Q&A: Valley Boy Sings Through the Mess and Makes it Sound Good With New Single “Happy All The Time”
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
☆ BY SHEVON GREENE ☆
Photo by Natalie Hewitt
FOR VALLEY BOY, HEARTBREAK COMES WITH A SMIRK — With his new single “Happy All The Time,” the LA-based artist combines playful sarcasm with raw and emotional truth, giving voice to a familiar type of pain—pretending everything’s fine when it’s absolutely not. It’s a sneak peek into Children of Divorce, his debut concept album built from the jagged pieces of his own upbringing, alongside the stories of the people who shaped him.
Born in the San Fernando Valley (hence his stage name), Valley Boy—aka James Alan Ghaleb Amaradio—has written and produced for artists like Troye Sivan, Dua Lipa, and Sabrina Carpenter. But when it was time to tell his own story, he decided to take a more vulnerable route with a hint of poetic messiness. The result? An introspective, often darkly humorous project that explores the long and complicated tail of childhood trauma and the odd comfort of shared scars.
The Luna Collective had an opportunity to chat with James to talk about self-expression, writing through heartbreak, and how a bad show and a Charles Bukowski poem helped kickstart the album. He also opened up about collaboration, the misconceptions of divorce, and why his tour survival kit always includes a book of Hafiz poems. Read below to learn more.
Photo by Natalie Hewitt
LUNA: I’m excited to hear more about “Happy All The Time” and Children of Divorce. I actually first saw you open for Jeremy Zucker in Minneapolis.
VALLEY BOY: In Minneapolis? That was my favorite show of the tour.
LUNA: It was so much fun! That’s how I got into your music. So, let's jump into it—“Happy All The Time” walks a line between sarcasm and sincerity. How did you find that balance between humor and emotional truth?
VALLEY BOY: Great question. I’m so glad you picked up on the humor. There’s definitely sarcasm—like, “We shouldn’t have to be happy all the time,” right? That’s kind of me poking fun at my partner, but also myself. I’m down a lot, too.
It really came down to how I presented the song. When I played it slowly and softly, it was emotional—but also just straight-up sad. It felt like it was missing something. I didn’t want it to just bum people out. I wanted it to be for people who are bummed out, but in a way that’s cathartic and a little playful. Kind of a tongue-in-cheek anthem, like, “Yeah, I struggle with this—but whatever.”
LUNA: Totally. I feel like people often process heavy things with humor anyway. You’ve described Children of Divorce as a concept album built from true stories. Was there a specific childhood moment that served as an emotional anchor?
VALLEY BOY: There wasn’t just one moment. That’s kind of why I made the record—because it’s bigger than any one thing. Being a child of divorce becomes part of your identity. I started realizing how many people around me shared that experience—first loves, best friends. It was everywhere.
Some people experience it in a clean, sit-down kind of way. For me, it was messy and chaotic for years. It doesn’t stop when your parents split. It lingers. So, it was less about one memory and more about the whole ripple effect.
LUNA: Yeah, totally. It feels normal, even though it’s anything but. It’s cool that you’re giving voice to that experience. Did the album take shape around one song, or did it grow piece by piece?
VALLEY BOY: I always wanted to make this album. I had ideas floating around. But about a year ago, I had a crisis of faith. I played a show that didn’t go great. A label flew me out. I brought my dad, hoping he’d be proud—but he just tore into me after. It wrecked me.
Then on New Year’s Day 2024, I started journaling, reading Charles Bukowski, and just thinking—do I give this up? Do I just write happy, sexy songs and forget my story?
But then I started writing about my first kiss. I was 12. My dad had just left. That turned into a poem, which turned into a song on the record. And that was the tipping point. From there, I knew I had to follow the thread and write about the people and stories that shaped me.
LUNA: That’s such a powerful turning point. And really cool how something personal and random like that can open the floodgates creatively. You’ve written for artists like Dua Lipa and Troye Sivan—how did writing for yourself shift once you stopped thinking with someone else’s voice in mind?
VALLEY BOY: That’s such a good question. It’s kind of dissociative, honestly. When you’re writing for someone else, you’re channeling their identity. It’s their story—you’re just helping shape it.
When it’s your own project, those guardrails are gone. Sometimes I’d start writing and immediately think, “Who is this song for?” Should I pitch it to the Jonas Brothers? Should I save it for Dua?
So with this album, I had to stop thinking like that. I leaned into specificity—wrote about real people, real experiences. I stopped trying to fit an aesthetic and just became a journalist in my own life. The stories guided the sound.
LUNA: That makes sense. What’s one line from the album that still hits you in the gut?
VALLEY BOY: There's a song called “12.” The line is: “Yes, my body’s older, but a part of me is still stuck. I guess that 12 is old enough.” That one really gets me.
Photo by Natalie Hewitt
LUNA: That’s a heavy one—thank you for sharing it. The live performance video for "Happy All The Time” in the auto body shop was super raw and cinematic. What’s the story behind choosing that space? Did it affect your performance?
VALLEY BOY: Total fate. That video took months to come together—director changes, delays. I always wanted live videos for Valley Boy because that’s where I feel most connected to the music.
Eventually, we found this amazing director, Jimmy Regular, through a chain of rejections. We actually bonded over both having messed-up eyeballs—kind of weirdly poetic.
The garage location? I didn’t realize how fitting it was until we shot the last video of the day. It was for a song about someone in my family who died in a drunk driving accident. And there I was, in a broken-down auto shop, singing about loss. It was accidental, but strangely spiritual.
LUNA: That’s incredible. Sometimes the most meaningful things happen by accident. As a child of divorce, what’s a common misconception you hope this album helps clear up?
VALLEY BOY: “Two Christmases.” That’s the cliché, right? But the truth is, it’s not a one-time event—it follows you. People think it’s just a childhood thing, but it echoes into adulthood. It shapes your view of love, trust, everything.
We don’t always process it in real time. And when you’re older and still dealing with it, there’s shame. Like you should be over it. But you’re not. And that’s okay.
LUNA: Absolutely. That perspective matters. You and your wife Delacey made Honeymooners on your actual honeymoon. How did that differ from working solo on this album?
VALLEY BOY: So different. With Honeymooners, we were isolated, focused just on us. She’s the most intuitive writer I know—she just knows when something’s right. I’m the opposite. I never know if a song is finished. So I really leaned on her confidence.
With this record, I’m alone. It’s more chaotic. It’s my story. She’s not a child of divorce, so it’s not her experience. But that’s also what made it important for me to tell it on my own.
LUNA: I love that you balance each other out like that. Last one—what’s in your tour survival kit?
VALLEY BOY: My old beat-up book of Hafiz poems. I read one every day. They help me feel grounded, peaceful. Also, a nebulizer for my voice—it looks like a vape, but it’s legit. And water—though I might have to downsize my giant water bottle for this tour. Travel costs are no joke when you’re indie.
LUNA: Thank you so much for chatting—it was such a pleasure. Can’t wait to hear the full album and see what’s next.
VALLEY BOY: Thank you, this was awesome. I really appreciate it.
