Mogipbob Interview: The Stories Behind Anything but Me

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Mogipbob Interview: The Stories Behind Anything but Me

Canadian songwriter Mogipbob, based in northern Alberta, returns with his third album, Anything but Me, a 16-track collection that embraces musical diversity, imaginative storytelling and the unexpected.

Blending country-soul, folk-rock, blues, funk and retro-soul, the album moves between humorous characters, unusual situations and thoughtful reflections on identity, memory and everyday life. From the wonderfully offbeat concepts behind tracks such as “Hell’s Bell Bottoms” and “The Fleas of Hercules” to the more introspective “The Old Me Was the Young Me”, Mogipbob allows each idea to find its own musical direction.

With human-written lyrics and creative direction at the heart of the project, his approach prioritises storytelling over genre conventions. We caught up with Mogipbob to explore the inspiration behind his songwriting, the balance between humour and sincerity, his creative process and the ideas that shaped Anything but Me.

When you’re developing a song, what tends to come first: a character, a lyrical idea, a personal observation, or simply a concept that you can’t stop thinking about?

Usually the concept comes first, but the concept can arrive in a lot of different ways. Sometimes it begins with a title or a joke that I can’t stop thinking about. Sometimes it comes from something I notice in everyday life, a memory, an odd character, or a simple observation that starts growing into something bigger.

“Hell’s Bell Bottoms” is a good example of an unusual idea taking over. Once I pictured somebody arriving in Hell and gradually realizing that everyone was wearing outrageous bell bottoms, the whole world of the song started building itself around that image. Other songs begin from something much quieter. “The Old Me Was the Young Me” came from looking back at the person you used to be and realizing that, at the time, that younger version of you simply felt like you.

I don’t really sit down and decide, “Today I’m going to write a country song” or “Today I need a funny song.” I usually follow the idea first and let it tell me what kind of song it wants to become. If an idea keeps hanging around in my head long enough, that is usually a pretty good sign that there is a song hiding inside it.

How do you approach balancing humour and sincerity, and do you find that humour sometimes helps you explore subjects that might otherwise be difficult to write about?

I don’t really think of the humour and the more serious side of my writing as opposites. A lot of the time they come from the same place. Life can be funny, frustrating, sad and ridiculous all at once, so I like songs that leave room for more than one of those things to be true.

Humour definitely helps me approach subjects that could otherwise become too heavy or sentimental. If I’m writing about aging, change, regret or the way people look back on their lives, a little bit of humour can make the song feel more human. It gives the listener some breathing room and keeps me from telling them how they are supposed to feel.

At the same time, I try not to use humour to hide from the sincere part of a song. If there is something real underneath the joke, I want that to remain visible. Some of my favourite songs are the ones where you can smile at one line and then, a few lines later, realize there is something a little deeper going on underneath it.

With influences ranging from country-soul and folk-rock to blues, funk and retro-soul, how do you decide which musical direction a particular song should take?

I usually start with the personality of the song rather than the genre. Once the lyrics and the idea are taking shape, I start asking what kind of musical setting makes the story feel most natural.

A humorous or slightly absurd song might need a groove that gives it some swagger or playfulness, while a more reflective song may need something warmer and more restrained. Sometimes a lyric immediately suggests country-soul or folk-rock. Other times a bluesier or funkier arrangement brings out a side of the song that I hadn’t noticed at first.

I also like older styles because they give me a very broad palette to work with. Country, soul, folk, blues and funk all have strong traditions of storytelling, but they create very different emotional colours. I’ll try different directions until the arrangement feels like it belongs to the lyric rather than being placed on top of it.

The goal is really just to let the song become the best version of itself. I don’t want every track to sound the same simply so the album fits neatly into one genre.

What attracts you to unusual ideas such as those behind “The Fleas of Hercules” and “Modern Person, Ancient Solutions”, and how do you turn an offbeat concept into a complete song?

I think a lot of it is simply the way my mind works. I’m naturally drawn to ideas that are a little sideways, where the obvious subject is not necessarily the real subject.

“The Fleas of Hercules” is a good example. Part of what amused me was that the song is not really about Hercules at all. He is almost the backdrop. The fun comes from taking something enormous and legendary and focusing instead on something tiny, ridiculous and completely unexpected. Once I find that kind of angle, I start asking what sort of character or story could live inside it.

“Modern Person, Ancient Solutions” grew from a line my mother once used about someone: “He fell off the conveyor belt of evolution.” I never forgot it. That one phrase suggested an entire character to me, someone living in the modern world but constantly solving problems in wonderfully outdated ways.

Once I have the odd premise, I try to treat it seriously enough that the song becomes more than just a joke. I give the character a point of view, build a situation around them, and look for details that make the idea feel believable within its own little world. That is usually when the offbeat concept starts turning into an actual story.

Are reflective songs such as “Some Things Never Change” and “It’s the Little Things That Matter Most” rooted in particular experiences or memories, or do they emerge from observations that gradually take on a deeper meaning?

Both songs come more from observations about life than from one specific event.

With “It’s the Little Things That Matter Most”, I have always felt that some of the smallest moments in life can leave a much bigger impression than the major milestones. A brief conversation, a familiar routine, a small kindness or even something that seemed insignificant at the time can stay with you for years. Sometimes those little moments are what you remember most clearly.

“Some Things Never Change” comes from a slightly different place. The world seems to be changing faster all the time, and there can be something comforting about realizing that certain things remain familiar. People still laugh at the same kinds of things, families still have their traditions, and some simple parts of life seem to carry on regardless of what changes around them.

I think both songs grew from noticing those ideas over time and then realizing there was something deeper worth writing about. They are really about appreciating the things we can easily overlook while we are busy paying attention to everything else.

How much does your life in northern Alberta influence the people, situations and atmosphere that find their way into your songs?

Northern Alberta definitely influences my writing, especially in the kinds of situations and characters I notice. A lot of my humour comes from everyday observations, and quite often those observations happen in blue-collar settings where people are practical, direct and usually pretty good at finding humour in whatever is going wrong.

Songs like “Set-Back Outback” or “Solid as Metal” come from that kind of world. I’m interested in ordinary people dealing with work, machinery, weather, setbacks, stubbornness and the little absurdities that come with day-to-day life. Those situations may seem small, but they can say a lot about a person.

I think living in northern Alberta also gives me an appreciation for straightforward storytelling. People here tend to value authenticity, and that probably influences the way I write characters. I like them to feel recognizable, even when the premise around them is exaggerated or humorous.

So the region finds its way into the songs less through specific place names and more through the attitude, humour, work ethic and everyday experiences of the people around me.

Looking back at your earlier work, what has changed most about your approach to songwriting, and was there a particular point when you became more comfortable letting your songs go in unexpected directions?

I think the biggest change has been learning to let a song breathe. Earlier on, I was probably more inclined to push an idea toward completion once I had the basic structure in place. Now I am much more comfortable giving it room, revisiting sections, changing direction and letting the song tell me when it is actually finished.

I have also become much more particular about the production side. Instrument selection, tempo, mood, vocal delivery, arrangement and even the amount of space between sections can completely change how a song feels. I spend a lot more time now thinking about whether those choices support the story rather than simply sounding good on their own.

I do not think there was one single moment when that changed. It happened gradually as I wrote more songs and became more confident in trusting unusual ideas. The more I saw that an unexpected concept could become a complete and believable song, the more willing I became to follow those ideas wherever they wanted to go.

That freedom is probably one of the biggest differences with Anything but Me. I am less interested now in asking whether a song fits a particular mould and more interested in whether it feels complete, honest and true to its own personality.

Could you take us through your creative process, from the first idea and lyrics to choosing instruments, revising arrangements and selecting the final versions, including how you use AI as a production tool?

It usually starts with a song idea and what I think of as the song’s world. I try to imagine what that world feels like, who lives in it, what kind of mood it has and what sort of musical setting would make it believable.

The lyric-writing process can vary quite a bit. Sometimes the hook comes first and everything grows outward from that. Other times a verse, a title or even one particular line gives me the way into the song. I do not follow one fixed order as long as the pieces eventually feel like they belong to the same idea.

Once the lyrics and structure are taking shape, I start thinking about the arrangement. I tend to favour more natural-sounding, non-electronic versions of instruments, although not exclusively, because I find they often help give the song more character and life. Tempo, mood, vocal style, harmonies and the amount of space between sections all matter as well.

The revision stage is probably where I have become most particular. I will compare different versions and listen for whether the arrangement is actually serving the story. Sometimes the issue is the harmonies, sometimes the pacing, sometimes an instrumental section needs more room, or a transition needs a few seconds to breathe. I am not necessarily looking for the most polished or complicated version. I am looking for the one that feels most natural for that particular song.

The decisions I return to most often are whether the mood feels right, whether the vocal delivery matches the character of the lyric, whether the arrangement is giving the important lines enough space, and whether the final version still feels like the song I imagined when the idea first appeared.

With 16 original songs on “Anything but Me”, how did you approach sequencing the album, and did you want listeners to experience a particular journey between the playful songs and the more introspective moments?

I naturally enjoy a wide range of older musical styles, from 1960s soul and folk to 1970s funk, country and blues. To me, those styles all lend themselves especially well to storytelling. When I am writing a song, I usually get a fairly strong sense of what musical direction will help tell its story most effectively, so the variety on the album developed quite naturally.

When it came time to sequence the album, I wanted that variety to work in the listener’s favour rather than feel random. I did not want too many songs with the same mood or energy sitting together. I like the idea of a playful or unusual song being followed by something more reflective, then perhaps moving into something warmer, funkier or more relaxed.

I think that contrast helps each song keep its own identity. A quieter song can feel more meaningful after something humorous, and a more upbeat song can provide some breathing room after a reflective moment.

So there is a journey through the album, but I did not want it to feel overly calculated. The goal was to let the listener move through different moods and stories while still feeling that all 16 songs belong in the same world.

What does the title “Anything but Me” mean to you personally, and what would you hope listeners take away from the album after hearing all 16 songs?

For me, the title Anything but Me comes from those moments when I catch myself trying too hard to fit in, whether socially, at work or just in everyday life. There can be a lot of energy spent wondering whether you are saying the right thing, wearing the right thing, acting the right way or presenting the version of yourself that other people expect.

As I have gotten older, I have started to feel that there is a lot less stress in simply being yourself. If I say something a little stupid, wear something slightly offbeat or approach something differently, it is usually not the end of the world. In fact, some of those things are probably what make a person interesting in the first place.

I think that idea connects with a lot of the album. The songs are full of people who are imperfect, funny, stubborn, reflective, awkward or simply trying to make sense of life in their own way.

If listeners take anything away from the album, I hope it is that there is value in accepting the odd, ordinary and imperfect parts of ourselves. Life is probably more interesting when we stop spending so much effort trying to be anything but who we really are.

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