There’s a dreamlike sense of mystery to Trevor Naud’s work. In his music videos, photos or his graphic series Blues Build the Temple, the Detroit-based artist presents you with fragments of images, scenes and realities that you accept but don’t quite understand, staying fascinatingly (or frustratingly) just slightly out of reach. You can’t grasp it, but you know there’s something going on. I particularly love Naud’s approach to sci-fi imagery, focusing on the nuts and bolts, bleeps, wires, shapes and patterns of technology, turning mundane machines into curious artefacts or strange symbols.
I cannot fully separate my love of his work from my love of Protomartyr, the post-punk band that Naud has directed several music videos for, as well as taking press photos and providing the artwork for their 2023 album Formal Growth in the Desert. Protomartyr is one of my absolute favorite bands, and their music seems naturally connected to Trevor Naud’s work, evoking a similar sense of mystery.
Could you tell me about your collaboration with Protomartyr? How did you initially start working together, and how has your collaboration/relationship evolved since?
There were dots that connected early on. I met Scott Davidson somewhere around ’07 or ’08… we had a mutual friend that collected vintage arcade cabinets, and he’d host these gaming nights at his house. Scotty was like a mythical character. He’d show up to the place and you’d hear the collective “SCOTTY’S HERE!”
Maybe a year or two later I had an office job working for Ford. Someone came up to me and was like “There’s this guy who sits down the hall and he’s really into films – you should talk to him.” It was Alex Leonard. I met Greg Ahee shortly thereafter. I don’t think Protomartyr had formed just yet, and I’d seen Joe Casey hosting a trivia night in a Hamtramck bar, but didn’t officially meet him until way later. After the band formed.
This probably seems like a long way of getting to the question, but basically we all hung out before I started working with the band. We shared similar interests in film and music, and would regularly meet at Alex’s Hamtramck house to watch B movies. Me and some friends had a production company in Detroit at the time, and we always jumped at doing music videos because it afforded us the chance to be creative. Joe liked a few things we’d done and asked if we’d be interested in shooting ‘A Private Understanding.’ Joe had this really specific reference: Ceol ón Chlann by The Keane Family. Plus, he said, “there’s this guy you should cast as the lead, he’s a 78-year-old stand-up comedian.” Nothing quite worked as planned for that video, but it’s all the better for it.
Fast forward to 2020, before the release of Ultimate Success Today, and they asked me to shoot their press photos. It was a tremendous honor because I hadn’t done that, officially, for anyone… plus the assignment was really cool: to shoot the scenes like excerpts from films. The pool table/bar shot one was a nod to Wim Wenders’ The American Friend. We’d done a few rounds of photos for that record. Then COVID happened, which influenced how the videos were approached.
I think the evolution of our collaboration has been really open… like, I’m pretty much down to do whatever. I’m a fan of them as people, and a fan of them as a band, too.
Your music videos for ‘Make Way’ and ‘Worm in Heaven’ both feature some mysterious scientific experiment. Do you have a clear idea of what the actual experiments are?
The direction for ‘Worm’ was definitely tipped off by the Chris Marker film La Jetée, which is entirely photomontage. What I love is how the film envisions the technology, which induces time travel, but it’s shown as a simple sponge mask with wires. That aesthetic is applied to both of the music videos, for sure. I won’t say exactly what the experiments are, but they do involve dream visuals and the idea of simulating the death experience.
You provided three music videos for the Ultimate Success Today visual album. I’m curious about the process behind this visual album. Did the band provide much framework or direction, did they have anything specific in mind? And were you aware of what the other directors were making?
Alex and I spoke quite a bit before kicking off the ‘Worm’ video. At that point they knew they wanted a fully visual album, and I remember him telling me some of the basic directions for the other videos. Again, it was full-on COVID, which made shooting a strategic process. You couldn’t show up to the locations with a large footprint. You had to strip everything way down.
For ‘Worm’, the band referenced La Jetée, I was like “I’ve been messing with this process to ‘animate’ 35mm stills.” So I mostly worked on that one myself. And I think ‘The Aphorist’ was a way to put Joe, as a narrator – like a news anchor – trapped in a TV, in the middle of the scenery. Basically me and the cinematographer would travel from spot to spot, set up, and shoot.
‘Bridge & Crown’ was a late-breaking one, and the idea was prompted by Joe. We only had a few hours to film at the Buffalo Soldiers Heritage Association and I remember it was 100°F (37°C) that day. James Mills, who is featured in the video, is the president of the BSHA. His uniform was made of wool and you could just tell how scorched he was getting.
You’ve also directed music videos for Zoos of Berlin and South South Million, two bands that you’re a member of yourself. Is it a different feeling, or even a different creative process, to direct videos for songs that you were involved with making yourself? Did you already get ideas for the videos while working on the songs?
There’s a lot less pressure in making videos for those projects, but I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing. I drag my feet and deliberate over things far more. I have a Super 8mm short I’ve been working on (for what feels like years), and it’s taking a long time because no one is asking for it. My music brain is a bit different than my video brain. I don’t usually start thinking about visuals until after the music is completed.
In general, what’s your way into a song? Are there specific elements of a song that you pay extra attention to when developing a music video?
I think the lyrics play a huge part. But I like the exercise of, first, listening and trying to interpret what the artist is saying. Then, second, I’ll ask to see the lyrics formally.
(Sometimes what I think they’re saying is incorrect, but cool interpretations will come from it.) When I listen to music, I definitely picture certain things, certain scenes.
In a 2008 interview, you mentioned often feeling like a human in La Planète Sauvage, and I think I can see some inspiration from this film in your project Blues Build the Temple. When did you first see “surrealist adult animated science fiction art film” La Planète Sauvage, and how did it influence your work?
The first time I saw La Planète Sauvage, or came across it, was as a VHS tape at a friend’s house. I was in sixth grade (11 or 12 years old), and my friend Lochlan’s dad had a very cool collection of films, records and books. We’d just sit around and rifle through all of his stuff when he wasn’t around. But I remember looking at the sleeve art and marveling over it. Lochlan would say “oh, we’re not allowed to watch that,” which only intensified the curiosity. (Quick aside, Lochlan’s father is sci-fi novelist Patrick O’Leary.)
The funny thing is I didn’t actually watch the film until much later, in the early 00s. The visuals and the Alain Goraguer soundtrack really blew my mind. And it’s still very eerie and unsettling for me to watch. La Planète Sauvage and, maybe even more so, Luigi Serafini’s Codex Seraphinianus, were key inspirations for Blues Build the Temple. I think if you look at both of those works you can definitely see the influence.
In that same interview, you named the late David Lynch as your hero. What do David Lynch and his work mean to you?
When I look back I realize Lynch played a big role in my childhood, and it’s his work and visuals that really left an early impression on me… even though I had no idea he was the connective tissue between Dune, The Elephant Man and Twin Peaks. I saw Dune when I was probably five or six years old, and The Elephant Man not long after. They’re very different films, but they share a lot of Lynch’s trademarks. At that age, I felt transported and frightened by these films, and I couldn’t look away.
Later, when Twin Peaks came out, I remember sitting down to watch it with my family. I was 10 years old. None of it made sense to me, but it was presented in a way that was supposed to make sense. Like, I was seeing a high school drama, and a detective story – things that on the surface were almost like clichés – but he was playing with the audience’s expectations, inserting surrealism and dream logic with sleight of hand. David Lynch was a new language.
The preference for film photography is a recurring topic on my website. How did you develop your love for film photography? Why do you prefer it?
I learned to shoot and develop film in college, on my dad’s Canon AE-1. I think the fact that it was a prerequisite for journalism students made it less appealing to me. I was out shooting images because I was assigned to do it (which, at the time, wasn’t very fun). But I do remember liking the isolation of the process. Using your eyes to look for things, look for stories, and walking around alone. Then there was the darkroom where you’d hunch over an enlarger inside of a cubicle. And the smell. It’s more romantic to me now. But back then it was just par for the course.
After school, I returned the Canon to him. Just a few years ago he gifted it to me, and he still had a roll of film in it. So I had it developed. There was an amazing shot of a woman’s dress and heels (possibly my mom’s), from some wedding ages ago, and the colors are all mutated into vibrant pinks and greens. That’s the image on my Instagram profile.
I’ve never owned a DSLR. Maybe someday? I’m into the slowness of film, and the meditative process of shooting with it, and the patience it requires. I am not a patient person at all. So it’s one of the few things that gets me to slow down. There’s a period of time after I shoot a roll, where I sort of dream about what the shots will look like, if they’ll turn out at all. Shooting film is also a very humbling activity. It’s not something I feel like I can master. I’m still a student.
You’re from Detroit, a city that feels almost romanticized for how dilapidated it is – like you’re living in the crime-ridden ruins of the Roman empire. I’m curious how you’ve seen the city change throughout your life.
Detroit is a beautiful city. There has always been an incredible output of music and art and community. The money seems to come and go, but I think it’s a city that’s always thriving in some way, despite appearances. There’s a hum to Detroit. There’s always a feeling that something’s happening.
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