The Roadrunner and The Coyote: A Look at “14 Minutes” by Dominic Fike
Dominic Fike surprise released an 8-track long EP that showcases his elasticity and range as a musician
COLUMBIA RECORDS
Originally published on 4/24/2024
On April 23, 2024, Dominic Fike unveiled his newest project, one he revealed he had in his back pocket for a while. It seemed random for a Tuesday night, but in line with Fike’s usual impromptu approach to releasing new music. On April 21, he posted an innocuous link on top of a photo of the back of a yellow semi-truck on his Instagram story and whoever entered their information via the link started receiving sporadic text messages. The first simply said, “hello. click the link to sign up to attend ‘14 minutes’, a personal presentation by dominic fike.” All proper nouns in lower case, and no real information about what was going on, the excitement set in. This turned out to be his main promotion of the mysterious project. He hosted the aforementioned presentation in West Hollywood, California, with two sessions for fans who had RSVP’d through the text messaging service.
The project in question ended up being an 8-track, stripped down version of Fike’s usual meticulous production simply titled 14 Minutes. A total contrast to Sunburn, released in July 2023 with its bright, warm colors and pop-laden tracklist, 14 Minutes offers layered vocals with more lo-fi beats, paired with catchy riffs to punctuate songs, most notably in the last two tracks of the album. Fike has always been incredibly creative when it comes to crafting hooks and combining many different genres—something I’ve always admired him for—and it’s evident with 14 Minutes that he has a natural talent for it. He expands his sonic palette by juxtaposing heavily autotuned vocals to the background of simple guitar picking, while simultaneously belting out incredible runs that show his vocal lessons have been well worth it.
Whether it was a coincidence or intentional, 14 Minutes also happens to be the same length of his debut album, Don’t Forget About Me, Demos, which lead fans to believe it’s a continuation of that initial project.
Fans entered into what Fike described as “a random warehouse” and were greeted by an eighteen wheel semi-truck with the phrase “What are you really thinking about right now?” projected onto the side of it. Fike and his team have always used cryptic or thought provoking phrases like these to brand each project, with 14 Minutes being the next installment, perhaps this specific question being a nod to the honesty in this project. The crowds gathered to watch the 14 minute video of Fike jogging through what appear to be the Hollywood hills, as the entire tracklist plays alongside seamlessly. After the projector cut off, Fike himself appeared from the side, greeting fans as he made his way to center stage. He discussed the history with the project, claiming these were some of his favorite demos that he’s held onto for years, but couldn’t release due to various reasons.
“For the past 5 or 6 years that I’ve been doing [music] professionally, I didn’t really know what that meant. For a while, I thought it was you show up, you listen to the guys in the suits, you show up, you make these albums […] I’m supposed to put them together, I’m supposed to stand on it. And no matter what happens, or how it comes out, I’m supposed to love it. No matter whose hands it travels through, through mixers, through CEOs… through whoever I don’t know. Sometimes, I come out with this unfamiliar product and I have to stand on it and present it to people. Sometimes it works out well, but it gets tiring,” Fike explained in his speech to the crowd.
This could be interpreted as a critique of Columbia Records—Fike’s record label—or maybe the music industry as a whole. In 2018, Columbia was involved in a fierce battle with competing labels, all trying to sign Fike after he had released his original version of the Don’t Forget About Me Demos on Soundcloud. Columbia eventually won, and awarded Fike one of the most lucrative contracts, worth $4 million. It’s interesting to me that a label that would fight so fervently for one signee, and endow him with this kind of cash, would not fully trust his original creative vision as an artist. The purpose of a label is to develop an artist with their built-in resources, but to have your artists release something that they barely recognize as their own work seems counterintuitive. 14 Minutes was Fike’s way of turning the usual release process on its head, with a simple visual, no bells, no whistles, no waiting for months—just the music.
“What I really truly love the most is showing music to the people that want to hear the music from me […] Well, here it is. This sh*t is straight from my computer.”
The first song, “megaman,” opens with crisp, yet scattered, guitar and drums, muddied vocals and a close-up shot of Fike’s face as he begins to walk down a path during a rainy day. Fike alternates between harmonizing and a sort of mumble-rap verse treatment. He has often spoken about how his vocals are more a part of the sonic landscape of the song, rather than the feature. One of his biggest musical inspirations, Julian Casablancas of the Strokes, does this well. Casablancas knows how to make his voice work in the fabric of each song, much like an instrument itself, creating a tapestry of sonics. Fike utilizes this same technique in this track, asking “Who’s in my house?”
If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t be able to tell when the first track ended and the second one began. In “hi grace,” we’re welcomed with a rolling piano riff, where one would expect to hear a ballad, but Fike, clever as always, juxtaposes the piano on this track with heavily edited vocals, repeating “Come, be my baby, bail me out of here.” Fike’s intonation is bouncy and keeps the beat of the song with the drums, adding to the cacophony of this track. The lyrics may speak to Fike’s own admittance to his struggle with codependency, a common theme throughout his writing. Fike then switches into what can only be described as “Bob Dylan vocals,” adding another layer of interest to this track, and reflects his eclectic library of influences. He then shifts into an R&B style verse, before jumping back to the autotune as the track fades out.
We veer to a soft guitar picking for the third track, titled “1.23.23,” with gentle vocals and a poppy drum. As I listen, it sounds like Fike’s voice becomes more distorted, as if he’s adding grain to his track, much like a photographer would add to their photo to give it more texture. At this point in the video, the camera pans away from Fike to the side of the road, where we see a coyote run alongside. The video concept was born from the mind of his manager, Reed Bennett, and executed by filmmaker Jack Bergert, collectively known as Floridaman. It’s unclear whether the coyote was serendipitous or deliberate, but seems to add another facet to the song as Fike aptly sings “Your skin is breaking, your blood is changing / Colors changing, colors.” This coyote is featured on the album art—perhaps the embodiment of Fike’s feelings toward big record labels—as coyotes often symbolize “trickery” and “greed.” Where Fike thought he was getting a great opportunity to have his music reach new audiences and financial security, it’s also met with expectations built by men who are more interested in metrics than artistry.
It’s unclear whether the coyote was serendipitous or deliberate, but seems to add another facet to the song as Fike aptly sings ‘Your skin is breaking, your blood is changing / Colors changing, colors.’ This coyote is featured on the album art—perhaps the embodiment of Fike’s feelings toward big record labels—as coyotes often symbolize ‘trickery’ and ‘greed.’ Where Fike thought he was getting a great opportunity to have his music reach new audiences and financial security, it’s also met with expectations built by men who are more interested in metrics than artistry.
As the previous track fades out, the camera pans to a more wide-angle shot of Fike running while the next track, “THICKRICK,” begins with slow drums, seemingly sounding as if they're in the background. In this track, Fike’s vocals are brought to the forefront with a gritty edge and a touch of autotune, where he advises to not “be fooled by these tattoos.” Fike has several face tattoos, his most prominent being the Apple logo under his left eye. He’s given multiple reasons over the years as to its meaning, the most recent being an homage to his younger sister, Apple. Fike has had the tattoo since he was 16, which has often been met with criticism and judgements. He seems to push back on these judgements with this song, asking people to look beyond his tattoos. The simplicity of the instrumentals in this song is the beauty of it: Fike’s voice really colors it, adds the filigree and flavor with its erratic pacing. The grungy guitar at the outro really does something to me—he knows the exact tone to convey the personality of the song. Throughout the track, he repeats the phrase: “You know I act like a kid sometimes I had to” and interchanges it with “I know you act like a kid, sometimes you had to,” which I interpret as him having a conversation with a loved one, reconciling with the fact that it’s okay to act childish sometimes, within reason. Fike had a tumultuous childhood, forcing him to grow up rather quickly, and while he maintains that he had enjoyable parts of his childhood, he still had to compromise elements of it to deal with adult matters. This song feels like he’s healing part of his inner child, while also moving on to the next chapter and accepting his life as an adult.
The opening guitar of the next track — dubbed “bowie box” — reminds me of a mixture of the intro to “Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star and “The Only Exception” by Paramore, while the vocals are akin to iconic Bon Iver falsettos. It feels as if we’re on this wave of crescendos and decrescendos in this track, like we’re in the ocean, and the current carries us farther and farther away with the echoes in the production, but promptly brings us back with the ending notes being clear as a bell. It is unclear, though, whether that’s the end of the song or the start of the next, as Fike has given us no definite indication of where the stopping points are.
The song after, “misses,” is one of my favorites on the record. I’m a sucker for a killer bass line, and this one delivers just that. It’s an example of Fike’s mastery of creating a true Rock song. It’s groovy, and the tone of the bass is perfect as it guides us through the song. Fike then adds in a catchy guitar riff—his specialty—as his vocals are brought to the forefront where he pledges, “Well I love you, miss, and you will be grieved, I swear.”
The penultimate song on the project, “to say to say” opens with a twangy guitar for a moment, then abruptly brings in drums that appear to be just a bit louder than the guitar. The mix is interesting on this one, with the vocals shifting to the back again, and using a similar autotune treatment to track two. In the video, Fike rounds a corner, and it appears that it has only gotten foggier—just as this track has with the distortion becoming more notable. It’s evocative of the work of Gorillaz, specifically the guitar breakdown in the song “All Alone” from their 2005 album Demon Days. They use a layering technique to combine digital and analog noises that build up to a zenith, then swiftly dismantle that by isolating the guitar solo to engage the listener. Fike emulates this well with the guitar at the end, where all other production has cut out—save Fike’s echoing vocals—it sounds so pure.
The final track, “coast2coast,” is the most energetic on the project, opening with a punchy, surfy guitar riff and Fike’s vocals to match the accelerated rhythm. It’s his signature short, less-than-2-minutes-long type of song, leaving the listeners wanting more; it’s over before it really began. I’d love to hear an extended version of this, but at the same time, would the length ruin it? The lyrics, from what I can make out, though, seem to convey Fike grappling with leaving his friends and family behind in his home state of Florida, while he pursues music in Los Angeles. In Sunburn, Fike often speaks to his guilt of missing moments with his family, as well as discussing the past struggles, but 14 Minutes brings a more raw interpretation of this motif, with his disguised vocals allowing him to speak his mind more freely.
As I’ve been a fan of Fike for six years now, it’s amazing to see how he continues to evolve and put his own stamp on things. He uses production tools to his advantage—he doesn’t have a heavy hand. That is a talent all its own: knowing when something is complete.
If 14 Minutes was Fike’s way of telling his label to trust him and allow him more freedom, let’s hope they pay heed. It’s evident that Fike is an endless well of ideas, not afraid to try something unorthodox and push the boundaries of music. He’s fearless in his pursuit of having his ideas heard and I can only think that this is just the tip of the iceberg for what’s to come. For now, though, we have 14 Minutes which has since sold out of its vinyl copies, but it’s available to listen to on YouTube and since May 3, on streaming services.
Perhaps the point of 14 Minutes is for it to remain a monolithic project, a sort of stream of consciousness that we have to set aside 14 minutes to listen to in order, (like traditional record albums) instead of cherry picking.
At the presentation, Fike remarked, “And I’ll send [demos] throughout the years – all day – just send demos. That’s how the [Don’t Forget About Me Demos] tapes started. That’s how I got here, was by sending out one minute and thirty second snippets of sh*t I cared about. And it wasn’t sh*t that people told me was tight, I was like, ‘This sh*t is cool and it makes me happy.’” And with that, we can always trust that Fike will undoubtedly fight for his art, a commendable plight from which we can all draw inspiration.
Update: Fike has released 14 Minutes on streaming services and all tracks previously unnamed have been updated with their proper names in this article.