Maya Hawke on marriage, her new album and the end of ‘Stranger Things’

Maya Hawke sits at a picnic table in Griffith Park with an iced tea and a small notebook and happily reports that she still likes her new record.

“Every other album cycle I’ve done, by the time I got to the point where the album came out, I hated it,” says the 27-year-old singer and actor. “I was just exhausted by the internet and by being public, and I wouldn’t want to post about it. So I kind of tried to build this rollout where it could be enjoyable. And it seems to be working.”

On this recent morning, she’s about a week and a half from releasing “Maitreya Corso,” a set of deep-thinking folk-pop songs about love and art and how the two intersect; to help drum up interest in the LP, Hawke’s fourth, she’s on tour playing intimate live gigs like the one she did last night at the Troubadour, where she was accompanied by Christian Lee Hutson, with whom she made the record.

Hutson, who’s known for his work with Phoebe Bridgers, is also Hawke’s husband: After collaborating on her 2022 album “Moss” and 2024’s “Chaos Angel,” the two were married this past Valentine’s Day in Hawke’s hometown of New York. (You may have seen the pictures in People magazine of the couple on the street with Hawke’s parents, Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman, and her castmates from “Stranger Things.”)

As we talk, Hawke wears the same vintage Beastie Boys T-shirt she had on at the Troubadour; when we’re finished, she’s got a flight to catch to Denver for her and Hutson’s next show.

I was struck last night by the intense eye contact between you and your husband.
I’ve never played guitar before onstage, and so I think a lot of that is me being nervous and wanting to keep rhythm. I’m looking at his eyes but also at his hands. His chordal shapes are different than mine but I’m following the rhythm to make sure I’m staying in the pocket.

Why didn’t you play guitar before?
I’ve been playing since I was 11, but I reached a point where I was getting better a lot slower than my brother was or than other people in my life. You pick up the guitar to play and then a bunch of guys sit down next to you and they’re like, “Oh, can we jam?” And you’re like, “I don’t know if I can jam. I was trying to write a song and now you’re noodling all over me. You know what? I’ll just put it down.” Later, when I started making music professionally, I met all these extraordinary musicians, and I thought: Why would I play guitar when I’m not as good as you are? Then I really hated doing shows.

Because of that?
I’m not a dancer — I don’t want to be a pop star and do dance moves. I don’t have a big Adele voice. And standing up there and just singing — I was like, I should be at a poetry reading. So I made myself a promise that if I made another record I would have to play guitar and write songs that I can play.

It’s funny: You were both super locked-in during the songs, but then between them your banter was extremely loose.
I wanted to build a show that was a concert I would want to go see. I’m weird — I don’t love concerts, but I do I like it when people talk. I can hear the record at home — what I don’t get at home is a sense of the person.

Who would you say are some of music’s great between-song talkers?
Hmm.

I think Adele might be the best I’ve seen.
She’s really good. I saw her once when I was younger — I had a year where my dad took me to see all the biggest women of that year. I remember thinking: When I leave the theater, I’m filled only with joy and no jealousy because I could never do what she’s doing. That’s a gift from God, and I’m not in competition with that gift.

But after she hits you with that, she’ll just freestyle for three or four minutes.
That’s what I want too — I want to see some humanity, especially these days when everybody is being force-fed so much perfection and so much unattainable grace.

There are a tremendous number of words on this record.
It’s very verbose.

Why?
I love words — lyrics are my favorite part of songs. One of the first songs that got written for this record was “Devil You Know,” which was like an experiment where I wrote this poem in free verse. I’ve been in a fight with my husband about free verse versus poetic form. He’s pro-free-verse, I’m anti-free-verse.

What’s your beef?
My beef is: Free verse is great — I wish you could have spent a little more time making it rhythmically sound.

To you it feels like —
Like a first draft. The confines of a structure make your brain work in a different way: How do I get this idea across in a sonnet or a villanelle? But I tried writing this free verse thing, and I really liked it and wanted to write more things like that. Normally, I love the arrow of a Willie Nelson lyric, which is: What’s the simplest way I can say the most complicated thing? And I have some of that on this record, like in “Bring Home My Man.” But I also was like, What’s the most complicated way I can say the simplest thing?

OK, speaking of that: I read the essay you had this philosopher Justin Smith-Ruiu write about the album. I understood probably 11% of it.
I’m obsessed with him. I read his Substack religiously — it’s called the Hinternet. He’s just a brilliant genius, and I was like, I don’t know what he’s gonna say, and I don’t know if it’ll make sense to anyone, but it’ll make sense to me.

Honestly, some of the songs might also have gone over my head. How important is it to you that the listener grasps everything that’s going on in your music?
Zero percent important. I want people to take from it what they take from it. One of the coolest things in my life has been putting out songs and having people form crazy personal attachments — sometimes communal attachments, where all the people think it’s about the same thing and they’re all wrong. That’s so much more interesting to me than if they just thought it was exactly what I thought it was.

How do you listen to the songs you love? Are you trying to figure out where they came from?
Yes, but I don’t care if I’m right. I’ve had many a debate about what [Elliott Smith’s] “Say Yes” is about — gone through the lyrics with friends and been like, “Wouldn’t you say that this supports my theory?” But it doesn’t matter to me what it is. It’s just fun to try to connect all the dots.

Maya Hawke and Christian Lee Hutson in New York in March.

(Ilya S. Savenok / Getty Images for Tibet House US)

Break down the chronology of your and Christian’s relationship. You made this record not as married people but —
As engaged people.

How did that compare to the previous album?
When we made “Chaos Angel” we were maybe in a slightly uncanny valley of being friends who were in love but not together at all. But our working dynamic has always been pretty amazing, even from when we met doing “Moss.” Christian was really the person who made me want to play guitar and write music. He was like, “What do you mean your music isn’t good enough? Why, because you didn’t go to jazz school? I didn’t go to jazz school.” That kind of belief really shaped my journey from “Moss” until this record.

Are you the type of person who needs a facilitator?
I really enjoy support and encouragement, and I often need permission.

I wonder why.
Just a couple of weeks ago, I was talking to someone, and I was like, I want to spend less time with this person, but I want them to want to spend less time with me. I don’t want to be the one to draw the boundary — I need their permission to draw a boundary between us. My therapist was like, “We can work on that.”

Is this classic child-actor people-pleasing stuff?
I wasn’t a child actor.

When did you start?
I did my first audition at 15 but I didn’t get the part. Then I didn’t end up working until I was 18.

I’d argue that at 18 the world still sees you —
As a young person, yeah.

But I take your point.
I don’t know what it has to do with. It’s not exactly people-pleasing. There’s definitely an oldest-sibling thing I have a bit. I’m very interested in sibling-order theory. I think it’s extremely influential to who people are — better than astrology, for sure.

You’re older?
I’m oldest of five. Generally, when I meet eldest siblings, there’s a kind of interesting energy of someone who both needs to be in charge and needs a lot of permission.

Has anything changed about the way you and Christian collaborate since you got married?
We’re really happy, and we’ve been really happy. It’s awesome that we were friends for a long time first. When I got into relationships in the past, I would kind of pick the person that liked me the least. I didn’t like myself very much, and I thought that someone who didn’t like me must be a genius and that I could overcome my inherent ineptitude by getting them to like me. And in order to get them to like me, I would transform myself into becoming a person that they would like. Then we’d have a very happy couple of months until I got bored of not being myself. What being friends with someone first did was that it made it very hard to trick them.

Some of these new songs seem very clearly to be about the two of you.
Totally. A lot of this record is about how much I learned about what love really is — what it could be and how to be good to another person. My ideas about those things really transformed in the last couple of years.

As a child of divorce, were you ambivalent about marriage?
I think if anything it was the reverse. I wanted to get married twice in my life. Once was when I was 18 years old, and it was definitely mental illness: I want the nuclear family that I didn’t have, and I want it now. Then I was kind of neutral on whether or not I would get married. Then I met Christian, and I was like, “I don’t know if I’m ready to be in this kind of relationship, but you’re my person.” And we stayed in each other’s lives until it ended up being the right time.

Plenty of people find their person without wanting to have a wedding.
Are you a romantic?

I’m not sure I know.
When I was younger, I imagined myself in a sort of French marriage where we both cheated on each other but didn’t talk about it and had a lot of mutual respect. But I didn’t find a French marriage — I found my best friend. You know what a piece of s— I am and you still love me? I wake up every morning still happy to see you? That’s a miracle — we gotta have a party.

Last thing: Did finishing “Stranger Things,” which had defined the structure of your life for so long — did that change the way you think about making music?
It’s changed the way I think about everything. Basically, from about four months before the show wrapped until a year after that, I was pretty freaked out.

Because you knew a big change was coming?
Because I didn’t know how I would be reborn out of it. Even when I was resentful of being like, “I’m booked, and I can’t do this other thing that I want to do,” the show was so grounding. I was really lost without it. I’m not freaked out about it anymore, but I’m in a renegotiation of the structure of what I want my life to look like.

Do you feel some kinship with your former castmates on that?
Everyone freaked out in different amounts and at different times and to different degrees of wanting to talk about it. But we all collectively had a very, very intense time moving through the last season.

You’ve got upcoming acting projects —
I didn’t actually die like I thought I was going to.

But did the end of that job create space for music to play a bigger role in your life?
In some ways, it could become smaller. I had an ensemble part in a show that takes a year to film, which creates a tremendous amount of waiting-around time. I think that’s why so many “Stranger Things” actors have musical projects: You can’t film anything else but you can sit in your house with your keyboard. What I’ve really been feeling since the show ended was an invigorated desire to double down on acting. I’ll never not make music, but the music industry is difficult for me. I don’t know if it’s just that I was raised in the acting industry and I understand the things that are f— up about it better.

The music biz feels more opaque to you?
I struggle with some of the things that one should do in that industry to grow their project. When you’re promoting a movie, you’re on a team promoting an external item. When you promote a record, you’re doing self-promotion: “Buy my stuff. Do my thing. Put me on your chest.” It feels a little too “Look at me,” which isn’t my comfort zone.

Better start making those TikToks.
Yeah, I can’t. I really can’t.