Inland Years is a Brooklyn based home recording project making fuzzy folk and lo fi pop. Songs drift between 60s jangle and tape worn noise, full of charm and imperfection. To find out more, I dropped them a line…

What does the name Inland Years mean to you? What does it say about your music?

It’s a few things. First it’s an anagram of my name Ryan Daniels. More literally it comes from the stretch of time I spent inland during the pandemic. I left the city for the woods of Pennsylvania and spent months overextending myself to keep my job which led to burnout. I grew out my hair and beard, stopped caring and drank heavily each day. I completely cracked.

Somewhere in 2021 I realized I needed an outlet and started writing again. The plan was to finish a song a month, but it started coming together faster and faster. Those songs slowly shaped the first Inland Years tape that came out in 2023. So in a lot of ways the music is a reflection of that dark time but also finding a path out. 

You’re based in Brooklyn. Do you feel like you’re part of a music scene there? If so, what’s that scene like?

I’ve lived in Brooklyn for 20 years so I’ve seen a lot of come and go. It’s hard to ever feel fully part of something here because things shift so quickly. Every block can have its own scene. Within that too, the bigger venues can feel pretty transactional.

I will say what feels exciting right now is the smaller spaces. Spots like Trans-Pecos, The Cobra Club, Windjammer and Gold Sounds are really making music feel alive again. Most are all ages too. 

Your music grew from what you describe as a “quiet experiment during long nights.” What made those nights so long? 

The nights are long because it’s really the only time I have. Between work and a family, it’s the odd minutes in between things when I can actually write. And usually that ends up being pretty late. 

Is the experiment still quiet?

Yes, most of the time. Writing in a Brooklyn apartment with paper thin walls makes that kind of inevitable. Most nights it’s me on the couch with an unplugged electric guitar plucking out ideas and saving them as voice memos on my phone. Then the louder work like drums or vocals happens when I’m in Pennsylvania. 

That’s my natural creative state. Lately though I’ve started playing live with some insanely talented people. So it is getting louder. 

How would you describe your approach to songwriting?

Get in and get out. I’m obsessed with reduction and getting to the point quickly. Most of my songs hover just over a minute because I’m always looking for ways to trim and strip either with creative transitions, off timed parts or something else just to keep to the essence. 

That probably comes from my love of early 60s AM-friendly pop songs by The Byrds or The Supremes that clocked in at two minutes twenty seconds on average. I’ve kind of halved that without meaning to, it’s more a reflection of my process than anything else, but it does inadvertently line up with the restless attention span we all have nowadays. 

You’ve mentioned that your music “feels both handmade and haunted.” What accounts for these qualities?

Handmade is hopefully pretty apparent. I write and record all the music, mix it myself and then my releases have been through amazing DIY labels. My last release was a cassette housed in a wooden lock box. The label Sands of Time Recordings fabricated everything by themselves. Both Oliver Glenn who released my first tape and BSDJ who released my latest also did everything by hand. 

The haunted part I pulled from an early review. I like it. It wasn’t meant in a scary way, I don’t think at least, but more in a driving on the highway alone type vibe. 

Your music often centers on isolation. Do you consider yourself an isolated person?

Yes, I’d say so. I’m an introvert in a world that asks me to be an extrovert. I have anxiety in crowds, have stretches where I barely leave the apartment and find most social interactions draining. 

You’d never know any of that talking to me though. It’s an inner battle and I am lucky to have family and friends that understand when I need space. What’s even stranger is that I never feel nervous on stage. Playing music in front of people feels natural somehow. It’s an escape. 

Your new album is called Keep Your Eyes on the Road. Do your eyes have a tendency to wander—either metaphorically or literally?

Yes. All the time. I’m never present. I’m always thinking about tomorrow, what just happened or what’s about to happen and how to make sense of it all. Sometimes I wish I could just enjoy the ride.

I didn’t name the record with all that in mind, but I’m glad you picked up on it. The lyrics to the title track are much more about a long drive that I’m really happy to be on, but just wish the other person would shut up for a few minutes. Ha!

What can you tell us about the album?

It’s a collection of songs I wrote during the summer and fall of 2024. It was released by the incredibly kind Japanese label BSDJ. There was a limited run cassette that’s now sold out and it’s streaming most places. The bandcamp version has an extra cover song on it: “Come again” by Billy Nicholls.

I was making about a song a week then, so there’s quite a lot on the cutting room floor, but I’m incredibly proud of the release and floored by the response it’s gotten. 

Do any moments from the recording process stand out in your memory?

Again, an amazing question, thank you. I’d be embarrassed to say how many vocal takes I do on each song, but it’s a lot. I usually record with my Zoom R24, since it’s a lot of start and stop. It gets even worse when I layer in vocal harmonies, but when I nail it (even sometimes accidentally) it’s so rewarding. The moment I made the harmonies on Make You Feel Better was one of those times. They just came out so special. 

What about moments in songs? Are you particularly proud of any musical flourishes or lyrical turns of phrase?

There’s a lot, but I really like how “What can you do” came out. I wrote it right after a fight with my teenage daughter. I’ve always protected her from the world, but she’s growing up, finding more freedom and I’m reconciling with that in the song. It’s not a happy song, but it’s certainly where I’m at my most vulnerable. 

The lyrics follow her hypothetically leaving home. The line “there’s some dust on the window that hasn’t been cleaned in years” gets me every time. Both lyrically and that I’m hitting a diminished chord which really doesn’t belong in the song, but it’s borrowing notes from the part that comes after, so it works. 

What’s on the horizon for you?

I just recorded a handful of songs live at The Bunker Studio here in Brooklyn. It’s with a full band so they’ve taken on a new shape. That will be live and available on Bandcamp next week.

Also writing new songs every day, planning some shows for the new year and looking to do another release early to mid-next year. Get in touch!