ANGELPIIE has already written the funniest review of his own debut album. “Some of my songs sound like Morrissey having an existential crisis in a nightclub,” the Canadian artist says. Another might resemble “a SoundCloud rapper discovering Depeche Mode,” followed by a punk kid trapped inside a synthesizer factory. Patrick McWilliams delivers each description with the timing of a man who has opened for Kenny vs. Spenny, survived brutal comedy crowds and learned how to turn embarrassment into useful material.

His current plan carries the same appetite for spectacle. Once ANGELPIIE reaches 100,000 followers, McWilliams will have angel wings tattooed across his back during a livestream, premiere his debut project and use the event to support animal welfare. The word “Angels” reaches back to Angelpie, his childhood dog, whose memory later became part of the artist’s name. What begins as an outrageous social-media promise soon reveals a very personal system of grief, loyalty and remembrance. We spoke with McWilliams about the commitment, the music behind it and the future he wants to build with his Angels.

Hi Patrick, it’s great to speak with you again. At what follower count do you think excitement will turn into pressure?

Probably around 99,999, when I realize I’ve publicly committed to getting stabbed in the back thousands of times because strangers on the internet pressed a button. I’ve been in the music industry long enough to know that nothing good ever happens without some level of psychological damage, so this feels pretty on-brand. Honestly, though, I’ve played shows for six people, and I’m pretty sure all of them worked there. Having 100,000 people actually give a shit about something I’ve created sounds like a pretty good problem to have. Plus, I’ve made significantly worse decisions for considerably less attention.

Suppose a marketer offers you 50,000 paid followers and a guaranteed date for the tattoo livestream. What do you say?

I’d ask if they also sell fake friends. What’s the point? I’ve spent most of my career watching people in the music industry around me and musician friends buy their way into looking successful. Fake streams, fake followers, fake personalities. It’s basically professional wrestling without any of the entertainment. I’d rather have 500 people who genuinely give a shit than 500,000 accounts named user837492. Besides, if I’m going to permanently disfigure myself for the entertainment of strangers, the least they can do is be real.

What earns someone the name “Angel” beyond tapping the Follow button?

Absolutely nothing. This isn’t a fucking country club. You don’t need a membership card, a tragic backstory, or a personality built entirely around pretending you’re cooler than everybody else. I grew up in punk rock, which is hilarious because a scene built around rejecting conformity somehow managed to invent 400 different rules about what pants you’re allowed to wear. I don’t want that. The name Angel comes from something deeply personal to me. It goes all the way back to my childhood dog, Angelpie. I’ve lost people and animals that meant everything to me, and this project is partly about keeping those pieces of my life alive. So whether you’re a tattooed punk, a suburban mom, or a 14-year-old kid listening to sad music in their bedroom, you’re welcome.

As ANGELPIIE becomes increasingly public, which part of your life belongs exclusively to Patrick McWilliams?

I’m kinda just whatever embarrassing shit is currently sitting in a Google search of me at this point. I think people sometimes forget musicians are actual human beings. I can spend an entire night making something that sounds like me having a nervous breakdown, then wake up and make breakfast for my kids. That’s probably the healthiest balance I’ve ever had. But people need to realize ANGELPIIE isn’t a project or band or whatever, it’s literally me dude. No persona, no fake stories, no making shit up, no conforming to trends, it’s all pure & me.

You have faced audiences as a musician and as a stand-up opener. Which silence taught you more—the one after a joke or the one after a song?

Comedy. When I was opening for Kenny vs. Spenny, I learned that there’s nothing quite like telling a joke to a room full of people who collectively decide they’d rather watch you die. At least when a song bombs, you can blame the sound guy. In comedy, it’s just you, a microphone, and hundreds of people wondering why nobody stopped you from doing this. But honestly, that experience was invaluable. Once you’ve stood onstage and eaten absolute shit in front of a crowd, sending a song to a record label doesn’t seem particularly terrifying anymore. The silence after a song is different, though. Sometimes it’s because people are genuinely moved. Other times it’s because they’re waiting for you to get offstage so the headliner can start, so i’m really focused on just making my shit not suck so people are entertained either way. I think i’ve always been pretty good at that.

Who were you becoming between winning Rock Artist of the Year in 2019 and Adult Alternative Artist of the Year in 2024?

An increasingly expensive problem for my therapist. I went from being a punk kid who thought distorted guitars could solve everything to an adult who realized distorted synthesizers could make the exact same problems sound considerably sexier. I spent years in bands, dealing with the usual music industry circus. Lineup changes, broken promises, people telling me I was going to be the next big thing, and then forgetting how to answer their phones. At some point, I realized I was spending more time trying to convince other people I was an artist than actually enjoying being one. I also went through some genuinely horrible personal shit. I walked away from music more than once. By 2026, I was starting to realize I didn’t need anybody’s permission to make the music I wanted. I could love The Weeknd and Boyz II Men just as much as punk rock. I could make hip-hop, electronic music, whatever the hell I wanted. Turns out the biggest act of rebellion wasn’t starting another punk band, it was finally being myself. Disgusting, I know.

Your debut project draws from several musical worlds. Which influence appears in the strangest disguise?

A lot of the 80s / 90s / 2000s R&B slow jams and ballads. People hear the distorted vocals, dark synthesizers, and hip-hop production and probably assume I spent my teenage years worshipping Satan in a Hot Topic. But I’ve always loved ridiculously emotional Pop and R&B music. Boyz II Men, Drake, , Frank Ocean, Justin Bieber, EDM, House-Music, I have absolutely no shame about any of it. I’ve never been more proud and at home than hearing back finishing the music I’m working on now. Basically, I wanted to make music you could cry to, dance to, and potentially make some very questionable late-night decisions too. Preferably all during the same song.

Every artist knows where the weak floorboard sits. What criticism of this album would sting because part of you already suspects it carries some truth?

Honestly, no criticism affects me anymore. Some of my songs sound like Morrissey having an existential crisis in a nightclub. The next sounds like a SoundCloud rapper discovering Depeche Mode. Then suddenly there’s something that sounds like a punk kid got locked inside a synthesizer factory. It’s a mess, but my main goal now with music is to keep everything a vibe. I’ve spent enough years around people who think music needs to fit neatly into a marketing category so some guy in a blazer can explain it during a conference call. I genuinely couldn’t care less anymore. If somebody tells me the album lacks a consistent sound, I’ll probably agree with them. Then I’ll ask myself why the hell I care about someone’s fucking opinion.

Imagine the Angels turn one song from the album into their anthem while you have already moved past it creatively. How much power would you give them over its future?

If 100,000 people decide that one of my songs is the soundtrack to their emotional damage, who am I to interfere? I’ve spent years playing music in bands, and there’s always that one song you get sick of performing, but for me it was every song because it was never truly me. So yeah, I’d keep playing it. Once you put music into the world, people start attaching their own lives to it. That’s the coolest part of being an artist. And if people turn one of my songs into an anthem, I’ll happily sing it until I’m 80, assuming I live that long.

Let’s end with the version where everything works. You wake up the morning after the livestream with fresh wings, an album finally in the world and 100,000 Angels around you. What is the first thing you want to create from there?

I’d probably start tracking and writing more music that same night. I’ve spent years chasing record deals, industry approval, awards, and all these imaginary finish lines that are supposed to magically make you feel successful. Spoiler alert: they don’t. If I wake up with 100,000 followers, the thing that excites me isn’t the number. It’s the possibility that I finally have an audience that actually wants to hear the weird shit I’ve been making in my bedroom for years. I want to tour. I want to make ridiculous music videos. I want to help animals and work with organizations like the SPCA. I want to build something that exists beyond whatever social media platform we’re all addicted to this week. And most importantly, I want to make music that would’ve blown my teenage self’s mind.