Our man is not, in fact, good at snowboarding. “I would be if I wanted to be, I promise you!” he howls. “I’d be out on them slopes and I’d be [Olympic gold medal ’boarder] Shaun White, boy, I’m telling you!”
If Cullen insists that he always thought his future would hold the level of success that 2025 has brought – “Did I believe that we would ever go on tour with a big band? Yeah. Did I ever believe that we would have a successful headline tour? Yeah…” – a rare chink in his steel-plated facade arrives when he admits to a modicum of surprise at the speed with which Sleep Theory are growing, especially in relation to the band’s upcoming UK tour.
“I knew that we would get to the UK,” he nods. “And I knew we’d have a chance of selling out some shows. But this fast? That’s pretty insane to me.”
A further hesitation arrives when asked to attempt to qualify quite why this is all happening to him, and his band, right now.
“I would like to think it’s the music,” he shrugs. “Do I think the music is great? Yeah, I think it’s pretty cool. But I’m a perfectionist. And I did not think people would love it enough, if I’m completely honest with you.”
Instead, Cullen attributes a large part of Sleep Theory’s rise to that of their relatability. Afterglow is an album of accessibility on multiple levels, from the R&B pop sheen that acts as a palate-cleansing, mainstream-baiting counterpoint to its riffs and breakdowns, through to the record’s themes of trauma and recovery. When Cullen sings, ‘When it takes everything to survive / It’s hard enough just to feel alive,’ on smash-hit lead single Numb, they are words he knows, that speak to the heart of those in the crowd every night.
“I feel like people have been starving,” he says. “What they really want is something to connect with. Trends in music come and go; how do we write something that creates a bond with someone?”
His connection with their ever-swelling audience – his role as the leader of Sleep Theory – and what that all means is something that Cullen continues to come to terms with, “understanding the influence I have”. He breaks down his fellow peers into three tiers: ‘frontman’, ‘celebrity’ and ‘icon’. He remains firmly entrenched in the former category, he nods, but he’s learning what it might take to reach his desired top-tier. An even great lever of dedication, for one.
“I love seeing people happy, and being the reason that they’re smiling, so I do love touring – but I know I’m tired from [2025], and I’ve missed home,” he says.
Respect is another. “People are looking to me as an example now. The biggest thing that people can lose is not their achievements, but people’s respect.”
It’s in such terms that he views Sleep Theory’s rise – not from a position of pressure that’s come about now that he has something to lose, but added responsibility.
“The most important thing is to stay grounded, and stay true to yourself,” he nods. “I don’t see our success as now giving me something to lose, because I always had something to lose. Success is painted by the individual, and I would say my life has been a success whether or not I have music. My family, my people around me, my environment – that’s success.”
Key to that remains blocking out the noise. It’s served the band well so far, after all. Having previously described his role as like that of a movie director, Sleep Theory’s is a vision meticulously plotted and constructed, transposed from Cullen’s mind to reality. Theirs is a sound as accessible as it is divisive, its glossy sheen like manna from Heaven to many, and like nails on a chalkboard to others, yet their commitment to their approach is equally unwavering in the face of adulation and contempt. (At least they quickly shook off the early laughable accusations of being an “industry plant”, whatever on earth that means.)
But with growth comes attention, and with attention comes opinions, and with opinions comes bad actors with their own designs for milking Sleep Theory’s success.
“There’s going to be plenty of people that want to see this or that from us, and have their own motivations for doing so,” Cullen shrugs. “You just have to stay focused and shut those things out. If you let demons in, they’ll dance.”
He points to the advice imparted on him by Ronnie Radke during Sleep Theory’s time on the road with Falling In Reverse: “‘Don’t let anybody try to discourage you. Don’t let anybody get in the way of your thinking. Keep on doing you.’”
Asked, then, where another year of ‘doing you’ will lead Sleep Theory in 2026, Cullen is for the first time at a loss for words. If, we posit, we were to conduct this same interview exactly 12 months from now, what does success look like then?
“The fact that I’m still gonna be the same way in a year’s time,” comes the eventual reply. “To be honest with you, I just don’t know. Book the interview now and ask me then. I’m not someone who is good at looking back or forwards. I can barely tell you about my day yesterday, and I definitely can’t tell you about my day tomorrow. Live in the past and you’ll dwell there; worry about the future and you’ll start to stress about the places you think you should be, and the things you’ve said you’ll do, and if you don’t get there, you’ll feel you’ve failed. I just live in the moment, and if you do that, you’ll always feel like you’re succeeding.”
And it might just help Cullen get some sleep, too.