Jed and the Valentine didn't start as a project.

There was no plan. No sense of trajectory. Their music began the way a lot of meaningful things do: informally, almost accidentally. A backyard. A shared moment. Someone else saying, you should keep doing this.

What’s interesting is that they never rushed past that beginning.

You can still feel it in how they play. In how they talk. In the way the songs arrive without any need to prove themselves.

Making music together without losing the relationship

At the center of Jed and the Valentine is a real partnership, not just in name but in practice. Jonah and Maria speak plainly about what it takes to make music together while keeping the relationship intact.

Creative collaboration has a way of blurring lines. Feedback can feel personal even when it isn’t meant to be. A decision about a lyric or an arrangement can quietly start to feel like a decision about someone.

They’ve learned to slow that down.

Rather than letting music become an extension of ego, they treat it as something they step into together. Something that lives between them. That shift makes honesty easier. It turns critique into a shared problem instead of a personal wound. And it builds the kind of trust where ideas can be shaped without anyone feeling diminished along the way.

In their world, communication is the foundation.

Songs as records of time

One of the most grounding parts of their conversation is how they think about songs themselves.

They speak about songs as records of time. Small snapshots of who they were when the song was written. Early songs aren’t something to hide or erase. They’re part of the line.

You can hear that in the music.

The songs arrive with a natural ease. They feel settled. Comfortable in their own shape, steady and present, inviting you in if you want to stay.

That sense of comfort comes from letting things exist without overworking them.

Creativity without the weight of outcome

When Jonah and Maria talk about advice, it stays simple.

Begin.

Not as a declaration. Not as a leap. Just a first step.

Let music be part of your life. Let it add something. Let it take the shape it wants to take.

There’s a quiet generosity in that stance. It makes room for people who feel late to music. It makes room for people who feel unsure. It makes room for the first version of a song, and the second, and the tenth.

For a lot of people, that permission is the hardest part.

Why this conversation matters

Band of the Month exists to capture artists in a setting that asks for something real.

A live room. Real performances. A conversation that goes a little deeper than the usual scroll-by version of a band. The kind of session you only get once.

This one with Jed and the Valentine holds a particular steadiness. You can feel the trust between them. You can hear how they listen. You can sense how the partnership shapes the songs.

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