Noah Kahan was crowned a superstar. It messed with his head

A few hours before our meeting with Noah Kahan in a quiet corner of his upscale West End hotel, he released a video for a fresh track named Porchlight. At first glance, it seems routine—until he performs from the bathroom, with a hashtag declaring “explosive diarrhoea.” This whimsical twist sends a wave of apprehension through us. Could he truly pull off a live session while mid-bowel movement? Should we stock up on bananas just in case? Happily, Kahan’s antics were lighthearted. “The acoustics in here are fantastic,” he chuckles. “And it’s amusing to imagine myself on the toilet, jamming. My fans seem to enjoy the poop puns, so it’s a clever way to blend music and humor.” A strange yet oddly fitting welcome to a man who’s redefined the modern music landscape.

The Struggle to Create

Kahan’s ascent wasn’t gradual. His 2022 album Stick Season became a cultural phenomenon, with Olivia Rodrigo’s cover of its title track in the Live Lounge sparking a meteoric rise. Within a year, he was commanding large venues. Last summer, he joined the ranks of festival headliners. Yet behind the glitz was a person whose creative confidence had wavered. “Normally, when things get tough, I can write my way out of it,” he admits. “But every time I sat down, I’d wonder: ‘What will this sound like when it’s out? Will people like it?'” A flurry of ideas was abandoned as doubt crept in. “Stick Season came together so fast,” he recalls. “I felt like I was falling short because the process wasn’t the same.”

Earlier this year, Kahan took a journey to Joshua Tree National Park, hoping to spark inspiration. “It was classic,” he jokes. “I told myself the desert would help me find clarity. But when I got there, I felt even more lost. It wasn’t working at home, and it wasn’t working out there either. I thought I’d run out of options.” Returning, he received an OCD diagnosis and paused writing for a month—a move he admits was “horrifying.” “I was too invested in the idea that my worth came from my creations,” he explains. “Without them, I felt valueless. And with OCD, chasing perfection became unbearable.”

A New Perspective

Kahan’s ordeal, which he calls “an ego death,” led to a turning point. He had once written a song about quitting Prozac, but now, he chose to return to medication. “I convinced myself I could do it without help for years,” he says. “But the pills give a reprieve from those relentless thoughts. They let me live in the present, not just the future. I realized I don’t need pain to make music.” With clarity restored, he revisited his unfinished work. To his surprise, the block was imaginary. “I had 35 to 40 songs waiting,” he shares. “Many leaned more toward pop, but they still carried that raw, emotional honesty I’m known for.”

His journey reflects the tension between fame and authenticity. “Success feels like a dream,” he muses. “You’re always questioning if it’s real. How do I keep this going? How do I do it again?” It’s a question that once haunted him, but now, with renewed perspective, he’s embracing the path. His music, once a refuge from his inner turmoil, has become a bridge to shared experiences. “I bring listeners closer to their humanity,” Marcus Mumford once noted. “Like the great folk writers of the ’60s, he makes the personal universal.” For Kahan, the journey from bathroom humor to global stardom has been both exhilarating and exhausting. Yet it’s in that exhaustion that his art finds its truth.