Alright – so today we’ve got the honor of introducing you to Lang Xie. We think you’ll enjoy our conversation, we’ve shared it below.
Lang, so excited to have you with us today. So much we can chat about, but one of the questions we are most interested in is how you have managed to keep your creativity alive.
For me, keeping creativity alive isn’t about chasing inspiration or forcing ideas—it’s about staying open to life itself. Music begins where memory and feeling intersect, and I try to keep myself attentive to those moments when the ordinary suddenly feels luminous.
Take my piece, Walking with Mom in Central Park. The seed of that music came from a simple summer afternoon in New York in 2017. My mom and I were strolling under the trees, talking about everyday things. There was nothing grand about it, yet the breeze, the shifting light, the sound of pigeons in the distance—all of it seemed to slow time down. In that stillness, childhood memories suddenly resurfaced: my mom steadying my bike, holding my hand on a roller coaster, waiting for me after school. The present and the past overlapped, and a melody formed naturally in my mind, warm and tender, like her gaze that day. I recorded it on my phone almost instinctively, as if to preserve not just notes, but a feeling.
When I later developed the piece, I kept returning to that “authenticity” of the moment. For the album version, I used strings, electric piano, and guitar to create a wide, luminous soundscape—like painting the afternoon in oils. But in live concerts, I pared it down to just guitar and piano. The guitar strums echo our footsteps; the piano melody feels like our conversation, intimate and clear.
Every time I perform it, I’m reminded that creativity doesn’t survive in a vacuum. It’s sustained by presence—by being awake to the small, fleeting things that carry emotional weight. A melody can be born from a gust of wind, the warmth in someone’s eyes, or the simple act of walking together. To keep my creativity alive, I don’t look far outside myself. I return to these lived moments, and I let them keep speaking through the music. For me, keeping creativity alive isn’t about chasing inspiration or forcing ideas—it’s about staying open to life itself. Music begins where memory and feeling intersect, and I try to keep myself attentive to those moments when the ordinary suddenly feels luminous. Every time I perform it, I’m reminded that creativity doesn’t survive in a vacuum. It’s sustained by presence—by being awake to the small, fleeting things that carry emotional weight. A melody can be born from a gust of wind, the warmth in someone’s eyes, or the simple act of walking together. To keep my creativity alive, I don’t look far outside myself. I return to these lived moments, and I let them keep speaking through the music.
If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?
Looking back, the three qualities that have shaped me the most are passion, fearlessness, and perseverance. They weren’t just nice traits to have—they were survival tools. Passion gave me the fire to wake up every day and keep chasing music even when the path felt uncertain. Fearlessness allowed me to step into rooms I didn’t feel ready for, to take risks on stage and in life, and to trust that falling was part of learning. Perseverance kept me moving through the inevitable stretches of doubt and rejection, reminding me that consistency often matters more than flashes of brilliance.
To anyone just starting, I’d say this: be radically honest with yourself about what you love. Not the version that looks good on paper, not what other people expect, but the thing that truly keeps you awake at night. Nurture that connection, because it’s the only compass that will guide you through storms. Enthusiasm fades if it’s shallow—but if your passion is rooted in truth, it becomes unshakable. Commit to it fully. There will be setbacks, and sometimes the road will feel endless, but if you can hold on with sincerity and grit, you’ll eventually find yourself becoming the person you once only dreamed you could be.
If you knew you only had a decade of life left, how would you spend that decade?
If I knew I only had ten years left, I wouldn’t spend them trying to chase more time—I’d spend them chasing intensity. As a jazz guitarist and composer, I’ve always believed that music isn’t about duration; it’s about presence. A single chorus played with honesty can say more than a hundred empty solos. Life feels the same way.
I’d travel light, guitar in hand, writing and performing music in every corner of the world that would have me. I’d seek out unexpected collaborations—jamming with musicians whose voices push me out of my comfort zone, creating sounds that can only exist in that one unrepeatable moment. I’d dive deeper into composing, leaving behind pieces that carry not just notes, but fragments of who I am—my stories, my roots, my obsessions.
But more than the stages and the recordings, I’d make sure those years were full of real connections: sharing meals, late-night conversations, walking through cities I’ve never been to with people I’ve just met. Because music doesn’t live only in sound—it lives in the relationships and moments that shape the sound.
In jazz, you never know when the solo ends. You just play like each phrase might be your last. If I only had a decade, I’d treat life the same way: play it bold, play it free, leave space for silence, and make sure every note meant something. That, to me, would be the coolest way to spend the time I had left.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/willxieee?igsh=ZW56cjdmanAyZzM4&utm_source=qr
- Other: My latest album: https://music.apple.com/cn/album/marin-affairs-department-%E9%A9%AC%E6%9E%97%E4%BA%8B%E5%8A%A1%E5%8F%B8/1760116562
