perspectives. But the one thing they all share is that they are fearless in expressing who they are, what they believe in, and what they stand for.
What I’ve learned from them is that if you want to create your own lane and distinguish yourself as an artist, you cannot be afraid to embrace your own truths: who you are, where you come from, and what you believe in. As long as you are honest about your identity, you will naturally differentiate yourself, because absolutely no one else thinks, speaks, or writes exactly the way you do.
The idea of the “real American” has become increasingly complicated, particularly for people whose families, identities or histories cross national borders. When you write about American identity, are you trying to redefine what that identity means for yourself, challenge the assumptions surrounding it, or simply document the contradictions you encounter?
My aim is never to force people to redefine their beliefs or try to change their minds. But I do use my music to express my own ideas and beliefs, and those concepts come from a place of genuine love and care for this country. If wanting the best for the country you love isn’t the definition of a “real American,” then I don’t know what is.
Looking at News From Delphi as a whole, where does “Love Me Not” sit within the larger emotional and philosophical landscape of the album? What did making this record teach you about immigration, belonging, love, politics and perhaps most importantly, about your own relationship with the idea of home?
There is a famous story about Croesus, the king of Lydia. He went to the Oracle of Delphi to ask whether or not he should go to war with Persia. The Oracle replied that if he went to war, “a great empire would fall.” Believing the Oracle meant the Persian empire, Croesus went to war, he was defeated, and his land and people were absorbed by the Persians.
I’ve always been fascinated by that story. The idea that you can receive news from Delphi that you interpret as a comforting assurance of the outcome you want, when it is actually a dire warning against the exact action you are about to take, resonated deeply with me: that the desperate pursuit to know the future of our lives, our loved ones, or our country could be what leads to our downfall. Trying to control events, thinking we are invincible, believing that things will always remain the way they are right now; these are all central themes I explored on this album. If making this record taught me anything, it’s that no one and nothing is perfect but as long as you learn from your mistakes, seek to genuinely understand others, and approach the world from a place of love, you have a fighting chance to use whatever News From Delphi you receive for good.
