Where Can I Read Interviews With Zach Abels About Composing?

Wow, the clip went wildfire for a few simple but messy reasons, and I couldn't help dissecting it. First, celebrities and athletes live on a weird stage where private moments get rewritten as public stories. I noticed that the post landed at a time when people were already hungry for any off-field drama — whether Zach was underperforming, returning from an injury, or the team was getting heat. That timing makes a relatively small social post feel huge. Also, the phrase 'mature woman' triggers a ton of cultural assumptions: clickbait headlines, moralizing takes, and instant judgment. Media outlets love that because it spawns debate and keeps eyeballs glued to their feeds. Beyond clicks, there’s a double-standard angle. I saw commentators frame it as either scandalous or a non-issue depending on audiences and outlets. That contrast feeds coverage cycles. Personally, I find it predictable but telling: we care more about the personal lives of players than we pretend, and social media turns nuance into headlines. It’s messy, but unsurprising to me.

which is where most of us first saw it. I dug through timestamps and used reverse-image checks to compare copies across platforms; the earliest public timestampable instance traces back to that Story screenshot rather than a tweet or an article. So while most people discovered the image on Twitter or Reddit, it actually started as an ephemeral IG Story that someone captured. Funny how a fleeting Story can become mainstream overnight — still wild to think about.

There’s something really electric about the way Zach Abels builds atmosphere, and I think his signature soundtrack sound grew out of a mix of cinematic obsession and hands-on experimentation. Early on he clearly soaked up a lot of film score language — those warm, analog synth pads like in 'Blade Runner', the slow-burn crescendos of post-rock bands such as 'Explosions in the Sky', and the retro-futurist neon of 'Drive' — then filtered those influences through guitar playing that isn’t trying to be flashy, it’s trying to color a scene. He layers guitars with delays and pitch-shifted textures, lets reverb breathe, and treats the amp and pedals as tonal instruments rather than volume tools. On a practical level, I’ve noticed he evolves ideas on the road and in the studio simultaneously. Live arrangements teach him what holds up, while studio time lets him dissect and re-sculpt sounds with synth programming, granular processing, and careful mixing. Collaborations with filmmakers and other musicians nudged him toward dramatic pacing and cue-based thinking, so his tracks feel like they belong in a movie even when they stand alone. For me, the result is emotionally direct music that still rewards a deep listen.

Funny thing—I've been rabbit-holing Zach Abels' music for a while now, and what I keep noticing is that his solo footprint is a bit scattered compared to full-band releases. He’s best known as the guitarist who played on The Growlers records, so if you’re trying to trace his work start by checking credits on The Growlers’ albums like 'Chinese Fountain' and 'City Club' where his parts are featured. For his solo material, I usually head straight to Bandcamp first because lots of indie musicians drop EPs, instrumentals, or limited-run tracks there. After that I check Spotify and Apple Music for whatever’s been distributed more widely, and YouTube for live clips or uploads of songs that might not be on major platforms. If you want physical copies or a complete checklist, Discogs and MusicBrainz are great for credits and release dates. If you want, I can walk you through searching those sites step-by-step—I do that every time a musician I like seems hard to pin down.

I got hooked on Zach Abels' sound the way you get hooked on a late-night playlist you swear was curated just for you — parts dreamy, parts punchy, all soaked in atmosphere. Growing up around bands and cheap practice rooms, I heard the same mix of old-school guitar obsession and bedroom-electronic curiosity that he leans into: crunchy pedals, reverb-drenched leads, and an ear for bittersweet melody. His style feels like someone who loves classic songcraft but refuses to be tidy about it, so he pulls in textures from film scores, vintage synths, and hip-hop production to color a simple guitar line into something cinematic. A specific thing that pops out to me is how his LA surroundings and the DIY internet era shape the music. You can tell he’s comfortable with loopers and samplers, and he treats production as part of composing, not just polishing. That leads to songs that breathe — a vocal echo here, a lo-fi drum hit there — which makes the whole thing feel lived-in. I also notice he’s not afraid to lean into mood: a little melancholy, a little swagger. If you’re chasing tracks that sound like late-night drives through neon-lit streets, start with his more stripped-back stuff and then follow the layers backward; you’ll hear the guitar work evolve into broader, cinematic palettes. It’s the kind of progression that rewards repeated listens and a curiosity about gear and production tricks.

The way that whole Zach Wilson 'mature woman' thing exploded felt like watching a slow-burning meme finally catch fire. I noticed the pattern starts with one tiny post — a screenshot, a short clip, or even a throwaway comment — that hits a small niche page. From there, niche pages with a specific audience loved the weirdness and reshared it; that’s where the first surge of momentum usually comes from. Once a couple of mid-sized creators clip and add punchy captions or ironic commentary, the algorithm treats it like gold because engagement spikes: comments, stitches, remixes, and heated takes. After the initial momentum, the spread follows the usual cross-platform highway. TikTok or Instagram reels make it snackable, X threads and Reddit posts give it context and debate, and meme accounts boil it down into three-panel jokes that enter everyone’s feed. Mainstream sports blogs and gossip accounts sometimes pick it up, which drags in people who don’t normally follow either Zach Wilson or that niche, and that’s the moment a private joke becomes a public storyline. Watching it unfold, I kept checking different platforms to see how the tone shifted — from teasing to full-on meme culture — and it honestly made scrolling late at night way more entertaining.

Gotta be honest, tracking creator money is part sleuthing and part educated guesswork, and I love both. If I had to put a number on Zach Kornfeld's 2025 net worth, I'd land him roughly in the $6–9 million range. Here's how I'm thinking about it: Zach's been a core part of a hugely successful group for years, with consistent YouTube ad revenue, sponsorship deals, and merch sales. Add in live shows, occasional speaking gigs, and any equity he holds in the group's company — those all scale up over time. Creators also diversify: investments, real estate, and side projects can pad that number. After taxes, agent fees, production costs, and reinvesting in content, a big slice gets reinvested, but the cumulative earnings over a decade still push him solidly into low- to mid-seven figures. I tend to imagine him as someone who enjoys creative freedom but also plans for the long term — so part of that net worth is probably in non-liquid assets. That $6–9M feels like a balanced estimate: not wildly inflated, but recognizing sustained income and the value of a recognizable personal brand. I’d be pleasantly surprised if he’s higher, but comfortable with the idea he’s built a nice financial runway by 2025.

Growing up around the Lake Michigan shoreline in Evanston gave me a weird, wonderful sense of small-city curiosity. I grew up in Evanston, Illinois, and my school years were split between neighborhood routines and that intense high school energy — I attended Evanston Township High School, where I fell into theater and started messing with cameras. Those silly, late-night projects with friends felt dumb then but ended up being the seed for making videos for a living later on. After high school I stuck around the area for college and went to Northwestern University. Staying in Evanston for school meant I could keep the hometown friends, keep going to the same coffee spots, and still sneak into big-city internships. Northwestern’s blend of practical coursework and creative outlets pushed me toward video editing and sketch writing, which eventually led to working on bigger projects and meeting collaborators who later formed groups like 'The Try Guys'. Looking back, the combination of Evanston’s tight-knit vibe and Northwestern’s opportunities shaped the way I approach humor and storytelling — I still catch myself using that nerdy, midwestern tone in my jokes.