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"Music isn't really about metrics-it's about people": Half Ivory on new album "how do i use this thing?"

From building a world through a sentient helmet to chasing genuine connection over streaming numbers, Half Ivory opens up about the ideas, instincts, and experimentation behind How Do I Use This Thing?

By Eugenia RoditisMusicngear Editor

Independent artist Half Ivory creates narrative-driven, self-produced music where every song serves a larger story. His second album, How Do I Use This Thing?, begins with an unusual narrator: Lumina, a sentient helmet that starts as a tool and gradually becomes something far more complicated. As the story unfolds, questions of identity, power, connection, and the desire to be understood emerge not through exposition, but through fragments that invite listeners to assemble the bigger picture themselves.

That same philosophy shapes the way Half Ivory approaches production, performance, and even success. Built over several years, the self-produced record grew through constant reinvention, embracing unexpected discoveries rather than chasing perfection. And while streaming platforms may introduce people to the music, it's the shared experience of live performance that gives this world its heartbeat.

We spoke with Half Ivory about storytelling without easy answers, trusting happy accidents in the studio, bringing Lumina onto the stage, and why meaningful connection - not metrics- is still the goal.

Eugenia Roditis, Musicngear: 'How Do I Use This Thing?' is built around a sentient device guiding listeners through a fragmented story. What first sparked the idea for telling an album through the perspective of a device, and what made it the right lens for exploring themes like identity, power, and perception? 

The helmet existed because I needed a story framework, but it became interesting because it created a relationship of mutual dependence. The helmet needs a person to function, and the person needs the helmet to access its power. That relationship gave me a way to explore connection, trust, misunderstanding, and what happens when someone who understands you deeply still can't save you.

Musicngear: The device appears to evolve throughout the album, beginning as something controlled and clinical before becoming increasingly human and unstable. How did you approach developing that transformation across the record, both lyrically and sonically? 

I didn't really think about Lumina's arc in terms of making her more human. I thought about it in terms of connection. At the beginning of the story, she's essentially a tool. She's a powerful object that gets used by people. The turning point is when Calista starts treating her like an actual entity instead of just a piece of equipment. Because Lumina can experience Calista's thoughts and emotions, she ends up knowing her more intimately than anyone else does. Over the course of the album, that relationship becomes the thing that changes her. She goes from observing emotions to becoming emotionally invested in them herself. By the end of the story, she's no longer just processing what's happening—she's heartbroken by it. She wants another chance to be understood.

Sonically, I don't know that I approached it as a deliberate 'machine sound versus human sound' thing. The bigger shift for me is that the songs toward the end of the album move away from conflict and toward hope, connection, and love. As Lumina becomes more emotionally invested in Calista, the emotional center of the record changes, too. So the transformation is probably reflected more in the feelings of the songs than in any single production technique.
 

Musicngear: Rather than presenting a straightforward narrative, the album reveals itself in fragments and leaves room for ambiguity. What draws you to that style of storytelling, and what do you hope listeners discover by piecing the story together for themselves? 

I've always been drawn to stories that trust the audience to do some of the work themselves. Some of my favorite stories growing up didn't explain everything, and I enjoyed the process of putting the pieces together. When everything is spelled out for you, it can start to feel less personal. You're no longer bringing your own experiences or interpretations to it.

With this album, I never wanted the story to feel like homework. If someone wants to dive into the narrative and connect all the dots, the clues are there. But if someone just wants to listen to the songs and connect with the emotions, that's completely valid too. The story was as much a tool for me as a writer as it was something for listeners to engage with.

What I hope people discover isn't necessarily a single 'correct' interpretation. I hope they find the parts that resonate with them. Some people might connect with the story, some might connect with a particular lyric, and some might just connect with a feeling. To me, that's more interesting than giving everyone the exact same answer.
 

Musicngear: You mention that many of these songs were written, stripped back, and rebuilt over several years. Was there a particular track that underwent the most dramatic transformation, and what did that process teach you about your own creative instincts? 

Back to January" probably underwent the most dramatic transformation. It went through three completely different versions before it finally felt right, and there were definitely moments where it felt like I was starting over from scratch.

What that process taught me is that creative work isn't nearly as linear as I wish it was. Earlier in my career, I think I would've looked at those discarded versions and seen them as wasted time. Now I see them as part of the process. One of those abandoned versions actually led directly to the "Joy Loop" transition track on the album, so even though that particular version of the song didn't survive, the ideas inside it still found a home somewhere else.

That's become a pretty important lesson for me as a songwriter and producer. Sometimes a song isn't working because you're forcing it to be something it doesn't want to be. The answer isn't always to push harder. Sometimes it's to take it apart, follow the interesting pieces, and trust that none of the work is really being wasted.

A lot of this album was built that way. Songs were written, stripped back, rebuilt, and reimagined over several years. Looking back, I think the biggest thing I learned was to trust my instincts when something doesn't feel right, even if it means throwing away months of work. Usually those ideas come back in a better form somewhere else.
 

Musicngear: As a self-produced artist, how do you balance the technical side of production with the emotional and narrative goals of a project like this? Do you find yourself thinking like a producer and a storyteller simultaneously, or do those roles compete with each other? 

I don't really think of the producer and storyteller sides of my brain as competing with each other. They're usually working together, just at different stages of the process. A lot of times, production and sound design actually come first. I'll stumble across an interesting sound, a texture, or a groove, and that starts pulling emotions out of me. Those emotions inspire melodies, and eventually those melodies become songs.

The challenge is knowing when to stop exploring sounds and start listening to what the song is trying to say. Production is an incredible tool for creating emotion, but at some point it can also become a distraction. There comes a moment where I have to stop thinking like a producer and start focusing on filling the song with something honest and human. If I'm stuck on a lyric, I usually try to get back to the feeling that made me excited about the idea in the first place.

Because I self-produce, it's easy to get lost in the technical side of things. I've definitely over-produced songs before, and there were moments on this album where I had to intentionally simplify things because I realized I was adding complexity without making the song any more impactful. Whenever I get stuck—especially with lyrics—I try to go back to the reason I started writing the song in the first place. Usually the answer isn't hidden in a plugin or a production trick. It's in the original feeling that made me want to write the song.

At the same time, I've learned that I don't always have the answer by myself. Sometimes when a song isn't working, the best thing I can do is bring it to a friend and start experimenting. Not trying to fix it—just playing with it. I think there's a big difference between approaching a song like it's a problem to solve and approaching it like something to explore. Collaboration helps me get back into that mindset. It creates space for happy accidents, and a lot of the best moments on this record came from following those unexpected ideas rather than forcing a solution.

Production is still one of the most powerful storytelling tools I have. The sounds, textures, and energy of a track can communicate things that lyrics can't. But whether I'm working alone or with other people, the goal is always the same: serve the emotional core of the song. If a technical decision isn't helping the listener feel something, it's probably the wrong decision.

With 'how do i use this thing,' the narrative gave me a direction, but the production was how I brought that world to life. The goal was never to show off production techniques. It was to create moments that feel alive, surprising, and emotionally honest.
 

Musicngear: We'd love to hear about the tools behind the album. Were there any instruments, pieces of gear, plugins, or production techniques that became especially important in shaping the atmosphere and character of How Do I Use This Thing?

A few tools became really important to the sound of 'how do i use this thing.' For guitars and bass, I relied heavily on the Fractal Audio Axe-Fx III. Almost all of the electric guitar and bass sounds on the album came through that, and it became a huge part of shaping the textures and atmosphere of the record.

For the drums, a lot of my favorite sounds came from recording real drums rather than only programming them. I used an Austrian Audio OC818 in a few different ways, including as a room mic, and I ended up with a lot of these organic, imperfect drum sounds that I really love.

The album was originally written in Logic Pro, and then a lot of the production and finishing happened in Ableton Live. A lot of the record is actually done entirely in the box. I use a lot of plugins—I'm a big fan of Soundtoys—but I also think stock plugins are way more powerful than people give them credit for.

A big part of my production process is taking whatever tool I'm using and trying to push it somewhere it wasn't necessarily designed to go. I'm always asking, 'What happens if I use this wrong?' or 'How can I make this behave unexpectedly?' Sometimes the most interesting sounds come from breaking something or creating a happy accident.

One technique that became a big part of the album was using controlled randomness to create movement in the drums. Instead of programming every fill, I would take existing drum parts and run them through glitch and timing-based effects, print the versions that surprised me, and then go back through the song and find places where those unexpected moments added energy. The end of 'My Fault' is a good example of that. A lot of those details came from letting the track surprise me.

For me, the tools are less about the specific gear and more about creating a space where I can experiment. The best moments usually happen when I'm not trying to make the 'correct' choice, but when I'm listening for something unexpected that makes the song feel alive.

Musicngear: You’ve described the live shows as an extension of the album's world rather than simply performances of the songs. How are you translating the narrative into a live setting, and what kind of experience do you want audiences to leave with? 

I've always wanted the live show to feel like an extension of the album rather than a separate thing. Part of that was practical—I created Lumina because I wanted an overarching story for the record, but I also wanted a piece of that world that I could physically bring on stage. The helmet became a real prop, which meant the audience could experience something from the album in a tangible way.

Lumina also ended up solving another problem for me: I hate bad banter. So instead of me standing on stage awkwardly explaining songs between every track, I let the sentient helmet handle it. Her voice guides the audience through the show, helps with transitions, and continues telling the story in a way that feels natural to the world of the album.

What's interesting is that the role of the audience changes in the live setting. On the album, Lumina is telling a story to Half Ivory. In the live show, the audience essentially steps into that role. They're the ones sitting inside Half Ivory's head, hearing the story unfold around them.

More than anything, though, I want the live show to create a genuine connection. That's something music streaming can't really replicate. When you're in a room together, you can feel how people are responding in real time. My hope is that people leave feeling like they were part of something rather than just watching it. Whether they follow every detail of the story or not, I hope they connect with the emotions and feel a little more free to explore their own.

Musicngear: At a time when so much of music promotion revolves around algorithms and short-form content, you've emphasized building connections in physical spaces through touring. Why is that approach important to you, and what have you learned from connecting with audiences face-to-face?

I don't think of touring and online promotion as competing with each other. The internet is an incredible tool for helping people discover music. A lot of the opportunities I've had wouldn't exist without it. But discovering music and connecting with it are two different things.

A stream tells me someone clicked play. Being in a room with people lets me experience how they're connecting with the music in real time. I get to see what moments resonate, what lyrics land, when a room gets quiet, and when people are completely locked in. There's an energy exchange that happens during a live show that just can't be measured by views, likes, or streaming numbers.

That's become more important to me over time. One of the biggest things I took away from touring was realizing how different the experience is when you're actually standing in front of people. You get conversations after the show. You hear how someone interpreted a song. You find out what connected with them and why. Those moments remind me that music isn't really about metrics—it's about people.

As I look ahead, I'm becoming more and more interested in finding creative ways to make live shows engaging and memorable. It's getting harder to discover exactly what you're looking for online because there's so much competing for attention. But when someone chooses to spend an evening in a room listening to music with other people, that's a very different level of engagement. That's the experience I'm most excited about creating.
 

Musicngear: What have been some of the biggest challenges you've faced so far as an independent artist, and what advice would you offer to other emerging musicians who are trying to build something ambitious without a large team behind them? 

One of the biggest challenges for me has been accepting that I can't force the creative process. I wish I could sit down and write songs on command, but that's never really been how I work. I need to find something I genuinely connect with first. I need a reason to write. A lot of the writing process for this album took much longer than I expected because I was waiting for those ideas to become real enough that I actually had something to say.

What's interesting is that I've never really had a moment where I wanted to quit. The challenge hasn't been motivation. It's been patience. Trusting that if I keep following the ideas that genuinely excite me, eventually they'll lead somewhere worthwhile.

As an independent artist, you also end up wearing a lot of different hats. You're writing, producing, booking shows, marketing, building relationships, and trying to keep the whole thing moving forward. It's easy to start treating every creative problem like something that needs to be solved as efficiently as possible. But some of the best things on this album came from doing the opposite.

If I could offer one piece of advice to other artists, it would be to keep following the fun. That sounds simple, but I think it's incredibly important. When a song isn't working, sometimes the answer isn't to work harder. Sometimes it's to experiment, collaborate with someone, try something unexpected, and leave room for happy accidents. A lot of the magic happens when you stop trying to force the outcome and start paying attention to what excites you.

I've learned to trust that no work is ever really wasted. Ideas that don't fit one song often show up somewhere else. Failed versions lead to new discoveries. If you stay curious and keep making things, those pieces usually find their place eventually.
 

Musicngear: As you prepare to release How Do I Use This Thing?, what goals have you set for this chapter of the project? Are you focused primarily on growing your audience, expanding your live presence, gaining media coverage, or something else entirely? 

Of course I want all of those things. I want the album to reach new people, I want to continue growing the live show, and I'd love for the project to connect with media outlets that are excited about what I'm building. Those things create opportunities and help make future projects possible.

But if I'm being honest, the thing I'm most focused on is connection.

A lot of this album is built around the idea of wanting to be understood, and I think that's part of why touring has become so important to me. My goal isn't just to put the album out into the world and watch numbers go up. I want to take these songs to people and see how they connect with them in real life.

If this album leads to a larger audience, that's amazing. If it helps me build a bigger live presence, that's amazing too. But what would make me genuinely proud is knowing that on every stop of the tour, at least one person walked away feeling like the music meant something to them.

On a practical level, I'd also love for this chapter to create more support around the project. Being an independent artist means doing a little bit of everything yourself, and I'd love to continue building a team and creating a bigger budget for future ideas. I already have my next project in motion, and I'm incredibly excited about where it's heading.

But for right now, success looks a lot less like a specific number and a lot more like a series of meaningful conversations, great shows, and genuine connections with people who discover the music and decide to make it part of their lives.
 

Musicngear: Looking ahead, what does the future of Half Ivory look like? Are there particular artists you’d love to collaborate with, festivals or venues you’d love to play, or new creative directions you're excited to explore after this album is out in the world?

Looking ahead, I'm really excited about continuing to develop the live side of Half Ivory. The more I tour, the more convinced I become that live performance is where this project is meant to live. I love finding new ways to make the shows more engaging, immersive, and emotionally impactful, and that's something I want to keep pushing further.

As far as dream stages go, I'd love to play the Big Ears Festival. It feels like a place that embraces artists who don't fit neatly into one category, and I think my weird little songs and the way I approach live performance would fit in really well there.

There are also a handful of artists I'd be thrilled to collaborate with. Some are probably more realistic than others, but that's part of the fun. I'd love to make something with Devon Again, The Booyah! Kids, Jr. Varsity, Toro y Moi, or Damon Albarn. They all approach songwriting, production, or world-building in ways that I find really inspiring, and I think we'd end up making something unexpected together.

As for what's next creatively, I've already started working on the next project and I'm incredibly excited about it. I don't want to give away too much yet, but I can say that I'm still interested in building worlds, creating experiences, and finding new ways to connect with people through music. Right now I'm focused on getting 'how do i use this thing' out into the world, but I'm already looking forward to where the story goes next.

Connect with Half Ivory
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About Eugenia Roditis

Eugenia's passion for music was ignited from an early age as she grew up in a family of musicians. She loves attending concerts and festivals, while constantly seeking fresh and exciting new artists across diverse genres. Eugenia joined the MusicnGear team in 2012.

Contact Eugenia Roditis at eugenia.roditis@kinkl.com

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