I can’t ask Kolohe Andino normal questions anymore. I just looked back at some interviews where I asked him who his favorite band was four years in a row and for four years straight he told me that it was The Red Hot Chili Peppers. That can’t still be right, can it?
Since those days (me asking groms their favorite bands and Kolohe pulling heists on the licorice jar at the NSSA) we’ve both grown up and gotten closer. I’ve traveled, surfed, ate breakfast, camped, road tripped, written Haikus and philosophized with Kolohe enough to know that doing a “normal” interview isn’t something I have clearance for anymore. He’s been doing it too long. He expects more. If I’m not on my game, all I get are smartass remarks, inside jokes, and all the unprintable material that oozes from adolescent dudes his age. And maybe a few snarky hints at the presence of the very elusive depth and sophistication that I’m always after. The artist beneath the illusions and swooshes and targets and bulls. To put it simply: he’s a fucking brat. But I think he grew out of all that.
Like, during this trip. And I saw it happen.
Continued in Part 2 or read the entire story in What Youth Issue 9, on sale now.
Our film project with Kolohe Andino will be out in 2015.