Before he could drive, Aaron Friend was opening for alt-rock names like Lifehouse and Kara’s Flowers, armed with nothing but a three-and-a-half-octave voice and the kind of presence that shuts up a noisy bar. Raised on a cappella harmonies and classical training, he didn’t exactly scream “future frontman”—until he did. He skipped Berklee, picked up a Music Business degree in Tennessee instead, and hit the pavement. It was less about prestige, more about getting onstage. “I learned more from soundchecks than syllabi,” he jokes.
Now leading his band, Aaron Friend & The Enemies, he’s dialed into something sharper. The sound? Think fuzz-drenched guitars, massive hooks, and lyrics that feel like the kind of texts you write at 2 a.m. and never send. It’s emotional, but not emo; raw without being sloppy. “I used to walk on eggshells with my lyrics,” Friend says. “Now there’s no filter—just truth.” That creative shift was forged during a rough personal season, one that cracked him open enough to release his first EP in four years, A Friend 4 a Season.
One moment from those sessions still haunts him—in a good way. While tracking “Treading Water,” he had to hit a high B-flat coming out of a crumbling bridge section. “It felt like a cliff,” he says. “I had one shot.” He took a sip of whiskey, let it rip—and nailed it. Then doubled it. Two-time Grammy winner engineer Craig Alvin and Cake drummer Todd Roper were in the room. They clapped. “For someone grinding a 9-to-5 and chasing this on weekends? That was a church.”
But Friend’s not chasing applause. He’s chasing connections. Whether it’s late-night DMs from fans, post-show hugs, or building Spotify playlists that reveal his deep cuts (yes, Manchester Orchestra is in there), he wants listeners to feel seen. “A day job doesn’t make you any less of a musician,” he says. It’s a philosophy that’s shaped how he releases music—and how he relates to those who find solace in it.
His latest EP, Sunset Clause, isn’t just a follow-up—it’s a statement. Songs burn hotter, the stakes feel higher, and the energy is unmistakably urgent. It’s Friend saying: I’ve lived through some shit, and I’m still singing. He’s plotting summer shows now, and hopes to be back in the studio—or on the road—with artists who get it. “Own your decisions. Make a difference,” he says. “This music? It’s blood on the tracks.”
And judging by the noise still echoing from those first Cleveland gigs, he’s just getting started.
Uncover more in his Artist Profile HERE.