Pigeon Spins Featuring an Interview with Nim Zimmer

Nim Zimmer - Graffiti Believer

Following the estranged and undercover album The Dotted Line, Nim Zimmer returns with a striking new chapter — blending poetic lyricism, cinematic textures, and street-art imagery.

“Graffiti Believer” is a cinematic indie ballad painted with rebellion and reflection — where city walls become confessionals and melodies echo through the cracks of concrete. Nim Zimmer blurs the line between street art and soul, channeling the spirit of graffiti as a symbol of belief, identity, and defiance. With haunting piano textures, poetic lyricism, and a pulse that feels both urban and timeless, this track speaks to anyone who’s ever felt unseen but chose to leave a mark anyway. For fans of Elliott Smith, Radiohead, or Brad Mehldau, Graffiti Believer is an anthem for the dreamers who write their truth where everyone can see it— where no one can erase it.

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Interview with Nim Zimmer

What inspired the concept of turning graffiti into a metaphor for belief and identity?

Graffiti always felt like mysterious sign posts to me– a human mark that refuses silence. When I started writing Graffiti Believer, I kept thinking about how belief isn’t neat or quiet; it’s raw, messy, and public. It can simultaneously inspire and confuse ourselves. Graffiti is that impulse– to say I’m here, to leave color where there was concrete. It became a metaphor for how we build identity: by writing ourselves into the world before we’re erased by it. Music can be treated the same way.

How did the visual world of street art influence the sound and atmosphere of “Graffiti Believer”?

The lyrics are all about walking through the neighborhood, and how you take it in. The good and the bad. I wanted the production to feel layered, imperfect, & alive– so there are excerpts of an older live vinyl recording of the band which bleeds into the modern studio recording– similar to how graffiti artists paint over each other. Change and decay.

The track feels both intimate and cinematic. How did you achieve that balance in the production?

The intimacy comes from how it was captured– what you hear is the first take we played together in our studio session at Grand Street Studios. Layered beneath that is an older vinyl recording of the same band performing the song at Leesta Vall Studios, so it’s like two versions of us– two rooms, two times– overlapping in conversation on the same song.

That collision creates depth while keeping it human; you can still feel the breath and imperfection in every note. Also woven into the mix are audio fragments from Franck Lazare Goldberg’s documentary on Michael Stewart, the young graffiti artist whose death inspired the EP. His story grounds the song– a reminder of what it means to make art, and what’s often at stake when we do.

What emotions or stories were you channeling while writing the lyrics?

Mostly exhaustion and hope– two feelings that live close together. Together they conjure grit. I was thinking about people who keep creating beauty in systems that try to flatten them.

While working on Graffiti Believer, I kept thinking about the story of Michael Stewart, a young graffiti artist and dancer who was killed by New York transit police in 1983 for writing his tag on a subway wall. Based on my research, I think the police lied and Michael wasn't even doing graffiti that night. His story haunted me– not just the tragedy, but the silence that followed, thinking how long our problems with law enforcement have been going on. Since before I was before.

The song became a kind of prayer for anyone who’s ever risked expression in a world that punishes it. The lines came out like fragments of protest and remembrance, a collage of voices still trying to be heard.

How do you see “Graffiti Believer” fitting within your overall artistic identity?

It’s the bridge between the inner and outer worlds I write about. The Dotted Line looked inward– consciousness, technology, thought loops. Graffiti Believer steps into the street. It’s about expression that doesn’t ask permission– music as mark-making, art as evidence of being alive.

The song carries echoes of artists like Elliott Smith and Radiohead. What do you take from their influence?

Their influence runs deep– not just in sound, but in approach. Elliott Smith taught me that vulnerability doesn’t need to be dressed up to be powerful; his songs feel like whispered truths that somehow shake the foundation. Radiohead, on the other hand, showed me what it means to expand honesty and darkness into something vast– to build entire worlds out of tension, distortion, and into beauty.

Both shaped how I think about contrast: quiet versus chaos, simplicity versus complexity, fragility versus force. That balance lives in Graffiti Believer. It’s me chasing the intimacy of Elliott’s bedroom recordings through the wide, cinematic lens that Radiohead opened for so many of us. They’re not just influences– they are definitely coordinates I still travel between.

Can you describe the role of piano in shaping the emotional tone of the track?

The piano is the wall I paint on. It’s how I leave a mark. On this track, it starts almost percussive– like knocking on a locked door– and gradually opens into color and harmony. It mirrors the movement from isolation to expression.

Was there a specific moment or image that sparked the writing of “Graffiti Believer”?

It came from walking the brownstone streets of Bed-Stuy BK– tracing the layers of history in the walls. There’s a pulse there that never really stops: remnants of old-school hip-hop, graffiti from decades past, and new street art emerging right beside it. One mural of Biggie Smalls caught me– “It was all a dream” written underneath in bold. It stopped me cold.

That moment summed up so much of what I was feeling– awe, distance, belonging, grief. I was deeply moved by the art, but also aware that I was an outsider moving through a story much bigger than me. The walls felt like they were speaking, and I wanted to listen without taking. That mystery– the beauty, the contradiction, the sense of being a guest– became the quiet engine behind Graffiti Believer.

What message or feeling do you hope listeners take away from the song?

That belief doesn’t have to look pure or polished. It can be loud, cracked, imperfect — and still be beautiful. Graffiti Believer is a reminder that expression itself is a form of defiance. In times like these, when so much of the world feels controlled or numbed, simply creating something honest is an act of resistance.

Maybe the song is an invitation– to keep making art, to keep leaving color on the walls, even when nobody’s watching. Because every mark, every note, every imperfect attempt to connect– that’s how we keep the human part of us alive.

How do you personally define what it means to “leave a mark” through art?

Leaving a mark isn’t about ownership, or what you can sell. It’s about resonance– creating something that vibrates within yourself enough that it endures long after you’re gone. The best marks fade, but the echo stays. That’s what I hope for my music– to leave a reflection of the times we lived.

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