Cameron Winter doesn't smile when he sees me.
It's 8:03 on a Sunday morning in Silver Lake, a mile below the hillside house that Winter and his band, Geese, have been living in for the past week. Winter told me last night to meet him here, in a cavernous coffee shop whose high ceilings threaten to swallow up all conversation, at 8:30 a.m. I arrived early so that I could sit silently for a spell, to think about anything other than interviewing the 23-year-old songwriter who has handled almost every journalist he’s spoken with during the last year the same amused way a cat might treat a toy stuffed with catnip, batting it around for his own entertainment. Winter loves jokes, fables, and other forms of conversational defense that quickly become offense. I didn’t want to fret about my strategy, at least for a second.
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