Chandler Cooper has been mastering the internet longer than most of us have had a Twitter account. An OG creator from the Vine era, he didn’t just go viral—he built a following from the ground up, years before being a social media personality was a career path. And while his offbeat, wildly entertaining posts have kept millions of followers hooked, his music tells a different side of the story—one that’s raw, emotional, and deeply personal.
Raised In Cleburne, Texas, Chandler has spent years perfecting his craft, turning a lifelong passion for music into a full-fledged career. His ethereal pop sound has taken him on tour across the country, earning him a devoted fanbase that connects just as much with his vulnerable lyrics as they do with his unhinged humor. (Just check his Famous Birthdays page—because, yes, he’s that relevant.)
Now, after years in the industry and countless lessons learned, Chandler takes a moment to reflect:
What do you wish you had known when you were first starting out?
I was always a student of rap. Eminem, Lil Wayne, Jay-Z, Dr. Dre, Hopsin, Logic, Tupac, Macklemore, Nas, and Rakim were in my daily rotation. Through their music, I learned structure, syllabic wordplay, the importance of rhyme schemes, and flow. As a hungry artist from a small town in Texas, all I ever wanted was to be the greatest rapper. But as time went on and I started letting the music create itself through me, I realized that the “want” and “NEED” to be a DIY artist was actually holding me back.
Previously, my ego was the thing that limited me—it made me think I needed to have total control over my music. I wanted to be like the rappers I admired. I wanted to be a fast, efficient, and undeniable writer in a room. I fed off the energy of writers being blown away by me, and I got competitive and frustrated when one of the writers with more experience than me was able to relay what I was trying to say better than I could.
Once I realized we were all chasing the same thing—something real, something GREAT—I allowed help. I let myself go with the flow, and ultimately, I went from the SoundCloud rapper in my town to being able to make music that resonated. My music always had heart, but when I started collaborating, my songs had a pulse.
My artistry only became what it is when I started bringing people into my process. Pop is not rap. I am allowed to have co-writers. I am allowed to take suggestions. My ego as a young man pursuing this industry was the number one thing that held me back. I discovered this by simply hearing people out and trying things in the booth “just for fun.”
If I could sit down with my younger self, I wouldn’t have been able to teach him this (I was stubborn), but I would have planted the seed. I’d also tell him: "Not every song has to prove what you can do." I want my music to reflect me as an artist—to be a true piece of me. A song I made yesterday might not be one I resonate with today, but that doesn’t matter. It’s still a part of me. I still made it. Everyone has different tastes, and you can’t please everyone. As long as I’m making music I love, that’s all that matters. At the end of the day, I make the music I feel is missing. (No pun intended.)
My buddy Jayden Grey produced most of my songs on my EP i got dumped here’s an ep lol, and he taught me one of the most important things: No matter what type of song it is, if you're not having fun while creating, you are doing something wrong. The stakes aren’t that high. This industry—while cutthroat—is built on people who have an idea and believe in themselves in rooms where no one else does. That’s the key: rejection therapy and belief in yourself.
Every song I’ve released, I’ve had full intention for it to be THE SONG. When a song doesn’t get the rollout I think it deserves, or when it gets hated on, I take it as a lesson learned—not a failure. A lot of artists in the same position see it as a loss. But when I have an idea for a song, my question is never:
“Why can’t I do this?”
It’s: “How can I do this?” “Who can I call today?” “How can I learn to make this happen?”
The number of people I’ve met who say, “Making music is too hard,” is amazing to me. But I always want to create. And when I stop having fun—when I no longer need to create more than I need my next breath—that’s when I’ll stop. But it doesn’t feel like that will be anytime soon.
If I Knew Then is a series featuring artists and industry experts answering the question: What do you wish you had known when you were starting out? Check back regularly for new insights and stories from music’s rising and established voices.
Comments