Into ‘The Unknown’: Vincent Poag on Life, Lyrics, and Letting Go
Vincent Poag doesn’t just write songs—he captures the unpredictable rhythm of life itself, one melody at a time. In his latest album The Unknown, Poag explores love, loss, absurdity, and everything in between with a fearless honesty and signature touch of humor. Each track of The Unknown feels like a journal entry set to music, drawn from deeply personal moments and unfiltered emotion. In this candid conversation with us, he shares the inspirations, challenges, and surprising truths behind the album—and why, for him, songwriting is less about control and more about surrendering to the moment.
What is your favorite song from your album The Unknown?
That’s a hard question as all of these songs are emotionally personal to me. I like them all for different reasons. For instance, I love the music to “Billy”, perhaps even better alone, without the lyrics. I can’t help but smile every time I listen to the “The Unknown”. Here I tried to create a humorous depiction of this wonderful, but incredibly impossible, journey called life of finding a way to cope with our limited toolbox of all the things beyond our control like human nature and nature itself.
What was the moment when you realized that what you were writing should be an album?
It doesn’t work that way for me. These are the songs that came to me during a particular period of time. I honestly don’t control why they come, when they come, or where they come from. This is a collection of individual musical or thought-provoking inspirations during a moment in time in my life. The idea of an album was simply putting these songs together chronologically.
The new album dwells on really important and personal experiences. How do you make up your mind and prepare yourself to share with your audience?
I don’t think artists make up their minds as much as it’s instinctive to create and share their art. The art is always personal, as it’s a window into the artist’s mind. Exposing yourself, including your vulnerabilities, is part of the deal. Once it’s out, there’s no giving back. You can only hope listeners connect.
Is there a song you were more excited to share with your listeners, and why?
I like the simplicity and intimacy of the song “She Don’t Need”. It’s the first song I’ve played most of the guitar on in a while. There’s nothing like the physical infatuation during the first few years of new love.
Did you go over certain places or meet up with people to refresh your memories when you were writing The Unknown?
Not really. The fantasy of songwriting might seem glamorous. The reality is it’s a pretty lonely, isolating experience for a solo singer-songwriter. I wish I could say the process was enjoyable, but the fun mostly comes when you’re done, when you’ve created something you’re proud of. You certainly draw from that well of experience, but a good imagination can’t be denied. The collaboration for me comes into play in developing the musical arrangements with my team. Probably much like songwriters in a band.
Aside from the emotional aspect, do you feel like you have grown as an artist when writing The Unknown?
Yes, I feel I’m constantly growing as an artist, because otherwise, I’m shrinking. I’m learning a little piano, and that has also opened some doors musically.
What is one cherished memory that has found itself in your new album, The Unknown?
I don’t know if you’d call it a cherished moment, but it was definitely memorable. I was visiting my father, who had just had a stroke, in the emergency room of NYU Hospital. There was an Irishman with a heavy old Irish accent screaming over and over repeatedly, “Where’s my fucking doctor!” Not funny, but the futility of these words summed everything up. This cracked my sister and me up to no end. That memory helped inspire my thought process when writing “The Unknown.”
Are you planning on having more albums like The Unknown?
I’d like to believe none of my songs are like any of my others. I haven’t a clue what will pop out next. Just taking it as it comes, absent direction.
