You know that feeling you get when you hear a band for the first time and think, “Hmm, they remind me of…someone?” Most of the time – for me, at least – I may never figure out who this brand new find reminds me of, but they have a hint of familiarity and, most likely, a nice little groove underneath that I like.
When listening to Atlanta alternative trio Swallowed Sun, however, there was something in the jazzy, rock-infused lines that reminded me of seeing Tedeschi Trucks Band just a few days ago. Sure, they don’t have a fourteen-person lineup featuring a horn section, but they’re cool, groovy, and just loose enough for you to sink right into the rhythm with them. They just released their self-titled debut this summer, and after talking with lead singer and rhythm guitarist Savannah Walker, I was even more convinced that this brand new band is going to be a major force in the scene very soon. Read on for all the deets!
AF: I love your sound. How did you get started?
SW: I met Aaron and Caleb Hambrick (drums and bass) around a year ago. As soon as I met them, I could tell how talented they were! We played our first show a week later and after that, it just clicked for us. I grew up listening to rock and alternative music while Aaron and Caleb draw most of their influence from jazz, fusion, funk, etc.., so we were starting from opposite ends of the spectrum, so to speak. It’s been a great combination of style for us, and collaborating has been pretty easy to this point. I really love what we’re doing right now!
AF: Were you musically inclined growing up, or was it more of a hobby? What made you decide “Oh, yeah, this is what I want to do for the rest of my life?”
SW: I really can’t remember a time when I didn’t love music. As a child, I was always singing (before I could even talk correctly), and I picked up the violin when I was six. Although I quit playing violin a few years later, it was a great starting point for me to develop my musicality and my passion for playing and learning. It wasn’t until I was around 14 or 15 that I started learning guitar.
AF: Who do you consider your greatest influences? How have they influenced your style as a writer and performer?
SW: I know this sounds incredibly cliché, but growing up, Zeppelin was a huge inspiration. Houses of the Holy was the only full album I had on my first iPod, way back in ’06. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve begun to appreciate all genres more. Aaron and Caleb have introduced me to some great music over the last year, and now I’m actually studying jazz guitar, of all things.When it comes to making music, anything is fair game. We’ve really tried to avoid tying ourselves down to one sound.
AF: Speaking of writing, you released your first full-length record, Swallowed Sun, in June. Can you tell us a bit about it? What inspired the record?
SW: We recently did the math and, speaking in terms of hours, our album was recorded in less than two full days. Of course, those hours were stretched out over a few months, so it seems like we spent way more time recording. The writing process was relatively easy; I wrote most of the chord progressions (Aaron helped) and lyrics, and the guys wrote their respective parts. Most of the first ideas we had were the ones we kept and it was a pretty natural process. We didn’t have finished ideas for a few of the songs going into the studio – everyone just played what they felt and the songs took shape on their own.
AF: What was it like to record a full-length record after the release of your debut EP earlier this year? What kind of evolution have you seen in just a few short months?
SW: I can see so much progress in our music, even though we haven’t been writing and recording for that long.When we started, it was a little rough, mostly due to a lack of experience and knowledge on my part.The difference between the EP and the album is very noticeable; for one, we we were very lucky to have Brooks Mason (Eddie 9V) playing guitar on the later tracks, as his ideas really made the songs. I can say that personally, I’ve drastically improved since last year, both musically and creatively. This has been such a learning process for me.It’s really great to see how far we’ve come in such a short amount of time!
AF: What’s it like to get started as a band in the Atlanta music scene?
SW: Atlanta is a great place to be if you’re starting out a band or an individual! There are a ton of musical opportunities here in the city, and getting gigs is way easier than in, say, LA or Nashville. It’s easy to get involved in the scene here and meet other musicians, although you have to know the right places to go.
AF: What’s your favorite music venue in Atlanta?
SW: My favorite venue that we’ve played here has been the Masquerade. The staff are really helpful and loading in and out is a breeze. My favorite places to go, though, are some of the local jams that Aaron introduced me to. Gallery 992 and Elliot Street are two places you have to visit if you’re ever in ATL. The players there are incredibly talented and you never know who you might see!
AF: What’s next for Swallowed Sun?
SW: Right now, we’re working on writing and recording more music. We’re planning on playing Porch Fest here in Decatur in October and releasing a new single by November!
Follow Swallowed Sun on Facebook and stream their debut full-length record on Spotify now.
Life can change in the blink of an eye. It’s a trope used often in ABC family dramas, yet we all know the skin-tingling realities of romance, illness, or freak accidents. Elle and Avery O’Brien were living on opposite ends of the earth when their brother was involved in a serious dirt-bike accident. As he healed, the sisters came together to realize a dream that had been on the back burner: Harlequin Gold, the band, was born.
“Take Me Home,” the latest single off Harlequin Gold’s upcoming debut EP Baby Blue, tackles the feeling of wandering, searching for a purpose, and the beauty of finding comfort inside oneself. Starring actor Nicolas Coombe (soon to be seen in the new live action Dora The Explorer film) as he runs through the city seeking the familiar, drummer Jamieson Ko’s driving beat matches the frantic pace of of the video’s narrative right from the offset. Producer/guitarist Justice McLellan (Blue J/Mesa Luna) rounds out the band, adding delicate trills and texture to the foreground. The video has many fun, playful moments; at one point, the music takes on an underwater effect as the main character dives into a pool. There is a sigh of relief at the end, as Coombe swims out into oblivion, toward an unseen home.
Watch AudioFemme’s exclusive premiere of “Take Me Home” and read our interview with Elle and Avery below.
AF: Where did the name Harlequin Gold come from? It sounds almost like a Bond Villain!
EO: The words kind of fell out of my mouth when I was writing one of our songs, “Harlequin Gold and Gasoline” and intended to be a play on fool’s gold. It shines brighter than gold when put in the right light but is often overlooked and undervalued. We both were coming from a dark place in our lives and felt like if given the right light, something great could come of this. We felt that having a name for our project would allow the freedom for true expression from each member of the band. Also, we are bond villains.
AF: At what age did you start taking an interest in music?
AO: I got my first guitar at nine, and shortly after started studying classical singing.
EO: I have been writing music since I was five years old. The only difference now is that I’m writing love songs about people instead of the family dog.
AF: Is the music writing process ever difficult as sisters? Do you ever butt heads?
EO: Mostly my head butts itself. Avery uses her bond villain mind reading powers to know what I’m thinking before I do and steers me away from any dark hole I might go down. But in all seriousness, I write the foundation of the song and and we end up finishing it as a band. Justice has a great ear for production and arrangements and Jamison is a drumming mastermind. We are pretty sure he has three arms.
AF: Where do you draw from? What is your source material for music?
EO: I’m highly emotional. It’s a blessing and a curse sometimes. I read this quote by Kurt Vonnegut that said that artists are like canaries in a coal mine. We keel over long before anyone else knows what’s wrong because we we feel everything so intensely. Most of our music is drawn from personal experience. I take whatever I feel and magnify it to get it out. I’ve always thought of songwriting as a form of therapy because once it’s on the page you don’t feel it so much inside of you.
AF: Tell us about the video for “Take Me Home.” How does it relate to your original intent for the song?
EO: The song its about how time will chisel and change you until eventually you’re not the person you once were. Home is no longer a place but a state of mind and what used to scare you suddenly becomes your refuge. The video gives this idea a twist and shows someone who is trying to mold himself in to a place he doesn’t fit. He knows his current situation isn’t right and follows his intuition to reach a state of belonging. He was suffocated by his original idea of “home,” leading him to venture out to redefine it.
AF: What emotion or general vibe are you hoping to create on the new EP?
EO & AO: We wanted to create an EP that is relatable and honest. Something that was upbeat but with moments of melancholy.
AF: What is the music scene like in Vancouver?
EO & AO: There’s some amazing bands coming out of Vancouver and it’s so exciting to watch the music scene grow. Since it’s a smaller community, there’s a lot of support from local musicians and we seem to all have each other’s back.
AF: Any local artists we should be keeping an ear out for?
EO & AO: SO MANY! But some of our favorites are Blue J, Andrew Phelan, Hotel Mira, Jillian Lake and Peach Pit. We could honestly go on and on.
Harlequin Gold’s self-titled debut EP is set to be released on September 27th.
UPCOMING TOUR DATES:
9/02-06 – Brisbane, AU @ Big Sound Festival
9/13 – Vancouver, BC @ Vogue Theatre (Westward Music Festival w/ Milk & Bone, Honne)
Everyone remembers the melodrama of their first breakup: tear-stained diary pages, long walks listening to Alanis Morissette, hours spent curled up under a girlfriend’s duvet moaning. But with maturity comes perspective, and sometimes letting go of baggage too heavy to bear can be exhilarating.
This is the crux of “Lighter,” the second single from Kalen Lister, who performs eponymously as Kalen. Forgoing the same old sick-at-heart tropes, “Lighter” looks at a failed relationship with happiness and hope. Having left her rock project Kalen and The Sky Thieves in pursuit of solo freedom, Kalen knows a thing or two about moving on. Recent single “Weak” showcased a more haunting, seductive vocal style, and though “Lighter” continues on that trend, it also allows Lister to flex her pop music muscles. Her vocals are airy and effervescent, mirroring the buoyant sentiment of the lyrics. At first she relives the last moments of her relationship, but soon enough she sings with resolve of having “living to do” making this the perfect anthem for when the crying is over.
Listen to AudioFemme’s exclusive stream of “Lighter” and read our interview with Kalen below.
AF: At what age did you write your first song? What was the subject matter?
KL: I was 11 when I wrote “The Storm in D minor” on piano, the saddest of all keys. I loved arpeggiating chords and having a tonal pedal point, a melancholy minor feel, and dynamic parts from a young age.
AF: How does your solo project deviate from Kalen and The Shy Thieves?
KL: While KST started as my compositions and direction it really became a rock band and a democracy. We wrote in order to deliver a particular type of live experience. When we recorded Bluebird, our intention was to capture much of that live rawness. My new solo music — “Weak” and now “Lighter” — are simply trying to be the best-recorded versions of themselves. Something that captures the song at the core but does it with more bells and whistles, exaggerating themselves to capture a story truth. They have been collaborative explorations with the producers I’ve recorded them with – “Weak” with Izzy Gliksberg, “Lighter” with Eric Zeiler, and my forthcoming releases with Yoav Shemesh.
AF: Where do you normally draw from in terms of inspiration?
KL: Primarily, I draw inspiration from my own experiences. Sometimes, that of friends or even strangers. The natural world, painting, and politics all motivate different types of writing.
AF: Tell us about the genesis of “Lighter.” How did this song come about?
KL: I was so stuck in a relationship that felt like it ultimately wasn’t serving me. It took letting go (twice) to really release it and feel released by it. I was amazed that pretty quickly I started feeling better and better, lighter and lighter.
AF: You live in New York City – where are your favorite music spots right now?
KL: Oh man, so many of the old spots have closed. I saw an amazing show at a small gallery the other day Tornado Things – the DIY scene is still strong. For bigger venues, Brooklyn Steel and Pioneer Works. For smaller places, C’Mon Everybody, Bar Lunetico, Our Wicked Lady, Rockwood.
AF: Any great up-and-coming bands we should check out?
KL: Reliant Tom, Late Sea, Me Not You, No Swoon, Escaper, Johnny Butler & The Epic Fail, Ghost Cop, Mother Feather, No Surrender, SeepeopleS, Leaders of the Shift.
AF: What advice do you have for a young musician about to move to the city?
KL: Pay your dues & get involved.
Check out Kalen live in NYC at Rockwood Music Hall (Stage 1) on Thursday, August 23rd.
Eliza and Lazer (all photos courtesy of Eliza Black unless otherwise noted).
Eliza Black has the haunting, resounding voice of a fallen angel. With her low, slow, speaking voice – not quite a drawl but dripping a bit of Texas, her large, melancholy eyes, endearing gap-toothed grin, thick waves, liquid limbs, and flowing skirts, she channels some serious nereid stage vibes. I first saw Eliza perform in rock group Fruit & Flowers in 2014. It was their premiere set, and they played to a packed and enthusiastic room at Muchmore’s. Since then, I have seen Eliza make appearances on many instruments in many bands across the Brooklyn scene: Cindy Cane, Ecstatic Union, Gustaf, Darkwing, Faidy Cat, and Plain Dog… I was familiar with some of her co-songwriting via FxF, but it wasn’t until February 2018 that I saw Eliza play a solo set. She played electric using an echo pedal. I was very enchanted (and so were a number of my Instagram followers, spewing heart emojis and “new crush” under the brief video clip I posted of one of her tunes). And I was thrilled when she finally got her own band together to play out those songs: Gesserit. Gesserit released a beautiful debut single entitled “Silence” this past winter. Eliza Black is also a single mom — to one of the friendliest cats in town and one of the chilliest turtles around.
AF: Please introduce us to your fluffy friend and your scaly friend.
EB: Introducing Lazer Beem the kitty cat and Lemen (Lemmy) the turtle!
AF: How did Lazer become a part of your life?
EB: Maybe seven years ago at this point a friend of mine back in Amarillo decided to head to Austin to live a vagabond lifestyle and trusted me to care for Lazer. We became fast friends and she’s been a huge part of my life ever since.
AF:What about your little turtle?
EB: I actually adopted him from the streets of Brownsville when I used to live there back in 2017. A neighbor was chilling outside as he always did, but one day he had a turtle in a Tupperware container and asked me if I wanted him. I was on my way to a concert, but I accepted. I immediately found a proper container for him and his been a part of the family ever since.
Lemmy the Turtle.
AF: What are some of your favorite activities to do alongside your pets?
EB: Me and Lazer love to sleep. She follows me everywhere I go in the apartment, so she is always part of my daily domestic activities. Lemmy is kind of hard to engage with but I’ll let him roam around the apartment every now and again.
AF: Tell us about your life growing up. Were you around many animals?
EB: I always had pets, from tortoises to fish, cats to dogs, horses to goats, hamsters, rabbits, a parrot…
AF: Are there other musicians in your family?
EB: My father is a very talented musician. A lot of that side of the family is musically inclined. My great grandpa used to play fiddle with Bob Wills at ranch house parties. It runs in the blood for sure.
AF: Who or what inspired you to become a musician?
EB: My father, Cher, Shania Twain, and George Strait.
AF:What instrument did your start on?
EB: Piano. I could play guitar and eventually took guitar lessons, but I hated practicing. I always felt like I could improvise on piano and it would still make “music.”
AF: What was the name of your first band?
EB: Gesserit is my first band! My first band of exclusively my own material. I had a SoundCloud account under the moniker “The New Rebecca” dating back to 2011 but it was never a fully realized band. I was always composing and playing alone.
Gesserit performing at Waking Windows in Winooski, VT (Photo Credit: Natalie Kirch).
AF: When did you move to Brooklyn, and what prompted your move?
EB: I moved here in June of 2013. I was getting restless in Amarillo and drugs were being introduced into my life. I was just partying all the time. I wanted something more than that. I wanted to move to New York to pursue a visual arts career and eventually become a curator at a museum. I always felt more comfortable in musical abilities, so I ended up working in that direction full time.
AF:Give us a run-down of your Brooklyn projects, past and present.
EB: Oh Jeez. Crafting songs alone on my mandolin and synth. That’s when “Gesserit” actually started. I wanted it to be an ambient noise/movie score project…
Co-creating Fruit and Flowers. Playing and touring extensively for a few years. Leaving FxF to focus on and actualize “Gesserit.”
AF:What is your favorite song about animals?
EB: “Fishing for Fishies” by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, “Animals” by CocoRosie… Does Pet Sounds by Beach Boys count? Ha ha.
AF: Have you ever written a song about (non-human) animals?
EB: Yes, sort of. I’ve compared freight trains to animals in a song.
AF:Do your pets inspire your writing process (or distract you) in any way?
EB: The only time I find them distracting is when Lazer lures me into a nap or when I forget to turn off Lemmy’s turtle tank filter when I’m recording in my room and I can hear it on the track. But I’ve actually used that in songs before and it can be quite nice.
AF: If your cat and your turtle were to form a band, what would the name be?
EB: Le Reptazer
AF: Who would play what instrument?
EB: Lemen would high dive into a mic’d bucket of water and Lazer would claw on a drum kit.
Eliza says drums, but looks like Lazer’s taken to the guitar.
AF: If you could have any type of pet as a sibling to your current ones, what species would it be (real or fictional)?
EB: Lazer really hates other animals and I have a feeling Lemmy isn’t too fond either. I guess I would be the ghost of a bird and be their guardian angel.
AF: What spirit animal do you identify with?
EB: A wild horse or a “spirit bear.”
AF:I’ve heard some friends say they think Lazer looks like you. Do you think this is true? What do you think is behind that human-animal bond theory that causes this phenomenon?
EB: Lazer and I definitely have similar interests and mannerisms. Maybe even a similar unbothered gaze. I think when any creatures spend enough time together, they become a reflection of each other.
AF:When is the Gesserit debut expected to release?
EB: Can’t say. As soon as I acquire a label deal then I will know.
AF:Are you going back on tour any time soon?
EB: I don’t plan to tour until there is a record to promote.
AF: What do you miss the most about your fluff and shell baby the most when you are away?
EB: Cuddles with Lazer. Lemmy is somehow in my dreams when I’m traveling, so I don’t miss him too much.
Lazer snuggling up.
AF: Any upcoming Brooklyn shows?
EB: We play May 25th at Rough Trade and June 3 at the new clubhouse The Broadway! Super stoked for those.
Eliza Black wants YOU to check out Gesserit (Photo Credit: Natalie Kirch).
You can also catch Eliza Black solo at Two Boots Pizza in Williamsburg on June 12th.
I’m not a very religious person, but I do think that whatever I’ve lost from not going to temple I’ve gained back at all the live shows that hit me hard.
That’s certainly what happened to me last Wednesday night at at the small-but-mighty August Hall, where I caught Foxing and Now, Now on their joint tour.
Daddy Issues, a grunge rock band from Nashville, Tennessee, opened the show. To my great chagrin, I actually missed about half of their set, but in my defense, I thought the day that a rock show started on time would be the day the rapture starts for real.
I’ve been listening to Daddy Issues for a while now. Their menacing cover of Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer” was the perfect soundtrack to last August, when there everything felt as languid as their fuzzed-out take on Henley’s immediately recognizable riff. Their debut album, Deep Dream, paints a picture from the get go, one where failures seem inevitable, your small-scale destiny of mundanity is written in stone, and lying back in the sun with a hand over your eyes with this album growling in the background is the only possible solution to your ennui.
In person, Daddy Issues were delightful. They recently acquired a new bassist with infectious on-the-balls-of-her-feet energy, who had, apparently, skipped her graduation for this tour (who wouldn’t have?). As dark as Deep Dream may be, on stage the band exudes nothing but gratefulness, not only to be seen and heard for the slim half hour allowed to opening bands everywhere, but clear gratitude for their tourmates, a sentiment returned many times over by the headliners.
Something difficult, I think, about creating art of any sort is that you need to get used to the feeling of unloading your secrets over and over again. The veil of deniability is never as thick as you want it to be, and revisiting old work, whether it be a song performance or a drawing, can feel like picking at a scab. It was a shock to me when the band I thought would stumble onstage under the weight of their own malaise instead were laughing, giggling, joking, and, frankly, beaming— yet another needed reminder that knowing a band’s music is eons away from knowing anything, truthfully and fully, about its members.
Daddy Issues ended their set with “Dog Years,” a teeth-gnashing I-bite-my-thumb-at-you kiss off with the eminently quotable (if hissing into someone’s ear as they sleep counts as quoting) line we’re not gonna be friends/in dog years you’re dead. And while I was happy to have caught a favorite, the dreaded break between sets loomed heavy. I learned from some genial fans that Foxing was up next; having heard maybe a few bars of their most popular song and unfamiliar with the rest of their catalog, my hope had been that Now, Now would play first so I could get home in time to get some sleep before work tomorrow. I sighed and headed to the outskirts of the audience, sliding down to sit on the floor and prepare myself for an hour of waiting. Stage prep proceeded normally until the stage went dark during an old ’50s song — it kills me that I can’t remember what it was — and as the final note fell away, Foxing emerged in a blast of light. And so set the tone for what turned out, to me, to be a reverence-inspiring show.
Foxing’s first song plunged through August Hall like a cold wave. I stayed on my perch at first, but it didn’t take long for me to wander into the crowd, phone in hand as I tried to capture the sound and fury of Foxing’s frontman, Conor Murphy. Murphy is the rare sort of stage presence whose charisma almost overtakes his entire body, a red-hot coil reaching towards whatever divine presence grants him the energy to his thrash and claw his way through the set. His bandmates Jon Hellwig (drums), Eric Hudson (drums), Ricky Sampson (guitar), and their two additional touring members were all equally impressive – talented, confident, and here to deliver a hell of a show.
I was truly hypnotized by guitarist Hudson, who seemed to let the music pass through him like the fuckin’ holy spirit of rock n’ roll, the audience watching it all happen, biting their nails to see who would maintain control of the host body.
I’m just going to say it: I’ve never seen such sexy guitar playing.
August Hall itself was a character in all of this, its shining stained-glass coins of famous Bay faces observing us benevolently as we bounced on our heels, as we danced, as we chorused why don’t you love me back from “Rory,” in the show’s softest, slowest moment of audience-wide introspection. At one point, during the title track from their most recent album Nearer My God, blue stage lights arched above the audience while Murphy threw his hands up in supplication, asking God, Buddha, me, the sound people, the couple making out behind me…does anybody want me at all?
And, just like actually asking that question of God, Buddha, and the rest, there was no answer. So what does Foxing do? They enter a full-scale drop into roiling rock pandemonium.
This seems to be a favorite move of Foxing — lull the people into a moment of quiet, then let loose the mighty force of all six musicians on stage who fling the music out like we’re all trapped in some reverb-loving pinball machine. The drums were so loud, in fact, that a few times I found myself pressing my hands to my chest like there was a real possibility my ribcage would come unknit completely.
But no — I remained whole, perhaps even a little fuller than when I came in; it’s only been a few times I’ve loved a band based solely upon a live performance, and this was one such rarity.
Next up was Now, Now, presenting their most recent album, Saved – also known as 2018’s primo makeout album. The otherworldly tome of songs sound good no matter what you listen to them on, from vinyl to car stereo to shitty broken headphones.
I managed to finagle my way front and center during the break— a first! — inadvertently setting myself up for truly strange feeling of being feet away from those you are used to interacting with in ones and zeros. While I don’t know what its like to be a frontwoman, having KC Dalager three inches away from me while she curled her body around the mike only inspired the idea that my own emotions, on display in the presumed safety of the audience, were being watched, unnoticed, from behind KC’s curtain of orange-dyed hair.
Despite KC being on her way to losing her voice, Now, Now’s set was enjoyable, especially sexy album opener “SGL.” The set didn’t hit me like the last time I saw them live, when KC entered the audience for the closing song and proceeded to lie on the sticky beer floor to quaver out the album’s final words (loving me, baby, is easy/where do I begin), but I wouldn’t expect it to.
KC likes to hide, even on stage. Even when she was a few inches away, I was never sure if we had made eye contact, and she reserved her moments of true vulnerability for a few chosen members of the crowd. According to the overwhelmed fan next to me, whose hands KC had grasped a few times, KC’s gaze was so intense that she wasn’t sure where to look.
I wouldn’t have known either, but I do know this: it’s no mistake that Now, Now’s last album was called Saved.
Though none of the acts at that night at August Hall are explicitly religious bands, all three found ways to channel the divine into their live show, with performances of such spirit it couldn’t help but rub off on those that worshiped at their feet.
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Cillea Houghton delves into her personal connection with Kacey Musgraves’ ground-breaking Golden Hour, a year after its release (and several Grammys later).
Watching Kacey Musgraves take home the Album of the Year Grammy for Golden Hour was a moment I can only compare to a football fan watching their team win the Super Bowl. When I listened to it for the first time, I had a gut feeling it would be one of the best albums I’d ever hear in my life and knew I would find meaning in it 10, 20 years in the future. I also had an instinct that it would earn her a lot of praise, and felt vindicated when it did, especially significant seeing as she did it with little to no support from country radio. Golden Hour felt like a full circle moment in a way, as it had me thinking about the beginning of my journey with Kacey many years ago, hearing “Merry Go ‘Round” for the first time, not yet knowing the breadth of her artistry and how it would affect my life. She has a special gift of capturing the raw, honest truth about life that most people may not consider or ignore altogether, and Golden Hour is her finest example of that gift. My initial review only touched the surface of this powerful album that I’ve since developed such a strong bond with; in the year since its release I’ve come back to revel in its beauty again and again.
My introduction to Musgraves is burned into my memory. I can still feel myself sitting in the passenger seat of our family mini van, my mom driving us home after she picked me up one Friday afternoon during my sophomore year of college. I had the radio on the country station and we’d just made it over the Sagamore Bridge when I heard the opening banjo lick to a new song that instantly grabbed me. A woman’s voice came pouring through the speakers, and I was enamored as she sang “If you ain’t got two kids by 21, you’re probably gonna die alone, at least that’s what tradition told you.”
A few weeks later during a weekend visit at my cousin Jacquie’s house, I learn that this captivating song was “Merry Go ‘Round” by Kacey Musgraves. I told Jacquie how much I liked it, and she said I needed to listen to the whole album because it was so good. She played Same Trailer Different Park for us while we were getting ready to go out for the evening and I remember being so intrigued by each track. It sounded so different from anything else I’d heard; the melodies were warm, but her lyrics provided such a sharp, real world perspective that I hadn’t been introduced to in the music I was listening to through my 19 years of life. There was something about Musgraves that resonated with me. The album quickly made it into my heavy rotation – I was particularly drawn to “Dandelion” and “Keep it to Yourself” for their gentle melodies and honest lyrics, but respected the realism of “Blowin’ Smoke.” I was struck by her boldness in “Follow Your Arrow” and applauded her weed references and celebration of LGBTQ inclusion.
This was merely the beginning of my journey with an artist that would deeply impact with me. “Merry Go ‘Round” has taken on new meaning as I look back on it with a refined perspective. She makes me think of all the people who did settle like dust in their hometowns, and I revere how she presents these thought-provoking observations in a non-derogatory way. She doesn’t cast judgment on the people she’s singing about, but rather makes keen observations about life and conveys them in a way that’s universally applicable. Musgraves takes real risks in her songwriting, and it’s inspiring to see that her conviction has earned her acclaim from all walks of life.
Her second album, Pageant Material, grew on me more slowly. Though I loved “Biscuits,” I viewed it as sequel to “Follow Your Arrow” and unfairly judged the album based on that one song. Some three years after its 2015 release, I fully immersed myself in in the album, saw how dynamic it is, and discovered how much I had misjudged it. I fell in love with the melody and her IDGAF attitude on the title track, appreciating how she stands up for those who will never be deemed “perfect” in a world where this unachievable ideal is forced upon women from the day we’re born. “High Time” is a gem, while the line “had to get away so I could grow but it don’t matter where I’m going, I still call my home town home” from “Dime Store Cowgirl” always sticks with me. I’ve lived these words, moving away from my tight-knit family in Massachusetts to chase my dreams in Nashville, but still hold tight to my New England identity. She brings to mind fond memories with my family on “Late to the Party,” the sentiment of the song making me envision all of us laughing and enjoying each other’s company at our favorite local bar. I was awestruck by the sorely underrated “Fine” and the way she wrote such a timeless, melancholy song about the longing feeling of missing someone. It makes me think of how my grandmother must feel about my grandfather, missing her husband of more than 60 years every day in the wake of his passing. And I think the fact that she chose to cover the lost Willie Nelson song, “Are You Sure” instead of one of his hits, and that he willingly offered to sing it with her, is just one small example of how she’s a true original.
But I didn’t realize music could be so pure until I heard Golden Hour. When I heard “Space Cowboy” and “Butterflies” in the months before the album’s release, I knew they were a strong indication that Musgraves was going to gift us something incredible. But little did I know just how much the album would enlighten me. From the moment I pressed play on “Slow Burn,” I was stunned. Hearing her sing “old soul waiting my turn, I know a few things but I still got a lot to learn,” is the moment I bonded with her on a soul level. I often find myself using the term “slow burn” now in conversation, particularly as I contemplate my own life and how things tend to happen when they’re meant to. I’ve always been a late bloomer and not one to keep up with the pace of my peers. I come into things in my own time and I appreciate how the song speaks to that so viscerally.
I had never heard an album that reflected so many emotions I’ve experienced, but haven’t put into words. I’m in awe of the way she captures our existential existence in “Oh What a World.” How she managed to convey so brilliantly the overwhelming magnificence of the universe in such a simple and compelling way, I’ll never know. And I hold in high regard her ability to communicate such a specific feeling as that brief interval in time between a fleeting moment of happiness that’s immediately followed by sadness. It makes me think of my childhood and how excited I would get (and still do) about visiting my family, going to bed on Christmas Day, or coming down from a euphoric concert, feeling grateful for those special moments and also sorrow in knowing that they’re over.
I’ve identified with every aspect of “Lonely Weekend.” I know how it feels to have those lonely days when it seems like everyone else is out in the world enjoying life while I’m home alone. It was reassuring to hear someone touch on an insecurity I’ve often felt, but also acknowledge that it’s okay to have those days of solitude. And I admire how gracious she is in “Space Cowboy.” Most breakup songs carry an essence of bitterness, but Musgraves is the bigger person in this scenario. There’s a selflessness she brings to the act of letting someone go when you know it’s the right decision.
She brought me to tears with “Mother,” the way she so thoughtfully and beautifully conveyed the overwhelming emotion of the world while simultaneously tying generations of people together in just a few words. The way she expressed missing her mother, who was sitting miles away thinking of her mom, reminded me of how much I miss my own mother and grandmother being 1,000 miles away from them. And though they see each other every few weeks, I know they still miss each other. It also made me wonder how often my grandmother thinks of her mother who passed away years ago, one she wrote a poem about when she was 13 years old regarding the passage of time and watching her mother’s hair turn gray. I know she must miss her no matter how many years go by. With just 11 lines, Musgraves made me ponder my relationship with two of the most influential women in my life and the connections they have with their own mothers. Serendipitously, just before she performed “Mother” at the Ryman Auditorium, I was thinking about how my mom and grandma would enjoy her music and her stage show, my eyes welling with tears as I sat in the pew.
What I learned about Musgraves through Golden Hour is that she is truly a woman of her word. In an interview prior to the album’s release, she philosophizes about feeling her way through the music and being inspired by the beauty of the world after experiencing the solar eclipse. She detailed all the characters we’d see and be able to relate to, without any bullshit. Golden Hour is a marvel in that way – transcending earth while being incredibly grounded at the same time, just like Kacey herself.
Musgraves proved to the world that it is possible to take simple and honest thoughts and transform them into profound art. I love how Golden Hour connects with people on so many different levels, and I always feel a glimmer of pride when I hear one of her songs out in the world, whether on my local roots music station, hearing “High Horse” coming from the speakers at a strip mall or someone blasting “Slow Burn” from their car with the windows down. I can’t remember the last time I connected this intensely with a body of music, and that’s a personal revelation I’m so thankful I got to share with Kacey when I fulfilled one of my ultimate dreams of meeting her.
It’s rare that I want to share an artist’s music with every person in my life because I know they’ll gain something meaningful from it, but that’s what Kacey Musgraves does for me. She created an album that touched my soul because it stemmed from her own, and I’m so inspired by how she owned her truth in every way and made a project that was so genuine and personal to her, not knowing if it would be commercially viable. She taught me that magic exists and music born from sincerity can reach beyond the stratosphere. Thus far, this journey has made me understand that I want to live my life the way Kacey Musgraves creates art: vulnerable, observant, sincere, fearless, truthful yet compassionate, grounded while seeing the world from a grand perspective, and above all, pure.
Ana Asnes Becker has been a staple in the Brooklyn music scene for quite some time now. Like many of our interviewees, Ana is quite Renaissance woman: beauty, brains, a big personality, and loads of talent. A few years ago, she left her job at The Wall Street Journal to pursue her music career full time. You have most likely heard Ana shredding up a storm with the vocals to match it on stage with garage stars Fruit & Flowers, or on their debut release Drug Tax. She has also whipped up some wicked guitar lines with post-punk heroes Big Bliss, dream poppers Holy Tunics, The Hum series, and in a few guest sets with Sharkmuffin. Ana is also an excellent illustrator and graphic designer. In the midst of all these projects, Ana picked up an additional role: adoring cat mom. And Ana just launched a new musical endeavor: CATTY.
AF: Please introduce us to your kitty!
AB: This is Bruce Squiggleman Kittowitz! He’s almost a year old, and super-affectionate. He’s a purr machine with a huge personality. He loves to snuggle, play fetch, steal human food, chase a laser, run the length of the apartment and back at full zoomy speed, and drink from the bathroom sink. Whenever Tim or I comes home he greets us at the door and meows at us until we give him hugs. He’s an excellent conversationalist. He sleeps next to my head every night. He’s Jewish, like his mom, and we’re looking forward to giving him a bar mitzvah when he turns 13 (which is around 2 in cat years).
Bruce with his namesake. All photos courtesy Ana Asnes Becker.
AF: Did Bruce choose you or did you choose him? How did he come to be a part of your family?
AB: Tim [of Big Bliss] and I went to an adoption event in Union Square, flirting with the idea of adopting a cat. It was set up like a green market, except instead of fruit and vegetable stands there were rows and rows of stands from different pet adoption agencies, each with kittens and/or puppies. It was an unseasonably balmy day in September, and the animals were in cramped cages, in close quarters, in a very noisy, hot, and stressful place, getting poked and prodded. Most of the cats were VERY grumpy, understandably so. We walked around and held our hands out to kitties to sniff to try to make friends, but most of them just wanted to be left alone. When we came over to Bruce’s cage and I held out my hand, he sauntered right over and put his little paw in my palm. And then he did the same with Tim. We fell in love right away. He was the chillest little dude, totally unbothered, with such a sweet temperament. Also, Tim’s all-time favorite superhero is Batman, and Bruce, then named “Midnight,” had “I am the night, I am Batman” on the back of his name tag. We took it as a sign. (And then after some deliberation renamed him Bruce after Bruce Wayne.)
AF: Did you have pets growing up?
AB: I had a golden retriever named Jessie at my dad’s house, and a cat named Herman at my mom’s house. I miss them both. Jessie was the best. Excitable and kind of dumb and just a big ol’ fuzzy love bucket. Herman was my homeboy. He was declawed in the front (before we adopted him) and he still managed to be quite a formidable hunter.
AF: When did you start playing music and what was your inspiration to start?
AB: I got my first guitar for an early 14th birthday present from my dad. He was a guitarist – never did it professionally but he was an incredible player. I was a freshman in high school, and he had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I wanted to learn to play so that I’d have something to connect me to him after he died. It worked. I also wanted to impress a boy. That part didn’t work.
Ana on the road with Big Bliss.
AF: What was your very first instrument?
AB: My first instrument, after recorder that is, was trombone. I got it for school band in 4th grade. Trombone was my first-pick instrument so I was super excited, but we quickly realized that my arms were too short to play it. So the school gave me a baritone… which is like a half-sized tuba. It was ridiculous. I swear they gave the smallest kid a huge instrument just for a laugh. I quit band as soon as I could.
AF: How did Fruit & Flowers come to be?
AB: Caroline and our original drummer Shaw came up with the name of the project and started jamming with the idea of starting a band. Caroline met our original rhythm guitarist Lyzi at a Sharkmuffin show and invited her to play. I was friends with Shaw, he’d seen my band City Mice so he knew I could play, and he invited me to come to a practice. The four of us got together as Fruit & Flowers and had to race to write and practice a set before our first show, which had already been booked, and was only a month away. After a few months Shaw went off to pursue career goals, and we were joined by the excellent Jose Berrio on drums. We’ve also recently added Claire Wardlaw on saxophone and synth. Fruit & Flowers owes so much to Sharkmuffin – you’ve helped us out so much along the way, and who knows what the band would’ve wound up like without you!
Fruit & Flowers rocking SXSW 2019 (Photo Credit: Natalie Kirch)
AF: I know Fruit & Flowers is a collaborative effort. Can you tell us about your writing process?
AB: Most of the time, songs start organically, from a riff or beat someone is playing in the practice space, and we build the songs from there. Lately I have also been bringing in some material that I’ve written on my own, and we’ve finished the songs up as a group.
AF: Can you tell us a little about your new project CATTY?
AB: Sure! It started by complete accident. Matt Sklar from Parrot Dream put together a band lottery on January 5th – an all-day endeavor wherein random bands were formed at noon by picking names out of a hat, and then everyone went off to write a couple of songs together, and then the bands regrouped to play a show that same night. I wound up in a group with Don Lavis, also from Parrot Dream, Manny Nomikos from Gracie Mansion, and Bryan Thornton from Holy Tunics. It was an EXTREMELY lucky match up. We enjoyed playing and writing together so much that we decided to keep it going!
AF: Is it safe to say you identify with cats as your spirit animal?
AB: Hmm, I think I’m personally more like a dog than like a cat, but I could be wrong about that. Maybe something like a coyote or fox (canine but with some cat-like qualities). Or a starling. Jose says llama, because I’ve recently become very attached to a stuffed animal llama that I made Tim buy me in Austin for $5. I named it Brimothy, Bruce + Timothy, because those are the boys I miss most.
AF: You are on the road with Fruit & Flowers right now. Any funny stories to share?
AB: We were just driving on the way from Austin to Santa Fe, and we saw a church van next to us. Caroline wondered aloud if maybe it was a band that had rented the church van, and we waved at them. Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, she got a phone call from her friend Sam: “Am I on acid, or are you driving next to a church van right now?” The van was not only holding a band, but a band of Caroline’s buds. That was pretty surreal. We haven’t been on tour long enough yet for the really ridiculous situations to start accumulating. Any day now!
AF: Any past tour escapades?
AB: Where do I even start?!?!
Fruit & Flowers pitstop in the deserts of the USA to pose with their tour bus Sylvia.
AF: Where can we catch you on the way back up from SXSW?
AB: Fruit & Flowers is heading to Treefort fest in Boise, Idaho, then doing a run down the west coast.
AF: If Bruce was a musician, what instrument would he play?
AB: Hmm, maybe the recorder, because he’s still a little kid in cat years.
AF: What genre of music do you think Bruce would write?
AB: Lullabies.
AF: What is your favorite song about (non-human) animals?
AB: “Blackbird,” by The Beatles. It’s usually my general favorite song, regardless of non-human associations.
AF: Have you ever written a song about (non-human) animals?
AB: I wrote a series of songs about Greco-Roman mythology, through the eyes of the women in the myths. Those involved a couple of odd transformations, monsters, and other non-human creatures. I think that’s about as close as I’ve gotten to writing a song about animals.
AF: What do you miss the most about Bruce when you are on tour?
AB: I miss his fuzzy fuzzy cuddly face and his little paws and his expressive meows and his fluffy belly and his sweet head nuzzles and scratchy kitty kisses and the way he hugs your hand if you pet him while he’s sleepy. When Tim or I are home he is like our shadow, always following us from room to room, next to us or under our feet. I miss that special Brucey brand of loving companionship.
AF: Does he have any favorite foods?
AB: Bruce’s favorite food is whatever Tim or I happen to be eating at any given moment.
AF: What is on the horizon for CATTY and Fruit & Flowers when you return from tour?
AB: Fruit & Flowers’ homecoming show is on 4/10 at Our Wicked Lady, with Veronica Bianqui and Miranda & the Beat. Catty is playing Sharkmuffin’s EP release show on 4/5 at Alphaville, with Gustaf and Haybaby, and we can’t wait!
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Katie Wojciechowski relives the SXSW she spent sneaking around to see James Blake in 2011, before she – and her hometown of Austin – underwent some major changes.
I was only 19 in March of 2011, but I was already a seasoned South by Southwest attendee. I grew up in Austin, and even after leaving for college, the festival kept me in its orbit several years in a row. In the days leading up to SXSW, I scoured Twitter for updates on all-ages venues my target artists were playing – not as tough a search as it might sound, since SXSW transpires in restaurants as well as bars, on makeshift hotel lobby stages and in the corners of record stores – even, a few times, in Mellow Johnny’s Bike Shop. For me, SXSW meant a glimpse into the action of the music world I so desperately wanted to be a part of – and it meant a moment to breathe freely outside the stale air of my private school environment. Each carefully-researched buzz artist I saw (or snuck in to see) was a prize I wore like a medal on my camera’s memory card. And this year, the prize on everyone’s radar was James Blake.
Gracing the coveted Fader Fort bill, named “the breakout star for dubstep and a new standard bearer for electronic music itself” by NPR Music, and hyped by all the music blogs and sites I scrupulously followed at the time: Blake was my must-see. He was the indie darling of the festival that year, playing just a few secretive shows, many of them badge-only-and certainly 21+. The only all-ages James Blake show would be happening at the French Legation Museum, whatever the ever-loving fuck that was (I would never have said ever-loving fuck at the time). I’d already snuck into several other exclusive, albeit all-ages, events that year (for instance, a media brunch with the now-defunct Civil Wars that I just walked into with a big camera; no one said a word). Nabbing a few low-level shows of bands only I cared about was one thing, but I would feel defeated and left out if I didn’t catch James Blake while I was in Austin. This media favorite would be my prize kill.
I was a moderate James Blake fan and, more importantly, a devotee of the blogosphere. I kept a manically close pulse on what I perceived to be the cutting edge of musical trend. Blake’s esoteric first album piqued my curiosity with its more melodic singles, like “The Wilhelm Scream.” His music helped me study, accompanied me next to dewy coffee shop window condensation at the college town’s late-night cafe. I was blogging about music then, passionately and often, painting the world in grossly broad strokes. But there was something about the way it made me come alive that I look back on with fondness.
In truth, I liked James Blake’s self-titled debut, but I wouldn’t really fall in love with his music until I heard his acoustic piano-only cover of Joni Mitchell’s “A Case Of You” in 2013. It’s a song that would accompany me through the rocky start of a first and only love, and would lead me to its original – which I didn’t like at first, because Blake’s cover is so god damn good – as well as its composer, one of my life’s guiding lights. But for a while, there was just James, constant as a northern star.
I’d assumed that a mid-day show would have a meager turnout, but when I arrived, panting and sweaty, at the French Legation Museum, the line stretched around the block. As it turned out, many others were after a glimpse of the boy wonder. I felt the rush of a challenge, of rebellion, rise within me. Rock ’n’ roll would not accept defeat, and if there’s anything I’d learned over the last few years attending the festival, it was that a determined, wily teenage music nerd could circumvent pretty much anything but a bouncer.
I took a turn about the corner. The stone wall around the park, a block in area, was about five feet high. Giving myself no room for hesitation, I clambered over, taking care that my Nikon D5000 didn’t get bashed against the limestone. The rush of terror that someone would spot me was soon supplanted by relief: miraculously, no one witnessed my tumble onto the French Legation’s lawn.
Little miracles like this one were the bread and butter of my SXSW adventures. In a religious private school world defined by boundaries, I thrived on the once-a-year chance to prowl downtown, alone and unbridled, hopping fences and performing little crimes of sneakiness. The rush of these victimless crimes sustained me, the staunchly sober youth group teen who would never dream of drinking underage, let alone dabble in sex or drugs. With the big sins off the table, rock ’n’ roll was all I had.
In later years, I’d try a wall-hop with my now-husband. It wouldn’t go so well. Actually, we were interrupted mid-hop by a fussy attendant asking if we were there for J. Lo’s party. Obviously, we said yes. And obviously, our names weren’t on the list. We were shuffled out. It was my first real taste of an Austin I now know well, where East Sixth is a turf war for startups and A-listers get first dibs on any South-by showcases worth seeing.
On this day, though, the ebullient currents of fortune sustained me. My luck continued as I edged my way past people I really shouldn’t have gotten in front of, until I was standing at the very border of stage right, waiting for James Blake, my camera poised. He arrived suddenly, dripping sweat and schoolboyish good looks. He was tall. The photos I took of him as he navigated the sparse landscapes of his keyboard came out really well; I think I could have been a pretty good photographer, though never a great one, if I had cared enough to keep it up. Something like Tibetan flags fluttered in a colorful frame around the stage, and due to my unusual positioning at the very corner, I was looking out of the frame, not into it.
Blake’s solemn face stared down at his keys for most of the show, belying the throbbing emotion at the core of the set. His more abstruse songs came first: “Unluck,” “Lindisfarne I & II,” massive basslines welling up and buoying the event tent’s energy until the whole space seemed to pulse. The crowd was silent, hypnotized. By the time the set crescendoed into his singles, most notably the Feist cover “Limit To Your Love,” the collective swooning of the audience was palpable. At the end, they erupted into a raucous sea, ravenous for more. Blake politely declined.
After the show (short, like most SXSW showcases), I nervously waylaid him for a photo, my third and final stroke of luck for the day. With a mumble, he politely obliged. He looks so sweaty in the photo, so confident, like a real rock star. After that show, I knew he’d really be one, and in 2019, with his most recent release Assume Form, he sort of is.
Not all my teenage predictions came to fruition, though. It’s strange to think that it’s been years since the twilight of “Keep Austin Weird.” A decade ago, in 2009, downtown buzzed with life as I reclined on a grass bank with a couple of friends; we reveled in the sunshine after a rainy, chilly two weeks in Europe with our classmates (for me, a miserable test of my social skills). Now, free in shorts and short sleeves, our gratitude to the city that raised us swept over us like a warm breeze. This was home. Later that day I’d venture out to Red River Street, half-assedly attempt to sneak in a few music venues, and relish the freedom of wandering the streets alone. Forever in this city would be a long time, I reassured myself. Long enough to get into a few venues by and by. The warm asphalt beneath my toes, as I toted my shoes down South Congress, assured me of that.
Today, I happily live in Portland. I haven’t lived in Austin for nine years. I would like to again someday, but there’s grief in the knowledge that it won’t really be the city I grew up in. I most recently went to South by Southwest in 2015, but by then I already knew it was over. Austin was J. Lo’s playground now, not mine.
My heart falls when newer Austin citizens quote staple eateries I’ve never heard of, or when I see haughty New Yorkers tout their badges via Instagram during their sponsored spring break jaunt. We shout about the places we’re from because we’re afraid of the conversation outpacing us. Austin is in my blood like holy wine, so bitter and so sweet.
James Blake just won a Grammy – somewhat ironically, for Best Rap Performance. But SXSW was always about catching somebody on the cusp, before all of that. And now, I realize, it was about myself, before most things, on the brink of life. Before bills, before legal drinking age, before marriage, before home for the holidays, before New Austin, there was just me, jumping over a wall, taking photos at a show.
The every day tedium of adulthood is wrought with expectations. Health, wealth, career, marriage, home ownership, children: these are the mile markers of the crumbling American Dream. It’s up to the newest generations to question, break down, and reorganize these pillars into something that looks like a bearable future.
Home Body’s new music video for “DNA” explores so-called traditional values and gender bias through the lens of the stereotypical heteronormative relationship. The backbeat feels like a date night groove, with Haley Morgan’s voice treading softly overhead. Morgan and Eric Hnatow have been making music together in and around Western Massachusetts for over 13 years, and the cohesion is easy to hear; “DNA” doesn’t take a while to wind up, it moves confidently, with the maturity of shared experience. The track appears on their forthcoming LP (and first in five years) Spiritus, out April 26.
Watch “DNA” and read our full interview with the band below:
AF: Home Body formed in 2011. Tell us about that initial beginning. Were you already a couple?
ERIC HNATOW: Yes, we had met and fallen in love at Hampshire College five years prior to Home Body, way back in 2006. We each had our own creative outlets. Haley had been doing lots of site-specific, community-engaged installation work, and I was working on my own music and visual art. Until then, I was mostly working on instrumental music, and had a deep desire to integrate vocals. I had tried doing it myself, but it always fell somewhere between terrible and dangerous with me usually writhing on the ground in a pile cables and power supplies.
HALEY MORGAN: Yeah, I remember being nervous you were going to electrocute yourself or something! I think we both sort of expected we would eventually have a band together, since it seemed like such a great way to live a creative life, connect with people, and travel. I had never been in a band before but had done like, musical theatre growing up and have always loved singing. Eric and I had collaborated in different projects before Home Body though, like both singing in our friend Shira E’s rag shag choir and participating in friends’ dance projects. It took us a while to figure out how to communicate about music though because neither of us are like, trained musicians.
AF: Let’s talk writing process. Your music has such beautiful layering to it. Do you normally start with a beat or lyrics?
HM: The writing process is always different but usually it comes from a place of playfulness and improvisation. We have utilized many different strategies and equations for making songs over the years, but usually jam and find grooves or texture combinations we like, and sculpt from there. Sometimes the song literally just drools out of us and sometimes we work for years on a song and then throw it away, only to rediscover it years later and become re-enchanted with it.
EH: Some of the machines I play in Home Body I’ve used for so long that they seem to have their own life, their own story. There is often little to no memory left on them, so some of the patterns have been kicking around for over a decade, some even closer to 20 years now. In some weird way, it feels as if our machines should have partial songwriting credit, not because they are “doing all the work,” but since it often feels as if they have contributed in a strange and intangible way, having been with me all those years.
AF: How do you approach sound design? Do you go looking for a specific sound (a la Eurorack)? Or do you have a set up you just keep and tweak?
EH: More like a keep and tweak situation. Like I said, I have been using the same variation of machines for a long time now. I use a few Korg Electribes and a Korg MS2000 that I’ve used since the year 2000. The machines and I have been together so long now that they’re like an extension of myself – I almost can hear them talking as if it’s a language. I can often get the machines to sound exactly like I want without having to think too much about it.
HM: Vocally we’ve evolved a bunch though. In the beginning I wanted to sound raw and “real,” but over time we’ve learned how to finesse my vocals so they fit in the overall mix better. And on this new album we’ve really filled out the sound with multiple layers of backing vocals. They sound so lush now!
AF: Do you oscillate back and forth in terms of taking the lead on a song? Or is it organically even?
HM: Though some parts do come together organically, our process also involves a lot of emotional work. It’s important that we both feel heard in our music. We love playing with dynamics and exploring that shadowy space between us, where we’re both extended, where we’re both holding each other up, reaching out towards some shared goal. I think we’ve learned a lot from improvisational dance practices like Authentic Movement about focus, taking up space, and the roles of witness/performer. In the end we are most concerned with serving the composition.
AF: You describe this release as “a departure from our previous releases, in terms of content and production… we followed our delight to its core, slowing down the process, inviting spaciousness and reflection, isolating all the drum parts, and sculpting sonic depth with background vocals and supportive synths…” What delights inspired this new record? Certain books, music, art?
EH: Since we made these eight songs over such a long period of time, it seems a little difficult to pinpoint exactly what music inspired Spiritus. Some artists or albums that immediately come to mind include Talk Talk, Jenny Hval, Sarah McLachlan’s Fumbling Towards Ecstasy, Bonnie Raitt, Enigma, The Eurythmics’ In The Garden, Peter Gabriel, and Mort Garson’s Plantasia. And visual artists like Nick Cave, Alex Da Corte, and Mary Corse, and the choreography of Sonya Tayeh. We are also just really inspired by the things our friends do and make, and by the natural world and our immediate surroundings. Western Massachusetts has many natural swim spots, rock formations, and dense forests that feed our spirits in a big way.
HM: Yeah, I guess the delight we’re referring to there is our own! For this album we wanted to make a real record of our emotional realities, something that was the clearest reflection of our spirits as possible. We’ve been to some dark places in the five years since our last release – dealing with death, heartache, deceit, and the general shit show that is American politics. In that tangled, heavy darkness we experienced a real yearning for light, movement, and resolution. We were both able to heal and move on from these challenges through working together on these songs, through all the little negotiations and agreements, each scratching our own auditory itches, and following our shadowy curiosity until we both felt totally satisfied.
Our process for this album looked very different from our other albums in the way that we really took our time and let the songs breathe so that we could gain perspective on them, recharge our emotional batteries, then go back in and sculpt more. It’s like with a relationship – you need patience, and you need space to process change and growth. You must love and accept yourself in order to be a good partner to someone else. We wanted to really love what we were making – not consider what anyone else wanted to hear but satisfy ourselves, first and foremost. On past albums we’ve rushed the recording process and then found ourselves making concessions and just like, settling – trying to convince ourselves we liked something because it was emotionally easier or financially cheaper that way. With Spiritus we challenged ourselves to prioritize our joy – a task easier said than done for me. Vocals are such a personal thing, and in the past I’ve always sort of cringed at how my voice sounded on recordings. But through the past few years of slowing down to focus on my heart and spirit, learning to take more space, and standing in my own power I find my voice has grown stronger and more nimble, and I love it now.
AF: Are you both yourselves on stage? Or do you have a personae of sorts?
EH: We definitely have a ritual before we go on stage where we transition from Haley and Eric into Home Body. On stage we try to embody the energy of the song and take on the vibe of the room, maintaining focus. Being witnessed and having the privilege of people’s attention is something we do not take lightly. We believe in the magic that is created through being together and sharing a moment. We see ourselves as facilitators, channels, or conductors of that experience. It’s a heady responsibility for sure! We feel we have a job to do when we are on stage, and we want to do it as best as we can.
AF: Tell us about the music video for “DNA.” What’s the concept here?
HM: Writing this song, we had been thinking a lot about inherited and chosen identities, and how ritual can initiate personal evolution and generational healing. We had wanted to work with Patty Gone after seeing their video series, “Painted Dreams,” which playfully explored the cliches and contradictions of gender as told through soap operas and the soft language of cultural objects. Incorporating actual meaningful objects from our personal lives into this sort of absurd display of luxuriant domesticity was a way for us to subvert our own shifting heteronormative narrative.
AF: You’ve done some fundraising as a band. What advice do you have for a young band whose planning their first tour?
HM: Capitalism isn’t structured to value music or music makers. Yet embodied creativity is essential in building an empathetic, resilient, and vibrant society. So it’s up to each of us, as artists, to continuously advocate for our vision and craft. Perspective is priceless. Find little ways to keep pushing to expand and share yours. We’ve learned a lot from self-booking over 400 shows over the years… a lot of it comes down to the art of the follow-up email, the importance of stretching and eating real food on the road, having a solid merch set up, and being conscious of what drains and refills your energetic reserves.
EH: Go where you don’t know anybody. Yes, play with bands you know, have your friends at shows, but also embrace the mystery of an unknown scene.
AF: Y’all have a tour coming up and it is packed! What can folks expect from a Home Body show? I read fake blood may be on the menu…
EH: Ha, no fake blood this tour! Haley operates a light show while she sings and dances, so you can expect to see what it might look like should lightning become human form. We’ll be playing songs off the new album as well as our other material. If you are lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of me squirming on the filthy ground, hopefully not from food poisoning.
Spiritus is out April 26 via via Feeding Tube Records and Peace & Rhythm (preorder here). Dying to see Home Body LIVE? Check out their tour dates below!
This month, I got to hear from Evan Zwisler and Mason Taub, founders of Brooklyn’s electro-indie-pop group The Values. Mason and Evan take the forefront as a duo—Mason working her deep and vibrant vocals along with the keys and Evan grooving on guitar and backing vocals—to pay homage to timeless R&B vibes and the dance punch of ’80s hits. In 2018 they released their EP Civil and are about to release a new music video for their song “Imposter” (keep your ears and eyes peeled). The Values also share some family values as a band; Mason and Evan recently got engaged (congratulations guys!) and they co-parent a sweet-as-can be pitbull named Honey who joins them on their tours and at photo shoots, and always has an ear-to-ear grin for fans of her family’s band. Is that a rock pup or what?!
AF: Please introduce us to your pup!
MT: Honey is a three-year-old blue nose pitbull, but most people think she’s a puppy when they meet her because she only grew to be about 40 pounds and she loves to be picked up (which is probably our fault honestly). She’s the most physically affectionate and emotionally connected dog I’ve ever had – she needs to be in constant physical contact. She also rarely barks but instead makes the weirdest sounds. Some of our friends have described them as an aggressively cooing dove, an angry baby, and an alien.
EZ: Honey is a hilarious and farty cuddle monster. She’s pretty much my best friend. Sometimes I’ll put on cute dog videos for us to watch together. She loves watching puppies crying! She also loves to be the center of attention, so we’ve actually brought her to a bunch of our photo shoots!
Mason, Honey, and Evan embarking on tour!
AF: How did you two meet, Mason and Evan?
MT: We met a few years ago when we were both nannying for kids who went to the same school in Brooklyn. We struck up a conversation in the schoolyard at pickup and the rest is history!
EZ: Yeah, I saw Mason and pretty much thought she was the most beautiful person ever. I didn’t have anything to say by the time I walked over to her, so I just asked, “Is this where pick up is?” I had been picking up the kids for three months at that point, but it was the best I could come up with!
AF: When did your fur baby come into your lives?
MT: We got Honey a little under three years ago when she was nine months old. A former bandmate of ours was her dogwalker, and the family that had bred her and her siblings couldn’t take care of her and her brother anymore in their tiny apartment. The two pups had been mostly living together in a shared crate, which is partly why I think she’s so aggressively affectionate. They needed a new home for her ASAP, so we met her, fell in love and took her home all in the same day.
AF: What is each of your musical backgrounds like?
EZ: I did the school musical from 6th grade to 8th grade; however, I wasn’t very good. They actually took away my one singing line in Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat and asked me to “Just say it with conviction.” I grew up in Shanghai so I was lucky enough to play in local bars with my various punk bands throughout high school. I never went to school for music or anything like that.
MT: I asked for piano lessons when I was six, so everything started there. I studied classical piano privately for 12 years, and have done a fair amount of teaching myself now. I did a lot of musicals in middle school and high school, but I really started singing around 11 years old when I started teaching myself my favorite songs by ear and would wait until my parents were out to sing my heart out to an empty house. I also dabbled in oboe, guitar, and double bass, but none of those really stuck!
Family Values: Evan, Mason, and Honey.
AF: How did you start playing together?
MT: We started dating when Evan was just starting to play shows out in NYC and I was doing a lot of writing on my own. I would help him sometimes when we hung out, just little things like sounding out a melody or recording a harmony on a demo. Eventually he reluctantly let me be a part of it, and it’s evolved into what we’re doing now.
EZ: Mason is being overly modest. Very quickly into working together I realized how talented Mason was – she blows me out of the water. Not only is she amazing at everything she does but she also helps me articulate my ideas in a way that makes sense. I truly feel like I’ve found my partner in everything with her.
AF: Do either of you play in other projects?
MT: I would honestly love to, but we’re too busy to do much outside of our stuff. We have started doing little collabs here and there or helping people with Ableton, but that’s about it.
EZ: We’ve begun to produce for a few other songwriters around New York and Philly and we have a few collaborations planned. We’ve always dreamed of starting a Bikini Kill cover band, so if anyone is into that, call us.
AF: Where did you grow up, and did you have any pets then?
MT: I was born in California but I don’t remember living there because we moved to the suburbs of New York when I was really small. When I was 12 we moved to the Bronx, and I’ve been here in the city ever since! My family got a dog when I was 14. She was a Shetland Sheep Dog (think Lassie). I loved her so much, she was much more austere than Honey is. She was very Downton Abby, while Honey is very much Frank from It’s Always Sunny.
EZ: First, I feel like Honey is way more Charlie than Frank. And yeah I grew up with a bunch of dogs – when I was really young we had a big yellow lab named Bradley and a doberman mutt named Bowie, then a string of Chesapeake Bay Retrievers up through high school. I was born in Taiwan in ’90 and moved to Shanghai when I was 2. I then lived in Shanghai, China from 92-2008. It was a great place to play music because the scene was so small, but so supportive. No one really knew what we were doing – most people haven’t even been to America so it was a lot of earnest intimation.
Honey and Evan enjoying a snuggle session.
AF: What are your spirit animals?
EZ: I really like elephants, but I think Cookie Monster shares my love of life.
MT: Honestly sometimes I feel like Honey and I are each other’s spirit animals. We’re cut from the same anxious cloth.
AF: What instrument do you think Honey would play if she was a human?
MT: She’d be a punk drummer, for sure. She has a lot of upper body strength and looks like a tiny body builder.
EZ: Yeah, that’s absolutely brilliant. I also could picture her playing upright bass, wearing cool sunglasses and a backwards Kangol hat.
Honey reluctantly rocking out on keys.
AF: Tell us a little about your writing process.
MT: We live together so we spend almost every night we’re free writing at home. We tend to write in Ableton and have a bunch of different things going at once. A lot of what we focus on is just establishing groove. Honey often curls up in Evan’s lap or in our gear cases while we work.
EZ: She always wants to be in the middle of the action! We usually sit down and write something from a fun drum beat or some cool sound we find on one of our synths. Sometimes, Mason will write something on the piano and bring that in. I feel that we’ve written some of our best songs like that.
AF: How did you decide to take Honey on tour?
MT: Out of necessity, honestly. Dog sitters can be expensive and Honey is just small and cute enough for us to get away with taking her places we wouldn’t normally.
Honey and Mason chilling in the trunk of the tour van.
AF: Can you tell us some funny family tour stories?
MT: We play in Philly a lot, and one time we were playing at this bar where the only place to park the car (with Honey inside) was either far away or illegally right in front. The bouncer, this big beautiful man named Bear, immediately took to her and let us park in front and looked after her while we played. Other times when we’ve played house parties, she likes to curl up in our suitcase on stage with us and sleep.
EZ: Yeah! She loves to come up on stage and sleep at our feet as we’re playing! She also likes to knock over beer cans and red cups at house shows so she can drink the beer! She’s kinda like Jim Belushi from Animal House in dog form.
AF: Do you have any favorite songs about (non-human) animals?
MT: Ha, no, but when I was little my dad used to tease me and tell me I should write songs about our Chesapeake Bay Retrievers Meg and Annie, but refer to them as my sisters. He was also always telling me to write songs about how much I loved my dad. I never took either of those pieces of advice.
AF: Have you ever written a song about or inspired by animals?
MT: We don’t have any songs just about animals, but I do mention Honey in a line in our song “Civil,” which is a breakup song, that goes, “Tell the dog I love her everyday,” which I think is kind of sweet and silly.
EZ: When I first moved to the city I wrote this song about putting my first dog down that I played at open mics. It was very sappy. I think it was probably an alright song, but it always felt emotionally manipulative playing it.
MT: We have a few things lined up in Philly (March 1st at Tralfamadore!) and a show in Western Massachusetts on March 15th, so follow us for more news on that!
AF: Do you have any more exciting news to share about your project?
MT: We just recorded a new EP with Holy Fang Studios so keep a look out for those singles to drop!
AF: When and where can we expect to find the “Imposter” video?
MT: It will be coming out next month. We are just finishing up editing it and then it’s ready to go! We has so much fun filming this one. We recreated a bunch of our favorite album covers and filmed a video around that.
EZ: I dress up as Lady Gaga and a banana. Let’s just say we hold nothing back on this one!
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Jennavieve McClelland tours Patti Smith’s New York City in a post-graduate stupor, looking for tangible inspiration from punk’s poet laureate.
All photos by Jennavieve McClelland
I sought my kind & found none. How you rescued me, your peasant hands reaching through time,
wrapping my young heart, your poems found in the stall by the greyhound station. Patti Smith, “Une Saison en Enfer”
In Dream of Life, the 2013 documentary that took Patti Smith and Steven Sebring 10 years to shoot, she notes: “I like to feel the skin of a canvas. I know it’s not right to touch paintings. You know, when you go to museums, first time I got yelled at I was a teenager, touching Modigliani. I just had to feel the texture, just the way the paint [trails off, touching her own painting]… It’s like, I almost have to put mittens on.”
Smith moves beyond sight into that which can be felt, feeling for the granular effect of the paints used by Modigliani and De Kooning – and in doing so, the auras and energies of the subject that is bridged in moving closer. Seeing is not believing: Smith lies with her muses as she moves into the Chelsea Hotel, “next door to the room where Dylan Thomas had written his last words;” as she “comb[s] the city [of Paris] in search of where Piaf had sung, Gerard de Nerval had slept, and Baudelaire was buried;” as she studies photos of Keith Richards in rock magazines to style her own hair, managing to “machete [her] way out of the folk era.” Smith leaves minimal room between her and her beloveds.
I dogged, dreaming of escape, words I could not comprehend & yet deciphered by blood illuminated adolescence.
I wrote with the image of you above my work table, vowing one day to trace your steps,
dressed in the watch cap & coat of my present self.
I discovered Patti Smith on a family trip to a furniture warehouse called The Brick when I was thirteen. My father was in search of a couch he could install in his new bachelor pad, in the basement apartment of his friend’s townhouse. I sat on the first pleather couch I saw, fixed in front of a huge plasma screen TV. It was playing muted concert footage of a tall, lanky woman with spidery black hair, screaming into the microphone. My dad interrupted the sales associate he was chatting with, tapped my shoulder and leaned down: That’s the godmother of punk, he whispered.
This was appealing to me at exactly this moment in time because a) my parents had just shared the news that they would be filing for divorce, which meant b) I wanted to scare any potential new romantic partners of theirs from penetrating our now vulnerable circle. Punk was going to give me the escapism I needed, a treehouse in the backyard of my distended domestic space. Punk would also clothe me in the armour I needed to stay on land when escapism wasn’t possible. Punk was abrasive, and punk was healing. I had received Mojo Magazine’s Punk: The Whole Story for Christmas a few days before our furnishing excursion, a Bible of a book and my new holy scripture for a philosophy that I did not have access to in my own sleepy suburb. My parents continued their tour of the warehouse while I sat and stared at my new heroine.
This morning pulling into your town, I walked the streets that you despised.
The streets I love for you having despised them. I will go to the train station in Rouche.
I will touch the remains of the walls of the farmhouse where you wept.
You’re not an artist until you are published, an acquaintance once told me. I had met him at a local Smiths DJ night. It turned out that he worked for a visual arts professor I had in university, the one who urged me to leave the arts behind. The class was called “Time-Based Arts,” and for our first assignment I created an audio piece to emulate the sound and feeling of waves through the use of an electric tambura, guitar loops, accordion and my wailing voice. I was asked to redo my piece after my professor found out that I often worked in the audio/sound medium. Every week after class, I would wait to talk to the professor and make a new argument for my piece, refusing to write another one on the basis of my musical history. Finally, agreeing to disagree, my professor let me off with a 60% – and a warning that the arts were probably not for me. I thanked him for his opinion – but in my l’esprit de l’escalier I gave him all kinds of hell. I made my way silently through the rest of the visual arts program, unparticipatory and mouse-like.
I graduated from my bachelor’s as winter arrived. This was my first time out of school since junior kindergarten. I remember being in shock, leaving my 8:30 A.M. alarm wakeups from my library days scheduled on my clock out of pure confusion. I gave myself readings even after I no longer had an official syllabus, unsure if I was ready to bargain with the art world outside of my bedroom walls without more Rainer Maria Rilke, more Anaïs Nin. I continued to study the selfportraits of Frida Kahlo, trying to orient myself within her painful mandala. Carsick: John Waters Hitchhikes America had just been published, and I tagged along in the backseat of his cross-country journey. Waters had predicted the best and worst outcomes he could anticipate of his travels, ending with the true story, what really happened, which was less eventful than his visions and required him to spend mild hours waiting on the side of the road for friendly passersby for the majority of his trip. My Apollonian trajectory, investigating the artists who gave me my only motivation, brought me to my office – a café called Loveless across the street – by 9am every day.
Just Kids – Smith’s first memoir – was on my personal syllabus through my post-graduation haze, and I spent my mornings with her and Robert Mapplethorpe until noon released me back into my abyss (AM to PM signaled a necessary change of pace for me). Smith’s was a story of conscious living, of connecting to another plane of being, entirely her own, and channeling it into a hot, magnetic flash of raw sound and poetry. Smith recognized at a young age that she needed more than what traditional 9-5 work could offer, and a burning obsession with freedom drove her to find fulfillment through writing and, eventually, the visceral performance of her writing through music. After my furniture warehouse introduction, I had “Land” on repeat for almost a decade until I read her memoir and delved a little deeper into her personal geography.
Smith begins her memoir in rural South Jersey, finding solace in a copy of Rimbaud’s Illuminations that would deliver her from the isolation of factory life, later crossing the ocean to explore the Charleville that Rimbaud was born and buried in between his own border crossings. Rimbaud’s “d’encre de Chine” – Chinese ink – illustrates the blackest of all inks, a blackness which is proof of the beginning of the experiment, a time of melancholy and dissolution, but of hope as well. Only when the blackness appears can the first stage of the alchemic practice begin, and the possibility of gold be discovered. Submerged in my own shades of black from a lack of cohesion in my familial and artistic life, my need to retrace Smith’s steps (just as she’d done with Rimbaud) fostered in me an incredible desperation. My escapist fantasies became my only thoughts. It was time to act, to erase the cage I had drawn myself. Two days later, I got on an eleven hour bus ride to New York City.
I will be there at the train station. I will piss in the urinal you pissed in.
A young man cursing existence & then a dying man.
I will squat & rise. I will stand. I will give you my limbs, no longer young but sturdy all the same.
I traveled to New York with the guise of a literary tourist, using Just Kids as my guide through the spaces that had fostered Smith through her formative years: my Patti Smith Pilgrimage. Smith’s was the first voice to rebuild what had been unsettled by my external world, a screaming reminder of my youth, my fire, and my “gradations of gold” (to use the language of Rimbaud). I wanted to connect with more than the pages of the books I had been clinging to; I wanted to touch the paint. I went to New York City to experience Patti Smith’s youthful impulses in lieu of my own.
I walked Patti’s map of the city, gliding through Tompkins Square Park (where Smith’s friend Robert Mapplethorp saved Patti from an awkward date), buying an egg cream at the Gem Spa (where he took her after), then moved further away, taking a Sunday trip to Coney Island and buying hot dogs from Nathan’s (which has either suffered from inflation or was always crazy expensive), walking down the boardwalk and catching Coney Island folk mid-fashion shoot.
Patti’s previous workplaces, where she spent her minimum wage days: the Strand bookstore, and the art deco beauty that is the old Charles Scribner’s Sons bookstore which has since transformed into a Sephora but still boasts the watermark on the side of the building as well as the gorgeous black and gold engravings. I visited the Metropolitan Museum of Art – finding more solace behind the building, where I took a nap on the grass and the fallen pale pink petals of the magnolia trees, than I did inside with the hustle of students and teachers – though frequent trips to the bathroom, located through the collection of ancient Egyptian mummies, had a way of reminding me of life. I visited the Museum of Modern Art where I felt something for Duchamp’s alter ego Rrose Sélavy. I visited the NYC Public Library and spent the rest of my American money on a beer in Bryant Park where I read Rimbaud’s letters and wrote some of my own. I visited Electric Lady Studio, where Patti first met Jimi Hendrix when she was still an unknown poetess, both feeling socially awkward at its opening celebration. I visited the Chelsea Hotel, walking inside to see the foyer that Patti sat, wrote, and drew in, where Salvador Dalí christened her his gothic crow. The concierge eyed me hard, probably knowing my business would not end in any financial transaction.
Ay Rimbaud, the rat poet laureate. A rat is all I have been, scurrying through the streets of the city of brotherly love.
I am where you were & I feel as if I could find you waiting.
Shadowing Patti’s ascent, I am where you were, is that first light of creation; culture is no longer a shield when one finds the doorways to communion. The deficit I encountered in my post-collegiate days now appears to me as a necessary gaze inward. This gaze, in its present moment, appeared in hues of escapism, a thin skin distant from something much more insidious: that of nihilism. The abrasion of punk is twofold – it is destruction, and it is creation. It is the blank generation, it is the void sublimated; it is absolute freedom, it is that nutrient which offers illumination, it is filling (fill me! fill me!).
Patti Smith offered an entrance, opening a world that I wanted to live in, reflecting light, colour, and sound that welcomed me into its foreign arms. I stayed in New York City a week, waking early enough on my seventh day to see the sun rise and with it, the last licks of night life, still with whiskey in hand. To touch heightened myth – with our fingertips! – is a brush with the artist’s divinity.
On the bus home I returned to playing “Horses” on repeat, the beginning and the end: Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Stephanie Phillips finds a way to relate to the Beatles – even though, as a black woman, their version of Britishness didn’t reflect her own experience.
Whether it was the power chord-driven emotional roar of Olympia’s Sleater-Kinney or the proto-riot grrrl wail of X-Ray Spex, as a young black girl who who spent all of her free time devouring new music, these musicians made my little teen self and all of my complex emotions feel seen. Yet, growing up in England in the ‘90s, there was one inescapable group that epitomized the way the country liked to see itself: The Beatles. As four white men who first made their name first reinterpreting the work of black artists, The Beatles were as British as the Empire itself – a glorious example of the British bulldog spirit and post-war triumph. In a country that, at the best of times, treats people like me with complete disregard (and at the worst has seen grown men making monkey noises at my ten-year-old self), how could I possibly feel connected to the four men they’d chosen as their ambassadors of Britishness? I wrote them off for as long as I could, deeming their work too misogynist, too irrelevant, or too old. So I was as stunned as anyone when The Beatles became one of my biggest influences as a musician and lover of music history.
The Beatles were so ubiquitous I can’t recall where I was when I first heard their music. Maybe I had to sing it as part of the alternative, contemporary songs portion of service at my church. It could have been background noise whirring from another TV special as I obliviously played with my brother as a kid. There’s always a chance the Fab Four blared out over tinny speakers at the local supermarket as I perused the perishables aisle with my mum. You were never introduced to The Beatles, they were just there, woven into the fabric of everyday life, an immovable presence in the British musical canon, one which no one would openly question.
Almost because of their popularity, they are also one of world’s most misunderstood bands. The source of the misinformation is usually middle-aged, know-it-all male fans – the kind who only drink real ale and, after a few pints, speak too loudly on the opinion that modern music is rubbish. These tiresome messengers of the drab bring the Four down to their level of mediocrity with their lacklustre covers of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and their insistence “Hey Jude” is the best Beatles song. It’s not, by a long stretch. This left me with the impression that the Beatles’ music only sounded sickly, sweet, and terribly dated.
The sad dad army wreaked havoc on the Beatles’ legacy and that’s even before you get into the steaming layers of toxic masculinity surrounding the band. Each member has had to answer to how they treated the women in their lives and we all know the stories of violence and macho aggression that are associated with John Lennon. How could I love a band who perhaps didn’t love women like me? I didn’t know how to get over these barriers. I decided I couldn’t and gave up, following my path into the exhilarating world of riot grrrl.
The author as a teen.
My early twenties were spent lying in my room listening to Giant Drag, Le Tigre and The Long Blondes, expanding my tastes by finding bands that were connected to them and repeating that same process. Looking back it was inevitable my aimless mission to devour all the music would eventually lead me to The Beatles; much like Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, it was obvious that many bands would be inspired by or connected to the Beatles’ in some way, especially with the music industry continually pushing them to the forefront. Given my disdain for the Beatles’ association with British culture, it seems apt it that American bands eventually drew me into the Beatles’ genius. The Pixies, Breeders, and Throwing Muses all covered songs from the White Album; some were b-sides lovingly recreated, others were carefully reinterpreted takes on the original.
The Pixies’ cover of “Wild Honey Pie,” for instance, took what was a short, frenzied, carnival-esque snippet of a song and transformed it into an art rock scream fest. The Pixies used the repetitive nature of the song to further amp up the passion at the beating heart of the track. It was a brilliant homage to the kooky original, which was one of a collection of songs that illustrated the Fab Four’s love of all things odd.
The Breeders recorded a slower, moodier take on “Happiness is a Warm Gun” on their debut album Pod, while Throwing Muses released on haunting version of “Cry Baby Cry” on their 1991 single “Not Too Soon.” All in all the mysterious lyrics, complex time signatures and raw attitude spoke to me. I needed to know more, so I sought out the album.
The pressure to automatically revere a band instantly sucks all of the joy out of the listening process, like force-feeding yourself chocolate cake – it’s good, but you’d prefer a smaller slice on your own time. Taking The White Album in note by note, the world of The Beatles started to reveal itself to me. Far from being the unlistenable nonsense I always associated with them, the album was challenging, deep and experimental without showing off. I finally understood the melancholy outlook of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” and its untamed classic rock guitar noodling. There were manically upbeat songs like “Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey,” sparse proto-goth tunes like “Dear Prudence,” and garage blues punk on “Helter Skelter.” I listened to the album over and over again, taking in the incredible number of influences and genres that made this epic project. The album wasn’t coherent – the songs rarely followed any pop structure, and had unpredictable twists and turns. I was fixated with these sounds and finding out how they came to be. With each listen I heard so many of the bands I already loved in this one album. Turns out, I had been listening to the Beatles far longer than I’d realised, and I had to admit I’d been was wrong about them. They were a missing part of my music history puzzle.
If I was wrong about this album, I had to reason I might have been wrong about the rest of their music, so I kept listening and searching. There was a lot of ground to cover – decades worth of recordings, documentaries, films, rereleases and a lifetime’s worth of coverage. I devoured it all and came out the other end a Beatles devotee.
I had to admit that their cheeky, laddish attitude was addictive to watch, and a lot of the praise they were given is arguably true. I found as much beauty in their early recordings as I did their backstory. The reason their work resonates with so many is because their songs were simple and about universal themes of love and lust. The desperate appeal to an inattentive lover on “Please, Please Me” is sadly relatable. When I heard the crack in John’s voice on middle eighth of “This Boy” it hit me as hard as as any of the most eloquent poetry on heartbreak and loss. When The Beatles got it right they managed to create a world where anyone, no matter their background, could live vicariously through them. That’s when it clicked. The real winning element of the Beatles goes beyond their songs and exists in their story as a group.
And yet, I know so many black people who struggle to connect with the band, that feel disconnected from the white culture the band represent, and are far too aware that the Beatles built their reputation by imitating African American soul and R&B. I felt the same and it is true. The Beatles connection to whiteness and England is rarely discussed. It was a huge barrier that made liking the band seem insurmountable. The gatekeepers of rock and roll had told me that this was the greatest band in modern history, erasing the contributions of the genre’s black pioneers, and that was extremely off-putting. But the more I listened, I heard the influence of black musicians, like Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Motown acts like The Marvelettes. The Beatles could interpret any music style to their own benefit, and were emotive and adaptable songwriters, but unlike Led Zeppelin or Eric Clapton, they did not try and pass off black innovation as their own. The Beatles covered their favourite songs, put their own spin on them so as not to rip them off completely, and pointed fans in the direction of artists they were inspired by. Their effort to do so still resonates today, considering many white musicians fail to meet these basic requirements.
As a black female creative who often struggles to buck up my confidence and go out into the world, listening to The Beatles gives me the strength to imagine what I could be. It reminds me what I could create if capitalism, white supremacy and misogyny weren’t rooting for me to fail. Because despite the numerous books and documentaries declaring so, John, George, Paul and Ringo were not geniuses. Their ten year soap opera of a story gave me permission to dream of what could happen if I had everything – the money to buy whatever I wanted, the time to write, the confidence provided by millions of adoring fans. Perhaps when teenage girls screamed themselves into delirious frenzy at the sight of the boys, they weren’t just caught up in teenage lust, but were hungry to be any part of something as alive and powerful as rock and roll.
In a world where black bodies are policed at every available moment and black joy is looked on with suspicion there is rarely an opportunity for black people to dream freely. It’s why I always tell my friends about the power of The Beatles, though my sales pitch often falls on deaf ears. Who would believe black people could find respite in the words of four white guys from Liverpool? Though it’s likely that was not their intention, their enduring music gives me space to fully realise myself. I can sit back and take in the best of Revolver or Rubber Soul while imagining who and what I could be as a musician, a music fan and a black woman.
Kiri Oliver dyes Easter eggs at her grandparents’ house in the Car Tapes era.
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Kiri Oliver takes us on a trip with the soundtrack to her childhood – before “coolness” dictated the playlist.
Growing up, my parents rarely played albums in the house — I mostly remember hearing classical radio in the background. But they had three portable cases of cassettes that they brought on car trips, most often to my grandparents’ house in Connecticut. It was an eclectic mix of ‘80s and ‘90s albums, many of which remain among my favorites to this day.
I’ve realized over time that these albums embody a strong sense of nostalgia for me — nostalgia for a very specific set of circumstances that allowed me to listen to and absorb music without context. It was the pre-internet era, and therefore pre-everyone having takes on everything all the time. It was also before I started talking to other people about music, going to shows, being a part of scenes, and building my identity around the bands and genres I liked.
I really appreciate that I had the experience of learning what I liked musically as a kid and preteen without anyone telling me what was cool or not—messages I later had a hard time disentangling from my tastes. In some ways, I knew what I liked when I was nine and rocking out in the backseat more than I did when I was 19 and hanging out with indie rock snobs who worshiped Pere Ubu and said things like “don’t worry, your tastes will mature.”
And now, when I go back and listen to what my nine-year-old self flipped out over, I still hear what excited me so much the first time around. I also hear so many of the elements I’m still drawn to as a fan and songwriter, including theatricality, giant hooks, piano, harmonies, and vocals shot through with emotion. A few highlights from the car tapes are below, and my full playlist is here.
Enya – “Book of Days”
I don’t know why my parents were so into Enya, but we had at least four of her tapes in the car. My favorite song was “Book of Days,” a lush, rousing number with approximately 1,000 layers of vocals in Irish Gaelic that predicted my obsessive love of the Titanic soundtrack. I listened to it just now and had a minor life crisis wondering how I never noticed the chorus was in English—according to Wikipedia, the original version was replaced with a bilingual one that now appears on the album instead. Irish Gaelic 4ever.
REM – “Try Not to Breathe”
REM was another heavy hitter in the car rotation. “Try Not to Breathe” from Automatic for the People was always one of my favorites, but I honestly didn’t realize until now that it’s about death. How did I not get that before, you might ask, when it includes lyrics like “I will try not to breathe/This decision is mine/I have lived a full life/And these are the eyes that I want you to remember”? I have a different relationship to the music I loved when I was very young, which I didn’t necessarily absorb or connect with on a topical level even though I could sense the feelings being expressed. So I knew this was a sad song—just not this sad.
Phil Collins – “Something Happened on the Way to Heaven”
I still haven’t figured out whether liking Phil Collins is definitely uncool, or passably cool if it’s ironic, but I don’t care—I love Phil Collins. This song’s dramatic, horn-laden introduction sounds like the lead-up to a West Side Story-style dance fight. In 2018, the chorus lyrics “you can run and you can hide, but I’m not leaving unless you come with me” sound a bit ominous and coercive. But in the song, Phil sounds naively hopeful enough to pull it off—and the cheery horns definitely help.
Sarah McLachlan – “Vox”
Before she was known for her coffeeshop fare and Lilith Fair, Sarah McLachlan made ethereal new-age albums in the ‘80s. My evidence backing up this statement is that I listened to her album Touch a LOT and the tape said 1989 on the back cover. Anyway, “Vox” is music for frolicking fairies, full of sparkling acoustic guitar and soaring vocals (including a less-angsty version of a Tori Amos wail). It also has a bouncy synth riff thrown on top of all this, which both makes no sense and is perfect.
Live – “Pillar of Davidson”
Is it weird for a 5th grader’s favorite song to be an almost 7-minute album track that I just learned is about factory workers’ rights? Probably. Does this song still rip? Absolutely. It starts with an old western, rolling-tumbleweeds feel and escalates into one of the biggest choruses I’ve ever heard, with Ed Kowalczyk rhapsodizing about “the shepherd of my days” while the drummer goes to town on the ride cymbal. I still lose it every time I listen.
Patty Smyth and Don Henley – “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough”
This is a beautiful and melancholy duet about adult heartbreak that I couldn’t have possibly understood at the time, but it still genuinely moved me. Did I know from my ten years of life experience that “there’s a danger in loving somebody too much”? Definitely not. Did I personally relate to Patty’s lament in the bridge that “there’s no way home when it’s late at night and you’re all alone”? Nope, but I’ve apparently always been a sucker for power ballads.
Meat Loaf – “Everything Louder Than Everything Else”
My revelation from revisiting Meat Loaf’s albums is that Bat Out of Hell is the original American Idiot. Listen to this song from part II: it starts with a chant of “wasted youth,” it ambitiously crams a ton of parts into 7.5 minutes, it has a whole background choir, AND it’s about both war and chicks. Key lyric: “You gotta serve your country, gotta service your girl/You’re all enlisted in the armies of the night.” It’s insane to me that it took until 2017 for Bat Out of Hell The Musical to exist (it ran in London and Toronto, with a tour and NYC run in the works).
I think my parents still have the tapes in the back of a closet, although they’ve long since upgraded their car to one without a tape deck, and I’ve achieved the stereotype of native New Yorker who can’t drive. But I’ve been rocking out to my Car Tapes playlist for a few years now, and I’ve found that it brings me comfort, joy and a break from the endless pursuit of keeping up with new media. We spend so much time taking in new information so we can carefully curate our image and tastes for the consumption of friends, acquaintances and strangers; it feels like a radical act of self-care to detach and dance around my room to a goofy song I loved deeply and unironically when I was nine. I was so sure then of what spoke to me, without needing to explain or even understand why. All these years later, with a head full of countless other people’s musical opinions, it feels so good to tune that out and tune into a channel that feels like mine alone – a channel that happens to play a lot of Enya.
It’s been a long time since music videos have aired on television, but as the popularity of YouTube soars among a generation who doesn’t even remember what MTV used to be, artists are now approaching the medium with a new creative fervor. As you’ll note from this list, by and large we’re seeing women and people of color taking advantage of visuals set to their work as a means of bridging cultural gaps, making grand political statements, and finding more immediate ways to relate to their audiences. The following picks re-examine everything from female sexuality to black identity to gun violence, and while many of these songs stand on their own, it is the videos that take their messages to the next level, adding new layers of meaning and, in a time when we are seemingly inundated with media to consume, forcing viewers to truly pay attention.
Childish Gambino – “This Is America”
In an intense four minutes and a single long take, this eerie, graphic video sums up the atrocities of systemic racism and gun violence in American society. Donald Glover – who has made a name for himself as an actor as well as via his rap moniker Childish Gambino – weaves a narrative that’s hard to ignore, using traditional African dances and minstrel expressions meant to entertain and critique the viewer’s gaze all at once. This may have been the most important video of the year, forcing people to have hard-to-stomach conversations and analyze the subtext of the clip, all over a catchy trap-influenced song that hit the Billboard charts despite its radical content.
Tierra Whack – Whack World
Whack World is surely the best depiction of the millennial mind in motion. Tierra Whack was first recognized for her “Mumbo Jumbo” video, and immediately doubled down to create this fifteen-minute “visual album.” Her quirky aesthetic is set to an eclectic flow, and poignant lyrics make her a singular force in the hip-hop sphere and put her on the map. The video follows Whack through a variety of different worlds, each one surreal and bizarre, but simultaneously illuminating a feeling and emotional landscape the lyrics work to connect with. Mimicking the lightning pace of our scrolling, tumbling, social media comsumption, Whack World managed to get everyone’s attention, even in a time when attention spans seem to be growing smaller.
Janelle Monáe – “Django Jane”
Janelle Monáe had a phenomenal 2018. Coming out to her fans and community, releasing a major hit album, going on a global tour, and sharing vulnerable, introspective work that was followed by critical praise, Monáe has pretty much been living the dream. While all the videos from this year’s Dirty Computer album cycle are praiseworthy in their own right – we’ll never get the vagina pants from “PYNK” out of our minds – “Django Jane” is a nod to her hip-hop predecessors. Hearkening back to the heyday of Biggie Smalls and Lil’ Kim, the video has the feel of a ’90s-era rap video. This time around, it’s Monáe who sits squarely on the throne of her Queendom.
Blood Orange – “Charcoal Baby”
Five of the tracks on Blood Orange’s new album Negro Swan start off with the voice of writer and activist Janet Mock. Her voice weaves a line through the album that carries small doses of wisdom into the songs themselves, seeming spontaneous, but too polished to not have been chosen on purpose. “Charcoal Baby,” one of the first videos released from Dev Hynes’ phenomenal concept album, starts with Mock talking about the concept of family: “I think of family as community. Just show up as you are without judgement, without ridicule, without fear or violence… We get to choose our families, we are not limited by biology.” The words are a perfect segue into the video, a split-screen depiction of two different families mirroring very similar lives. It’s a thoughtful, positive meditation on black identity, and what it feels like to be at home and at peace with those you choose to surround yourself with.
Kendrick Lamar feat. SZA – “All The Stars”
Linked to one of this year’s most enthralling and groundbreaking films, Black Panther, the video for “All The Stars” creates an equally beautiful backdrop for the soundtrack’s lead single. Both Kendrick Lamar and SZA have proven to be unstoppable forces in the musical world, capping off a very successful 2017 with this early 2018 release. Cinematic in its own right, this video plays almost like a short film, its rich visual cues a nod to diasporic African culture, through a lens of cosmic chaos. The video was not released without controversy, though – British-Liberian artist Lina Iris Viktor accused the Black Panther team of copyright infringement, claiming that the gold patternwork that appears roughly three minutes into the clip looks suspiciously like her Constellations paintings; the official lawsuit was settled just last week.
King Princess – “Pussy Is God”
King Princess is the queer idol we’ve all been waiting for, and if “Pussy is God,” then we can all thank pussy that she’s finally arrived. Though she released her five-song EP Make My Bed before she had even turned 20, Mikaela Straus has a top-notch team behind her insuring her success, including producer Mark Ronson, who signed her his Zelig Records imprint, and her creative director, Clare Gillen, who has consistently done a fantastic job styling the up-and-coming artist’s cheeky, ironic, and stylistically iconic videos. “Pussy Is God” is a fun ’90s throwback to what any of us might have done in our bedrooms as adolescents had we been given green screen technology, but it is Straus’s dreamy stare and unabashed celebration of her queerness that makes it so essential.
Sudan Archives – “Nont For Sale”
Watching a Sudan Archives video is often times like falling into another world – and make no mistake, that world that belongs to the Los Angeles-based violinist/vocalist at the helm of this project, Brittney Parks. Self-directed with help from Ross Harris, Parks put out Sink, her second EP for Stones Throw, this year, and its lead single is an ode to unapologetic existence: “This is my light, don’t block the sun/This is my seat, can’t you tell?/This is my time don’t waste it up/This is my land, not for sale.” Still, the video is a welcoming melange of vivid hues and surrealistic impressions of Black culture, always portrayed with parks at the center of the narrative – just where she wants to be. Luckily, she’s invited us along for the ride.
Nao – “Make It Out Alive”
Nao’s latest album Saturn is all about the Saturn return – that period in a person’s late twenties that signifies astrologically-driven upheaval. “Make It Out Alive” is a song geared towards the strength and conviction it takes to steer through this tumultuous time and find yourself on the other side, for better or worse, and begin to rebuild everything from the rubble. That bleakness is reflected in the song’s video, with its desolate landscapes, dilapidated lots, and the anxiety and anticipation of being stuck in a nondescript waiting room. But the song’s lyrics – and Nao’s lilting falsetto – are bracing. The singer takes stock of her preparedness for the fight, and her resolve is her best weapon. If there’s ever a time we needed a song that helps us keep going when the going is tough, 2018 was it.
Okay Kaya – “IUD”
Singer-songwriter Kaya Wilkins created an ongoing narrative in a series of videos she released earlier this year with filmmaker Adinah Dancyger. Both “IUD” and “Dance Like U” tell the story of a woman who has created an alter ego out of her trauma. While the latter sees her come to a resolution with the doppelgänger, “IUD” hinges on tensions – Kaya either ignores the alter ego or engages with it in a kind of defenseless way – watching it from a distance, dragging it around in her wake. These videos were a perfect introduction to the Norwegian-born artists, whose brand of pop favors both minimalism and biting wit on her debut album Both.
Alice Phoebe Lou – “Something Holy”
Berlin street musician turned independent European musical sensation recently released her first single “Something Holy” from her upcoming album, Paper Castles. The frayed edges of her busker’s past have been cleaned up as she polishes her sound, and allows her lyrics to shine through like never before. “Something Holy” is a song about feminine sexuality, and being treated like a holy being – a theme we saw cropping up this year in the mainstream thanks to artists like Ariana Grande. But these lyrics speak to her desire to be held, not lusted over, the sumptuous visuals bursting with random blips of animation, pastoral vignettes, romantic candlelight and often Phoebe Alice Lou’s challenging gaze, daring us to follow her on her sensual journey.
Drunk on $2 strawberry margaritas during my very first visit to Cubbyhole, my 19-year-old self and a friend struck up a conversation with two women who led with, “Aww, how cute, two straight girls at the gay bar!” We looked at each other, confused. She was quick to correct them about her sexuality, while I, on the other hand, kept quiet, thinking they were right. Who was I trying to fool by being here? I’ve been “mistaken” for straight just about every time I’ve been there, for that matter. And what right did I have to be upset? To those who saw me everyday, I was straight, and was too scared to convince them otherwise.
Fast forward to sometime in early September of this year. After getting “mistaken” for straight in a casual conversation by a gay friend, I couldn’t let it go. At 2am, in an act of subconscious (and delusionally tired) defiance, I chopped my hair below my shoulders – as if a drastic change in my appearance would make people finally believe me when I say I’m queer. I thought back to an interview I’d read in which Héloïse Letissier, who fronts Christine and the Queens, described the epiphany she had upon cutting her hair: “I felt like, ‘This is how I want to exist.’” My drunk ass almost cried when someone in the bathroom at a Rina Sawayama show complimented my new ‘do for the first time; knowing that a large part of Sawayama’s fan base is queer, I found comfort in being seen.
Rarely did I consciously think about openly queer women in entertainment in the past. When I recall queer artists that I listened to growing up, I admit that David Bowie or Freddie Mercury – not women – come to mind first. Whether it’s the media at fault or my own ignorance, I was somehow never consciously aware of women’s queerness. From Fergie and Lady Gaga in my youth, and then, as I got older, The xx, Tegan and Sara, and Sleater-Kinney, I often didn’t know some of my most beloved female artists were queer until after the fact. I later clocked many hours over the years Googling “[insert artist] queer,” intrigued by female androgyny by way of Annie Lennox, and for selfish reasons, hoping to find that Debbie Harry might be into women. This was all prior to the realization that my “girl crushes” were born of genuine attraction. Maybe it took so long because I had few truly visible artists to help me understand that loving another woman was real and valid.
I remember when I first started telling my best friends that there was a slight chance that I could maybe be bisexual, and being met with the classic “it’s probably just a phase.” It made me curl in on myself, backtrack, and call myself “fluid” instead. “Fluid” was my safety net to go back to living as a straight cis female, since I wasn’t committed to a label.
But “fluid” was never the whole truth.
I’ve known for a long time that I’m bisexual, but 2018 marks my first year of unapologetic out-ness. Sexuality is a journey, and labeling oneself isn’t pertinent to having a queer identity. Fluidity perfectly encapsulates how many other people define their own sexuality. For me, though, calling myself “bisexual” out loud lifts a weight off my shoulders. I owe this newfound confidence to queer female artists, from SOPHIE to Janelle Monáe, who are unapologetically themselves.
2017 and 2018 saw a jump for queer females in the mainstream beyond “I Kissed a Girl” or “Cool for the Summer,” where being queer is synonymous with experimental sexual deviance (not to discredit Demi Lovato’s own bisexuality). Kissing girls was once taboo, “just something that we wanna try.” Songs like Sawayama’s “Cherry” operate in the same realm of queerness being new and different. However, rather than eroticizing it, Sawayama crafts a sweet, sparkling anthem that illustrates an awakening; it’s less about the missed connection and more about what it taught her about herself. “Now I wanna love myself/It’s not that us is guaranteed/’Cause inside I’m still the same me with no ID” reminds me of being 19 and becoming infatuated with a stranger at a party as we talked and smoked cigarettes and got dollar slice pizza, though I never got her name. Still, I can’t will myself to forget the moment she told me she likes girls and with ease, I told her I do too. It had nothing to do with my attraction to her. It was the first time I had ever come out, and she has no idea how significant that moment was for me. She was the first person with whom I was living my truth.
Today, there’s Kehlani in the mainstream crooning, “I like my girls just like I like my honey/Sweet/A little selfish.” These lyrics effectively normalize women loving women in a way I’d never understood before. By way of Kehlani, I also discovered Disney-girl-turned-“Lesbian Jesus” Hayley Kiyoko this year when Kehlani appeared on “What I Need.” Kiyoko candidly sings, “I only want a girl who ain’t afraid to love me.” I could never imagine hearing that on the radio growing up. Kiyoko was recently awarded the Rising Star Award at Billboard Women in Music, presented to her by bisexual pop singer Lauren Jauregui. “Nobody wants to be brave,” Kiyoko confesses in her acceptance speech, through tears. “We’re all terrified. I’m very grateful for my fans…I found my purpose in life, and the ability to embrace my truth.”
Women have shown me what it’s like to go from grappling with your truth to embracing it. Asserting herself beyond myriad production credits, SOPHIE’s debut album Oil of Every Pearl’s Un-Insides is a disarming nine tracks of simultaneous chaos and vulnerability. There’s a challenge from SOPHIE to listen to this record without the preconceived notion of what pop music – and furthermore, people – should be. “Without my genes or my blood/With no name and with no type of story/Where do I live?” she asks on “Immaterial,” giving herself the answer: “I could be anything I want.”
The album is powerful enough to have turned the heads of traditionally closed-minded Grammy committee. She and singer-songwriter Teddy Geiger (who co-wrote the Shawn Mendes single “In My Blood”) have become the first Grammy-nominated transgender women for Best Dance/Electronic Album and Song of the Year, respectively.
They, and artists like the genderqueer and pansexual Letissier, haven’t been blurring the lines of gender in music so much as beginning the process of erasing them. The first time I saw Christine and the Queens live in 2016, I had given little to no thought to the nuance and fluidity of gender expression. When she returned this past year, it appeared that she had invented a masculine persona along with her new record, Chris. The more I indulged in the record, it became apparent that rather than stripping herself of femininity, she had adapted traditionally masculine themes – eroticism, power, dominance – to dispel the pre-existing notion of softness that womanhood was supposed to be.
I came across King Princess through Mark Ronson, when she became the first official signed artist on his label, Zelig Records, releasing her first single “1950” earlier this year. In addition to paying tribute to a decade when women could exclusively be queer in private, she plays with religion and divinity in a way that calls out to the once-ardent Catholic still living inside me. “Tell me why my gods look like you,” she whines, “and tell me why it’s wrong.” The idea is not lost on songs like “Holy” and “Pussy Is God,” which not only put women, but queer women, at the center of worship. In an interview with Harper’s Bazaar, King Princess calls it “extremely fucked up and fun…being the antithesis of a belief system.”
“Fun” never would’ve been the word I’d use to describe the intersection of being a self-proclaimed Jesus lover while attempting to repress this sinful secret the way I repress Catholicism now. While I’ve never been homophobic and I’ve tried to be an ally to others, I was adamant that homosexuality wasn’t a possibility for me. But now I find the layers of irony so absurd it’s funny. For me, queerness was directly associated with eroticism, in turn lacing this part of my identity with sin. Coupled with my warped notions of feminism (in my teenage years, I called myself anti-feminist), it’s all rooted in self-hatred.
Then I heard this verse:
“Searching for someone to fix my drive
Text message, God up in the sky
Oh, if you love me, won’t you please reply?
Oh, can’t you see that it’s only me, your dirty computer?”
It made me wonder if Janelle Monáe had somehow gotten inside my head and heard these conversations I was having with God to fix whatever the hell was going on inside me. Her music has been lush with futuristic and science fiction imagery via Cindi Mayweather, her android alter ego. The juxtaposition of real life with a surreal world allows raw emotion to take the forefront. It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself this whole time that I’ve been fighting the truth: what is wrong with my programming as a human that I’m so inherently broken and flawed?
Janelle Monáe intended “to really celebrate those that I felt needed to be celebrated most, those in marginalized communities” with Dirty Computer. Those communities include not only the LGBTQIA community, but women and people of color as well – and these are all intersections I identify with. It’s the things about myself that I’ve been conditioned to believe are defects, dirty. Deconstructing the android on Dirty Computer gives insight to our very coding as people, the root of this “other” that terrifies people in 2018 as much as ever.
What a weird time, in 2018, to have finally found relief through leaning into that exact fear. This whole time, I’ve been internalizing it, using it against myself, so much that even when I first began exploring the possibility of being queer, I accepted without argument that I wasn’t queer enough to be valid. Compared to the first time I called myself “bisexual” out loud circa 2014, when I say it today, it no longer leaves a bad taste in my mouth. There’s still an adrenaline rush, but it comes from excitement. Because for the first 23 years of my life, I was never being my honest self.
But now, I finally believe that I deserve to live my truth. And so do you.
Check out Ysabella’s ever-growing CHEERS QUEERS playlist on Spotify, as well as the rest of our year-end coverage.
ONLY NOISE explores music fandom with poignant personal essays that examine the ways we’re shaped by our chosen soundtrack. This week, Tamara Mesko reckons with her evangelical upbringing via songs by Julien Baker, Kevin Devine, and David Bazan.
As a child, my world was mostly black and white, consisting of lists of rules to follow and religious rituals to submit to within the evangelical church. The litany of required observances included maintaining a modest dress code, attending church at least twice a week, attending Christian school with weekly chapel services, refraining from shopping on Sundays, and submitting to the ultimate authority of the pastor. This sheltered community of my family, church friends, and school friends was the entirety of my world throughout my childhood. Though some people thrive within structured, controlled systems, I was a sensitive, emotional child, drawn to the mystical areas of life, and longed for more freedom. The high point of my week was always the musical part of church services, and I felt a deep transcendence while I was singing with the congregation.
This subculture’s rigid list of restrictions also extended to my music-listening allowances outside of church. My album choices came from a finite list: songs we sang in church, songs played on the religious radio station, or CDs from the Christian bookstore. On the rare day that our family trekked to the mall, I’d immediately hone in on the music section of the bookstore, joyously scanning the stacks of new cassettes and CDs. This was one of the few places where I felt at home. I was longing for a connection with songs that weren’t listing rules, but rather showcasing love and compassion for all types of people and perspectives. I was searching for musicians who could expand my limited worldview, and hoping they could save me from my restriction-heavy life.
The Beginning
let go of what you know, and honor what exists
daughter, that’s what bearing witness is
Through the end of my teenage years, most of the music I heard was written for churchgoers, save for a few Nirvana songs I’d secretly record off the radio. Finally, in the late ‘90s, after years of searching for more musical substance, right there in my beloved bookstore, I discovered a band called Pedro The Lion. Led by David Bazan, who was also raised in the evangelical subculture, this band was decidedly different than any I’d heard before: though their music had a religious angle, it was made by people with incredible talent, with true care for their listeners, and with brutal honesty in their lyrics. I bought the Whole EP and It’s Hard To Find A Friend CD at the same time, and immediately became obsessed with both albums. The subversiveness of the lyrics astounded me; they were part of this subculture and yet singing about controversial topics? They were calling out hypocrisy in the church instead of focusing on formulaic, pre-approved storylines? I quickly internalized their crystalline lyrics: “Your horse is ready to ride / when morning comes / from this church town / where damning rumors drip from holy tongues.” Or Bazan’s detail of the particular coldness of a routine church service: “But if all that’s left is duty / I’m falling on my sword / at least then I would not serve / an unseen distant lord.” My heart and mind were jolted out of complacency, little inklings forming into an eventual blooming deconstruction of the religion of my youth.
Many years later, I eagerly awaited Bazan’s first solo album, Curse Your Branches, marketed as “a break-up letter to God.” Amidst an existential and spiritual crisis of my own, I intimately identified with all of the questions and accusations laced throughout these songs. The comfort I felt from his words soon turned to hurt as I heard the majority of my religious friends write him off as a lost soul or a heretic. I realized they’d only listened to Bazan as long as he’d kept his proclamations safe within the evangelical worldview, and as soon as he began to grow outside of that label, they seemed to lose trust that he could still benefit them.
One of the healthiest ideas I learned from those in authority over me was the power of discernment. I was taught to consider the source of any truth I was ascribing to, and, if I felt there were harmful messages in it, to not be afraid to question and expose this harm. Yet as I began to share how Bazan’s discerning lyrics helped me reconsider what it really meant to have faith in God, I felt rejected and unwelcome in my community. I wasn’t sure yet if I agreed with his ideas – I just wanted space to discuss them and to articulate my own questions. Although I felt dismissed, I found great courage in Bazan’s example of vulnerable honesty, and knowing I was not alone gave me peace through this anxious time. Bazan has always been a prophetic voice for me, and he continues to challenge me to consider the countless ways my daily actions belie what I say I believe. The transparent way he persists in bearing witness to his experience provides such solace and inspires hope that I may also be able to find a clear, truthful path forward.
Leaving
give yourself a breath
while you’re working it out
the answer’s in between
all the concrete and clouds
it’s anywhere you want
yeah, it’s next to you now
It was an extremely difficult step to start to define myself separate from the entire community I’d grown up in, to enter the scary unknown outside the previously clear, safe waters that now appeared murky and troubling to me. While I was immersed in this process, another musician, Kevin Devine, was beneficial in presenting an alternative perspective. Though all of his albums are incredible works of art, the one that strongly impacted my spiritual development was 2011’s Between The Concrete & Clouds. The title track traces the journey of his formative years, from Catholicism to atheism to existentialism to a mature, nuanced, slightly more solid ground that validates and gives grace to fellow questioners. The entire album pursues a resolution to elevate love and compassion to a first priority in all relationships, and in doing so it exemplifies a genuine Christ-like viewpoint.
Devine constantly examines how he enacts his belief system in real life, reflecting on both the consequences and the rewards of those actions. He’s shown me that I don’t have to ascribe to a religious tenet in order to be a moral, ethical, conscientious person in the world. On this album, his songs challenge me to break a cycle of default thinking, of cynicism, of obsessing about the past, and to instead process the past in a step toward redemption: “Leave ‘10 years ago’ 10 years ago / get back within yourself and listen close.” He places the burden of responsibility on each individual person, and motivates me to leave my comfort zone and consider spiritual, moral, and political viewpoints vastly different from my own. I’ve learned that it’s okay to disagree with those in authority who taught me discernment, and that my own perspective, intuition, and experience is valid and can be trusted. Listening to this revolutionary album, I’m led to reexamine the traditions I was taught, confront areas of cognitive dissonance, and move forward into a more holistic place where I’ve found an authentic path to love myself and to love others.
The Present
I think there’s a God
and He hears either way
when I rejoice
and complain
As I contemplated where I fit into modern religious spaces, often feeling out of place with both the evangelical and more progressive communities, I discovered another musician who solidified a specific, helpful foundation for me. This powerhouse of a writer and singer, Julien Baker, identifies herself as someone who believes in God, but weaves this belief throughout her life in nuanced, open-minded ways that strengthen my resolve to build up my own personal belief system. I so strongly identified with the emotions she expresses on her first album, Sprained Ankle, that I listened to it at least twice a day, every day, for an entire year.
Baker has an enduring, monumental power that she wields with such deliberate love. She makes all types of people feel welcome, even as she’s expressing her frustration with God in beautiful stanzas: “So I wrote you love letters / and sung them in my house / and all around the South / the broken strings and amplifiers / scream with holy noise / and hope to draw you out.” I can hear that she’s a seeker of truth, and she compels me to honestly profess what my current level of faith looks like, even if I continue to feel misunderstood by other people of faith. On this album she dives deep into themes of addiction, death, abandonment, and self-worth. There are no simple answers; life is complex, so it follows that religion cannot be reduced to a few statements. Belief systems must be given hands and feet and lived out, not in fear of, but in communion with other people. I know that as I continue to define my religious identity, Baker and her music will be there for me, to shake me out of complacency and point me toward a mystical spirituality and stability that has love and grace at its core.
Today, the black and white strictures of my childhood have blurred to gray, an evolving swirl of uncertain waters. But these three musicians have provided me a life raft, a sense of calm about setting adrift on my own spiritual journey. My system of morality is now primarily based on loving everyone and celebrating the spiritual connection that all of humanity shares. I try to use my many forms of privilege to advocate for those with less, and – a much harder task – try to have compassion for those with more. Religion doesn’t have to be organized, but I am currently part of a church community where I feel at home, in large part because of the music. Singing together with people who have also, at times, interrogated their faith is still deeply transformative for me, whether that’s in a church service or at a concert. When I think of the importance of these voices, I can’t help but be infinitely grateful for all of the beauty David Bazan, Kevin Devine, and Julien Baker provided as my belief system evolved, pointing me toward a more holistic truth with their unlikely hymns.
Hannah Teeter is sweet as pie in person and vicious as hell on the drum kit. She pairs her innately optimistic nature with her wicked energy to form a stage persona entirely singular. Hannah first started playing drums five years ago after forming the band Def.GRLS with buddies Craig Martinson and Mark Brickman. Def.GRLS released a couple EPs in between, embarked on their first tour this past March to SXSW, and are now in the process of releasing their first LP while simultaneously recording their next EP.
Photo Credit: Thomas Ignatius
Along with playing drums for one of the most unique projects in the Brooklyn scene, Hannah is a proud cat mom with a lot of experience cohabiting with an array of animals, from dogs to hissing cockroaches. While discussing our adoration of our feline friends, Hannah shared the fact that her father is a veterinarian with me (hence her colorful exposure to all types of species). Since Hannah is certainly a different animal on the stage than she is off the stage, I wanted to hear about how her massive love of all creatures influenced her own animal instincts on the stage.
AF: Please introduce us to your kitty.
HT: Please meet Igor! He’s a 12 and a half year old crotchety Siamese/raccoon mix and I sure do like him a lot :)
Hannah and Igor (all pet photos courtesy of Hannah and the Teeter family).
AF: How did Schmigor come into your life?
HT: My dad is a veterinarian back in Kansas, and he got a call one day from a former client who was distraught because she’d seen a mama cat and her band of feral kittens roaming around the neighborhood and they all looked pretty sick. My folks went out – I think armed with butterfly nets lol – and caught the kitties and their mom. My dad treated them all, spayed and released the mom and started to find homes for the little ones. Igor was the last one. He was pretty surly, so I don’t think anyone wanted him, and I wound up bringing the little guy back to New York.
Kitten Days: Hannah and baby Igor.
AF: Can you give us a run-down of your pet history?
HT: Oh jeez, we kinda grew up in a zoo! There were dogs: Bailey the Wonder Dog, Aggie the mean old yorkie and her sweet dumb son Ozzie who had rotting teeth and smelled like garbage, and the most handsome Irish setter known to man, Bowie. He’s old af but still kickin! There were cats: Claude, Wally, Petticoat, Truman, Ping, and Igor. There were snakes and rats and salamanders and crawdads and even some Madagascar hissing cockroaches for a while. And a hedgehog named Twiggy Fusebox.
Hannah and her family pets: Bowie, Aggie, Ozzie, and Petticoat.
AF: As a veterinarian, did your dad pass down any pet-rearing wisdom to you?
HT: Dry food is basically diabetes in a bag for cats! Feed ‘em the wet stuff so you don’t wind up having to hold them down while you spoon Karo syrup into their mouths when you find them in a diabetic coma (lookin’ at you, Claude).
Baby Hannah and Claude.
AF: Share your earliest animal-loving memory with us!
HT: Apparently our cat, Wally, taught me how to walk! My folks and my older brothers talk about how I would sit behind him and hold onto his tail. When he was ready to get up and move, I wouldn’t let go and he’d pull me up to my feet behind him. Who knows if this is truth or legend, but I like the story!
Wally and infant Hannah.
AF: When did you decide to pick up drumming?
HT: About five years ago.
Photo Credit: Mike Petzinger.
AF: What was it that made you gravitate towards the drums?
HT: Oh man. I feel like I’d always wanted to learn how to play drums ever since my brother’s high school band set up our basement as their practice space. I was probably about 7 or 8 years old and he showed me how to do a simple beat and I thought it was so cool mostly because he was paying attention to me and letting me hang out for a bit instead of yelling at me to gtfo. But then for the next 17 years, I didn’t touch the drums haha. So who knows?
Photo Credit: Michael Todaro.
AF: Tell us about Def.GRLS. How did the band start?
HT: I’d become good friends with Craig, who had a solo project and was also drumming in this incredible and incredibly weird and magical band called The Lesbians. He was teaching me how to play drums and when I was kind of struggling with the lessons, he convinced The Lesbians to let me learn how to play during their rehearsals. That was so freakin’ kind and cool of all of them and it was an amazing way to start making sense of the drums. It helped me think of drumming as part of the music as a whole rather than as isolated beats. They even let me play a few songs with them at their Halloween show, which was sadly their last performance. Out of the ashes of The Lesbians rose Def.GRLS with Craig on guitar, Mark (who had been playing guitar) on bass, and me on drums.
AF: You went on your first tour this past March. How was that?
HT: Holy cow, it was incredible!! So fun and exciting and exhausting. Everyone in every city along the way was really kind to us and was making amazing music.
Photo Credit: Luke Ohlson.
AF: Did you have a favorite city on your tour?
HT: I liked all of them a lot and they were all so different. I think my favorite, though, was Little Rock, AR. We played this really neat DIY house show at a spot called Hot Glory House that’s run by a magical boy named Carl Fike. After the show, a bunch of 18 year old punks took us to their favorite Waffle House and we did Madlibs and it ruled!
AF: Who babysat Schmigor while you were away?
HT: My incredible roommate, Tayler. He rules! He’s a legendary dude who’s also an artist and musician and he helped us master our album!
AF: Any funny or thrilling Schmigor tales to tell?
HT: Haha, I don’t know if this is thrilling but it’s kinda cool I think. When I first brought Igor to New York with me, he was not at all interested in being around humans because he was a wild outdoorsy kitten. We kind of ignored each other for a couple months. Then, on the first cold night of winter, I woke up because there was a tiny furball basically trying to burrow into my armpit for warmth. After that night, he and I have been pretty much best friends. He’s super cuddly now! Loves a snuggle. Still prefers to burrow in armpits.
AF: Have you ever written any songs about (non-human) animals?
HT: Oh man – we had a song that never quite got finished about a cat with three eyes. It ruled! We gotta circle back and finish it!
AF: What is your favorite (non-human) animal song?
HT: I was gonna go with “Werewolves of London” but someone said that technically werewolves are sometimes human so it doesn’t count. So I guess my next choice would be “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Little Hannah and Bailey the Wonder Dog.
AF: If Schmigor was a human, what career do you think he would pursue?
HT: Something where he could mostly nap, maybe catch a few flies, and slowly but methodically knock full glasses off the edge of tables. I guess maybe that means he’d be a happy hour bartender, just like me!
AF: What are your plans for the remainder of 2018 and beyond?
HT: Have fun! More late night jams with friends! Def.GRLS is also gearing up to start work on our Hollywood EP, which I’m pretty pumped about.
Where do you see yourself in ten years? Are you doing the same job? Or do you see yourself picking up a secret passion and taking it out on the road? Musician Anna Connolly spent her teen years romping around the D.C. punk scene, hanging with bands like Minor Threat. A few decades and two kids later, Anna Connolly has picked up a guitar and is making music her own way.
“The waves kept coming in / but the air was getting thin / and the best I had / was to blame it on my dad,” Anna’s halting, raw style of singing feels fresh and familiar all at the same time. While Leonard Cohen and Bright Eyes are clear influences on the music, the stripped down vocals have a marked punk vibe to them: direct, brash, with a sly sense of humor. “Stars” has an unwinding quality to it, the words coming out carefully, a kind of forced memory. It is a great teaser to Connolly’s debut album After Thoughts; it seems to mirror the album’s cover photo of a girl sitting astride a horse, gazing out on a landscape that is both her past and her future.
Listen to “Stars” below and read our full interview with Anna:
AF: In the 1980s, your family moved from California to DC. You and your sister Cynthia got involved in the punk scene there. Can you give us a feel for what that was like?
Anna Connolly: It was pretty small at the time. I was still pretty young, and so it wasn’t like I was part of the LA scene much, but it felt bigger and a little more intimidating in LA. In DC, we just went to a record store, and immediately met a guy named Danny who worked there. We just spent some time at the store, and more kids came in. I definitely felt very welcomed by people. It felt like a community from the beginning. I admit that I knew a certain group of people – mainly the kids around the Dischord Records scene. It’s not like they were the only people around, but that’s who we met first and sort of “fell in” with.
Anna & Cynthia, 1981. Photo credit Jane Bogart. Taken somewhere in Venice Beach.
AF: What drew you to punk music?
AC: My sister Cynthia, who is 2 years older than I am, was into punk and new wave before me. That’s how I first learned about it. I remember going to see Devo at the Santa Monica Civic Center, and a really young punk kid called me a poseur. He might have been the first “punk” I’d seen in real life! I was probably 12 or 13. But I loved music, and Cynthia was going out to see bands, and I guess I was just curious and went with her.
AF: Let’s say I don’t have a background in punk music…What bands would constitute a quick education?
AC: Well…. that’s a big question! The bands that shaped me, or that I was listening to at the time, were bands like the Circle Jerks, TSOL, Black Flag… I liked Crass, and I was obsessed with the Damned. I’d throw Minor Threat into the mix as a very influential (and a very good) early punk band. And Big Black. This is only scratching the surface of course.
But I also always liked what I would call “sad” music like the Cure, Joy Division, New Order, the Cocteau Twins, Bauhaus… I listened to those bands in the ’80s too. And Siouxsie and the Banshees. I’m sure there’s a better term than “sad” but music that is somewhat melancholy in sound and in lyrics has always resonated with me.
AF: In your press release, you said, “It just didn’t cross my mind to try to play when I was younger. Maybe I was rebelling against my rebellious friends.” When did that spark hit you? The need to write your own music?
AC: This reminds me of what we were talking about before… Well, I have two kids, and when they were really little, I took them to a “music class” which in hindsight I realize was kind of silly. But a woman had an acoustic guitar and would sing songs and do other activities with them. So, I bought a cheap acoustic guitar with that in mind – I thought, “I’m going to be this wonderful mother who sings songs to her kids!” Ha. Well that didn’t work because they just saw the guitar as something that came between me and them!
But I liked it, so I took lessons with an old friend. I think it was just nice to have something to do for myself, that wasn’t about my family. And then I tried playing songs that I liked, and then I finally wrote a song.
AF: Very Loretta Lynn of you! Are your kids still firmly annoyed or are they getting used to the idea of you as a musician?
AC: Ha! Well…. it’s been an interesting journey in many ways. They actually haven’t seen me play because I always felt like my lyrics in some of my songs are pretty intense. But they’re coming to my record release show and will help at the merch table.
I had played out a little bit when my kids were small, right when I was learning, and for some reason, I stopped for about eight years. I started again in 2016. So it’s really only been in the past two years that I’ve been playing out regularly. My kids are older now, so they’re quite aware of what I’ve been doing, especially around the recording sessions, making the vinyl LP, the t-shirts. I try to involve them in those aspects of it. My older son wore one of my t-shirts the other day, which was super nice!
AF: What kind of music are they into? Do your music interests cross paths?
AC: I realized recently that I think that music was to me what video games is to my kids. For me, music was the way that so many of us connected – by sharing music, listening together, going to record stores (or working there), going to shows, etc. And for others, playing together. For my kids, they connect on the xbox and talk there while they’re playing. It seems like that’s their milieu. But, I do feel like I didn’t do the best job in this regard. I mean, they listen to what I listen to in the car, etc. But they’re not into unusual music or anything. Maybe now that they’re older and can go to more shows, I can take them.
I did take them to see Arcade Fire once, and they covered Fugazi’s song “Waiting Room” in their encore. I was so excited and was telling my kids, “That’s Ian’s band!!!” but they didn’t seem too impressed! (I’m still friends with Ian, and I live pretty close to the Dischord offices, so my kids know who he is in that way.)
AF: Ha! I love it. “Ok, Mom!” I was reading an interview with Noah Lennox (Panda Bear, Animal Collective) and he said his daughter was thoroughly unimpressed with him. I guess no matter who you are inevitably your kids gonna be eye-rollin’.
AC: Yes, I think that’s true. That’s why I was happy when my son wanted to wear my t-shirt! The thing that affects my music though is that I’m a single (divorced) mom, and so that aspect of my life gives me ideas to write about… At least, that’s been what’s moved me to write so far. If I were happily married, I’d have to figure out something else to write about!
AF: In terms of a writing process, is your music mostly autobiographical or do you draw from other sources?
AC: My songs so far have all been autobiographical except for one, which was written about a guy in my area who killed his girlfriend at college. It was in the news a lot at the time, and I was struck by the story. A journalist interviewed neighbors where the guy had grown up, and one talked about how well-raised he was, that he went to really good schools (a private all-boys prep school in Maryland, in fact), and had great manners. And the neighbor said he was 99% good. Which made me think it only takes 1% evil to kill somebody. Anyway, that’s my song “1% Evil.” All the others are based on my own life experiences.
AF: Tell us about the picture on the cover of After Thoughts. The photo is so haunting and beautiful.
AC: Wow – thanks for saying so!!! And that’s an example of a funny twist of fate, in a way. I had a friend take some photos of me that I thought would be on the cover. And then I posted that horse photo on my Facebook page, and everyone said – that looks like a record cover! So after taking the photos for the cover, I ended up instead using a photo that I had sitting around my house the whole time. That’s me on the horse when I went to visit a friend. It was taken at Frying Pan Ranch in Amarillo Texas. I’m guessing I’m around nine years old? I love that the original photo is square, and faded like that. And I feel like it’s a very evocative photo and makes you wonder, “Why is that girl riding such a huge horse in the first place, and also without a saddle?” You might say that I was brave, or reckless.
AF: Has it been a fluid process, taking the record from studio to stage?
AC: Interesting question! In my case, I write my songs alone, and have played solo a lot. I had started playing with a bass player and drummer, and for my record, I really wanted something more in terms of arrangement. So I found Devin and Don (my two co-producers), and we did some practicing together and played a few shows together, then went into the studio. Some songs on the record are still quite minimal and like how I wrote them originally – “1% Evil,” and “Max On The Black Sea.” Other songs have drums, bass, and more. So, the album is like the live shows we played together, with some additional touches here and there. But since we’re not really a band per se, I need to explore a bit about what exactly I want for my live shows. I’ve played a few with my friend Hannah Burris on viola, just the two of us. But I miss the drums and the louder full band thing for certain songs. This is one of the first things I want to tackle now that the record is almost out – that and also making a video, which I’m dying to do but I haven’t quite figured out how to make that happen yet….
AF: You’ve had a lot of guest performers at your shows, including Devin Ocampo on drums (the EFFECTS, Beauty Pill, Faraquet, and more), Joe Lally on bass (Fugazi), Don Godwin on bass, horns, percussion (Slavic Soul Party), and Hannah Burris on viola (Teething Veils). Who’s been your favorite collaboration so far?
AC: I’m going to get all of them at my release show, which is so exciting!!! Plus I got to play with a couple of other friends in other cities last summer – it was so fun to play music with people who knew me back when I wasn’t playing. Everyone’s so great in their own way…. It’s hard to answer your question! Joe definitely felt that my songs were good in their basic way, without a lot of accompaniment. And some people have said that too about the live shows with just Hannah on viola, that you can really absorb the songs better when they’re that way. We’ll have to see how it works out. I know labels shouldn’t matter, but I’ve noticed that people seem to think if you play solo acoustic, that you are a “folk” artist. I don’t think of myself that way. But yeah – working out this band/arrangement stuff is important going forward for me.
I also have the beginning seeds of about five songs that keep going around in my head that I need to write! I’m really hoping the next album will go much more quickly and easier – like delivering a second baby!!!!
AF: Oh don’t even start! Ha! But seriously, we’ll be on the lookout for that.
AC: No more babies for me though, hahaha!!!! Only more records!
AF: Who do you have spinning at home right now?
AC: I’m a big Conor Oberst/Bright Eyes fan. It’s absolutely because of his music that I started writing. I listen to his music a lot. Also recently I was on a local radio station, and my friend who was DJing asked me to make a short playlist of music to share there. I’m liking that playlist which was supposed to be a list of DC music I like, so this was just a few things I grabbed that I’d been listening to:
Snowblinder by Lilys (they were based in DC at some point)
Stolen Wallet by Minutes (they’re half in DC and half in Kalamazoo so I guess I cheated a little)
Back and Forth by the Effects (Devin is in this band–I love this song, it’s in 3/4 time like a lot of mine are)
Stars by Swoll (this is a solo project by Matthew Dowling, who plays bass in the Effects).
AF: What advice do you have for people starting their creative lives later in life?
AC: First and foremost, there is NO REASON not to try something creative. If you don’t try, you will never know what could have happened. In my case, it really is so surprising as I have never thought of myself as a creative person. I studied computer programming, and Russian, and business. Yes, you can be creative when doing those things, but what I liked about all those things is that you have rules to follow, and you mostly know when you’re right or wrong. That’s a safer place to operate, at least for me. It is so completely different from creating something out of nothing, taking an idea, and making it into a poem, or a story, or a song.
Also, I’ve really grown so much as a person doing this. It can be quite challenging putting yourself out there. I remember the first time I played a show, and there was a couple sitting and talking, and I thought, “I wonder what they think of me?” You’re really making yourself vulnerable in so many ways. It’s forced me to become more resilient. And also, because I want to grow and explore as a songwriter and musician, I am motivated on my own to improve and try new things. Lastly, I have been just blown away by how supportive other musicians are. It’s a very welcoming community overall. People want you to do well, and they’ll help when they can. It’s really unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
Oh, and about doing it later in life in particular. For whatever reason, I didn’t think to try anything like this when I was younger. And I do feel that all of my life experiences are a key part of my songs, since my songs are so lyric/story-driven. If I was a lot younger, I think I’d have less to say! I’ve lived in different places, including Russia, I’ve done a lot of different things over the years professionally and personally, and that gives me both a lot to work with as well as a perspective that I wouldn’t have had when I was younger. I just don’t think I had as much that I wanted to express back then – it seems like my time for this is now!
Preorder Anna Connolly’s debut album After Thoughts HERE.
Everyone has that friend so obsessed with getting a boyfriend that she completely misses the interesting, multi-layered, kick-ass person who’s right in front of her (herself). Ok, we’ve all been that friend. Canadian band For Esmé addresses self-love in their newest track “Modern Love” off 2018’s Righteous Woman.
“I was looking for somebody / to figure me out and come to love me / like I was wanting / I was incomplete / like winning love would justify me,” front-woman Martha Meredith sings into her bathroom mirror. The video for “Modern Love” features a variety of actors dancing, singing, screaming this reminder into the glass: “To make your own damn bed / sleep in it / cause you are the one who’s got to live with it.” It’s an anthem of self-acceptance, a tried and true reminder that ultimately you have to fall in love with yourself before you can receive love from anyone else. “Modern Love” is the Folger’s coffee of music; from the starting beat, it’ll be the best part of your morning playlist. Skip the mirror, grab a cup, and fall into step.
Watch “Modern Love” and read our full interview with Martha Meredith below:
AF: You’re from Toronto. Can you give us an idea of the music scene where you grew up?
Martha Meredith: I actually grew up on a farm near Peterborough, which is North East of Toronto. There was no ‘scene’ per say, so I was always making mix tapes and homemade music videos (lots of choreographed dances), playing piano and singing in choirs and plays as a kid. Later, as an emo teen, I’d mostly venture to Toronto to catch shows. I joke about Peterborough because it’s such a small town, but it actually has a wonderful creative scene that I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. So many of my creative peers in Toronto right now have a connection to or grew up in Peterborough that people joke that there must be something in the water.
AF: Do you remember the first song you wrote? What was it about?
MM: Ugh I hate this question because the answer is so embarrassing! The first significant song I ever remember writing was about a boy I was having a fling with at the boys summer camp I worked at in high school. We were essentially the least compatible duo imaginable, but at the time I took our inability to have a normal conversation as having a deeper romantic meaning. I wrote this song that, though is so cheesy to me now, really resonated with all my women friends that worked there with me at the time, and I was pretty proud of it. It was about overthinking what to say to someone you like and just being so awkward. My friends advised me that it was really good and I should perform it at the camp coffee house, because no one would know who it was about. That was some of the worst advice I’ve ever been given. I did perform it, and everyone knew exactly who it was about and I’ve honestly never lived it down.
To give you an idea, the chorus included: “I talk to you more in my head than for real, and all I want to know is how you feel.” YIKES! But, it was catchy and the feeling of satisfaction that I felt for making it was addictive, so I kept writing. Luckily, I’ve improved.
AF: Tell us about the writing process for Righteous Woman. Did you know the themes you wanted to tackle on this album early on?
MM: I have always been interested in songs that resonate on a psychological or existential level, and I’d started to experiment with some of that on my last record Sugar. My favorite songs critiqued societal structure or my role in it, and I wanted to narrow that focus in for Righteous Woman. I’ve always identified as a feminist, but in writing Righteous Woman I spent more time interrogating my internalized misogyny and some of the toxic ideas that I have either learned or been exposed to. I was deep into work on myself in psychotherapy when I started the record, and really staring down some of my unhealthy notions about womanhood, about myself. Generally I was feeling pretty angry about the expectations and double standards I felt were placed on me and women in general while simultaneously trying to really unpack my own privilege – a learning curve I’m still climbing. The title came later, when I realized there was a solid thread weaving through the record, of trying to cultivate authenticity and self respect. Of knowing when to speak up to stand up for yourself, and when to shut up to hold or make space for others.
AF: “Modern Love” was inspired in part by Joan Didion’s essay “On Self Respect”. Can you walk us through the writing process? Did you start with a line from the essay? Was the music already written?
MM: “Modern Love” started after I got engaged to my now husband and I was feeling uncomfortable with the reaction I felt I was getting from many people (especially women) like I had accomplished my ultimate goal in having secured a husband. This irked me significantly and as I started to interrogate that feeling I realized that my younger self had often defined herself by her relationships to and ability to attract men. Something about that caused me to revisit “On Self Respect” which is an essay I’ve always loved. It is like a signpost to reread to get back on track; for me it works every time. I wanted to write something that had the same ability to remind me to take full responsibility for myself, to forgive myself, to be true to my own character. I embrace the current ideology of self-love in theory, but struggle against it often internally. It always feels like a push and pull. Self Respect is different – there’s no discomfort for me about wanting to cultivate that.
AF: On Facebook, you had this to say about writing “To Hate“:
“I remember at the time feeling frustrated and helpless about the treatment of indigenous peoples in Canada, about the murder of black people at the hands of police in the US, about the seeming impossibility of bringing abusers to justice…. The list of things eroding my hope about society has since stretched much longer. It’s soul crushing. But that is the root of this song. I can’t become apathetic to what’s going on, as helpless as I often feel, and I need to remind myself all the time to find more hope amidst all my cynicism and rage. I have to stay vigilant, informed and keep fighting hate in every way I can, using the privilege and shelter from injustice that I do have to help make the world better.”
This echoes the thoughts of a lot of people right now. How do you make it a point to address these issues in your art, while also keeping yourself fresh, focused, and not totally depressed?
MM: I honestly really struggle with that. I’ve read the research confirming indefinitely how unhealthy it is to be on social media all the time, but I also learn so much there. Twitter for example has allowed me to engage with communities that I didn’t have a direct connection to before (shout out to #nativetwitter for the memes but also the labor of helping educate white settlers like myself about the realities and deep problems in this country we live in, as one example). That has helped me hugely broaden the range of perspectives through which I think about the world. It is also the fastest place to find out what is going on. Like so many women, it was impossibly hard to pull myself away from the Kavanaugh stuff this week because it fills me with so much rage. I wanted to be on the front lines, but I was also playing shows, attending a conference and sick, so I had to take care of myself.
I’m in this constant battle between tuning in and tuning out. I know how it affects my mental health, but I’m simultaneously so outraged with the state of the world and how sincerely fucked up things are that I need to feel really engaged as a citizen. Being a citizen in our globalized era is such an overwhelming task! It’s so vast. The levels of corruption, misinformation, and lack of empathy – it’s all so heavy. I’m trying to learn balance: making space for engagement, activism, debate, etc, while also making space for myself, for peace, for art, and for forgiving myself for not having all the answers. The best tool I’ve found over the past couple of years, as obvious as it sounds, is to make more room for gratitude. Taking time in a day to write down what you love and are grateful for can really give you strength to face the things that make you angry, complicit, or sad.
AF: What Toronto artists should we be spinning right now?
MM: I just got home from Pop Montreal and really enjoyed seeing both Fleece and Jaunt’s sets there – both great Toronto bands! Anyone who knows me knows I’m obsessed with The Highest Order, they’re my #1. Recently I had the pleasure of catching Loom at Venus Fest and Brooke’s songs have been on repeat for soothing my soul ever since. Another artist I am really into right now is Leanne Betasamosake Simpson. She’s a brilliant author, songwriter and poet doing really important work in Canada right now. I am currently reading her book As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom Through Radical Resistance and learning a LOT, and I like to listen to her music too. Check out her song “Under Your Always Light.”
MM: I used to do ballet, modern, jazz, hip hop, all of it, and I still find moving to music continues to be one of the best ways to center myself and express really freely. I’ve been renting a dance studio sometimes lately just to move. It makes me feel really in touch with myself and brings me a lot of joy.
AF: I’ve just stumbled upon a For Esmé show. What can I expect?
MM: A good time! Lots of dancing, some high energy theatrics, and really excellent players. I am so happy with my band right now – it’s a real pleasure playing with Charles Tilden, Karrie Douglas, Lewis Parker and Liam Cole. The energy is huge! Together we’ve taken these electronic songs and extended and experimented with them to get a really fluid, dynamic set. I think the songs are the most compelling when you hear them live.
For Esme’s Righteous Woman is out now. Want to see the band live? Check out their tour dates below!
UPCOMING SHOWS:
OCT 12 – GUELPH – HOLY SMOKES FEST @ THE COMMON
OCT 14 – WINDSOR – PHOG LOUNGE
OCT 22 – QUEBEC CITY – L’ANTI
OCT 24 – OTTAWA – PRESSED CAFE
OCT 26 – TORONTO – MONARCH TAVERN – TICKETS
OCT 31 – PETERBOROUGH – THE GORDON BEST
NOV 1 – KINGSTON – CLARK HALL PUB
Punk is a loaded word. It’s been ascribed to popular artists as diverse as New Found Glory, Green Day, and Patti Smith. Graham Caldwell makes music as Billy Moon that expands beyond the label, gifting listeners with a tonally diverse album made for a record player’s full turns.
Punk Songs, Caldwell’s debut LP, contains traces of melancholy wall-of-sound amplitude (see “Big Black Hole”) and mile-a-minute shout-singing (“Dingus”) reminiscent of Parquet Courts. But there are also moments atypical to traditional punk, like the sax solo on “Tangerine Dream,” a make-out anthem that borrows more from Nirvana lyrics than it does from Kosmische music.
We sat down with Caldwell and talked childhood piano lessons, how a riff becomes a song, and his take on the tenuous relationship between drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.
Listen to “Tangerine Dream” from Punk Songs below:
BM: Honestly, my Dad was really musical but he always felt pressured by his parents to do piano, which was this big point of contention between them. Being that he didn’t want to pressure his own kids the same way, it was my Mom who had set up piano lessons for us. So my Dad was the more musical one, but it was my Mom who set them up. It wasn’t until fourth grade that I started learning guitar – I think I just wanted to start playing a cooler instrument.
AF: What instrument did you write your first songs on? Was piano more by the book?
BM: Yeah, I didn’t know how to write anything myself on piano. I only learned what I had in front of me. It wasn’t until I played guitar that I started writing my own songs.
AF: What were those first songs like? Were they in the punk genre?
BM: The first one was like… four notes. I can still remember it. I was ten. Yeah, that was when I decided I wanted to be punk. Then I really got into the whole ’00s indie phase, so I started writing that kind of stuff.
AF: You started Billy Moon in Hamilton, Ontario. What’s the music scene like there?
BM: Hamilton is a steel town, so maybe it’s comparable to a place like Pittsburgh. I think of it as Canada’s answer to Buffalo, NY. It’s a town that many people in the surrounding area are quick to shit on, but locals have an incredible amount of hometown pride, which is cool. Being a working class city, Hamilton’s main point of pride in history was probably Teenage Head, who were a really great rockabilly style punk act in the ’80s. Currently, this band called The Arkells are the main ambassadors of the city. They’re fairly successful in Canada and recently played a stadium-sized show in Hamilton so I’d say when a lot of people hear Hamilton, they’re one of the things that comes to mind.
The thing about Hamilton is that there was decent music there when I was in University and it was very quickly getting hailed as this hot new scene where all this cool shit was happening. This got all these developers to come in and start buying up property and jacking up the rent, so in a matter of years the “hot new scene” cooled off really fast. More people are moving there because it’s still fairly cheap, but these are people who are buying houses, not necessarily renting.
Holy fuck, my friend just told me Mac Miller died.
AF: WHAT? Oh my goodness… just googled. Holy shit. Have you noticed more drug use in your own scene? I’m a festival goer, so I’m not sure if I can tell.
BM: Look. Fuck that shit. I have friends who do a fuckload of coke and it’s just so normal. And the thing that I hate about cocaine is that it’s the most boring fucking drug there is. That’s it? Really? You just want to talk really fast about how comfortable your jeans are? That’s your drug of choice? People are starting to know people who [accidentally] OD on [coke cut with] fentanyl and they still do coke regularly. I honestly fucking hate it.
And I’m not straight edge by any means, but I’m really not a “drug guy.” I’ve been in at least one sketchy situation where I eventually learned what the meaning of “risk” is, and when I see people continuing to use drugs like that, I feel like they’re just putting themselves in situations where they could die. I have been to four funerals this past year and the one thing you don’t forget is the permanence of death. People don’t fucking get it until it happens to them. We’re so used to living lives that are based around change that we don’t understand what it means to have something happen that can’t change. Where something stops. Where you have to say “that was the last time.”
So people continue to use and take these unnecessary risks. I don’t want to criticize people with addiction problems, but I do feel like there are others who don’t need to do any of this shit and still do because they don’t realize the danger and the consequences.
AF: Do you feel like certain kinds of music romanticize drugs too much? Normalize it to an extreme?
BM: Well here’s the thing about music: musicians that perform songs about using are singing about a fantasy life that part of us wishes we could live. It makes us feel dangerous and powerful so we like that. I loved FIDLAR’s first record but I’m not a heroin addicted skate-rat. I just wish I could be for three-minute chunks of time.
I read somewhere that we want our idols to live the lives we wish we could live, and I think that’s incredibly true. However, I think it’s this double-edged sword of how we want these people to live out our own power fantasies, while taking responsibility for their power isn’t a part of that. It should be, but it ruins the point of it all.
We want to have Lil Pump’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude so we idolize it, but he’s not going to say to himself: “Oh shit, I should tell people to not abuse prescription painkillers and stay in school.”
AF: Ha! Yeah it would ruin the fun for sure.
BM: It’s just frustrating and sad. The worst part about the “positivity” wave in music was that it gave people this sense of “I’m all about positivity” but does not hold them accountable to anything. It doesn’t even tell people how to vote – as if worker’s rights and environmental protections are just irrelevant as long as you “emit positivity.”
AF: Do you feel a responsibility as an artist to remain current in terms of subject matter? To tackle global warming or workers rights in your own music? Or is it something you speak out on more in your personal life?
BM: I mean, I’m trying to figure out how to ride that line because I’m not Anti-Flag or Rage. There’s lot’s of examples of how music I love touches on important issues. Given the political body that I currently live in (white, cis, male) I get a little nervous speaking on issues that don’t affect me directly, but I still feel that they’re important to speak on. At this point, it’s more just my personal life, but I’m still… sort of in a bubble… being in a rural area 20 minutes away from everything. I don’t run into a lot of political debate out here.
AF:“Play a riff over and over and over again until you’re bored with it, then write another riff and make a song with it before you get bored with that one too”. That’s songwriting as you’ve previously described it. Is that still how you approach the writing process? It starts with a riff?
BM: Yeah… or an idea… a line… a melody. Then I’ll just build the whole song around that. I wrote “Dingus” because I wanted to write a song called “Dingus.” Sometimes it’s just that. I have one that I want to put out in the future called “One Of Us Is Definitely Wrong (And It’s Probably Me).”
AF: “Bedroom” opens the new album and makes a powerful statement that seems to be in reaction to our current dependency on technology. Why did you want to open the record with this: “Do you remember boredom? And the freedom that came with it? We wanted freedom from desires and they just gave us more desires. Constantly carrying an unquenchable thirst. I once filled up notebooks, I had no surface to scroll through.”
BM: There’s a Pete Holmes joke where he talks about Facebook and he says: “What was I doing? Was I shilling wheat?” I was writing. I was writing, drawing, playing guitar, all that shit. It’s like, now they have classes after school because kids don’t know how to do imaginative play anymore. Klosterman had a line where he said “Kids play on computers and it makes them think like computers.” Kids are now learning that in order to be famous or creative you have to be a fucking YouTube star who douses themselves in Nutella because that’s funny for some reason.
Don’t get me wrong – I know that’s not every kid, and it’s… what… generational cycnicism? to say the one that came after you is worse than yours, but I still feel like kids may be given these powerful creation tools with their phones, but it’s causing them to create within those contexts. I’m just a few steps away from being a cynical Gen Xer trying to tell kids how great Sebadoh were.
AF: You worked with animator Tru Dee on the music video for “DWTBA”. The video feels almost like a trippy D.A.R.E. commercial, with The Namma, an innocent fuzzball being influenced by his demonic skeletal friends. Can you tell us more about the video?
BM: I randomly met Tru in Toronto and then a friend recommended that I talk to her to do an animated video. I just wanted to juxtapose the two styles together. Kind of like Jeff Smith’s Bone. That’s really all it was. She does fantastic work and I was just happy that she was into the project. I just wanted the Namma looking cute and throw some “traditional rock’n’roll” images in there too. The Satanic scene came out at the end which I thought looked great.
CBC (Canada’s publicly subsidized broadcaster) has a podcast about a woman escaping NXIVM which is terrifying and insane. I think cult leaders are really just fulfilling a deeply complicated sexual fantasy.
AF: What music do you have on rotation right now? Any new tunes we should check out?
BM: I’m gonna check out the new IDLES. Jonathan Richman is great. U.S. Girls, the new Ezra Furman is great. Oh and I started listening to a bunch of The Coup after watching Sorry To Bother You.
AF: You’ll be doing a U.S. Tour this fall to support the album. What do you want an audience member to take away from a Billy Moon show? Is there a specific feeling or message you try to convey in a live setting?
BM: Just come to the show with a bunch of money and spend it all on merch! I really hope people will feel happy and confident with themselves after seeing it, I hope that it can be inspiring to others. A little glimmer of happiness in a dark confusing world.
Billy Moon’s debut LP Punk Songs will be released September 14th via Old Flame Records.
Four-piece ensemble DeVotchKa returned to a packed house topremiere a handful of new songs at their album release show at Rough Trade. I found myself surrounded by fans of all ages in the dimly lit venue, though not too dark to notice a few people around me clad in the band’s tees. Chatter of the new record was alive as we anticipated DeVotchKa, who took the stage twenty minutes late.
“We are gathered here today to celebrate the release of our new album,” preaches lead singer Nick Urata, met with cheers from his congregation. “It was a long and difficult birth, but we’ve arrived.”
DeVotchKa are perhaps best known for their work in film scoring, most notably the Grammy-nominated soundtrack for 2006’s Little Miss Sunshine. Seven years since their last studio release is a long and difficult birth indeed, but new record The Night Falls Forever does not disappoint, at least not live.
Tom Hagerman on violin.
The band kept to a high energy setlist. Setting off a string of new tracks was “Straight Shot,” the lead single from the new record. Charmingly cozy while still anthemic, I had fallen in love with the lyric video for this track prior to the show but it doesn’t compare to hearing it live. Urata’s vocals carry over an animated, optimistic beat that had a couple salsa dancing right next to me in the limited space there was, others even taking a step back to give them more room. It’s a small sentiment that characterizes this room of DeVotchKa fans: cheerful, untroubled, and ready to welcome you with open arms.
It’s fun to hear a new record live prior to its release, given that I wasn’t familiar with any new singles other than “Straight Shot.” A track called “Break Up Song” slowed things down, but not at the loss of their momentum. Another stand out is “Empty Vessels” an uplifting anthem that exhibits what DeVotchKa do best.
Nick Urata and Jeanie Schroder.
During his opening set, solo singer-songwriter IRO stated, “There are so many instruments on this stage right now, I feel lonely.” There was no doubt that DeVotchKa would make use of them all, but watching them in action was really something else. “Let’s bring out another horn!” shouted Urata, before welcoming trumpeter Kenny Warren, who has also performed with the likes of Spoon and The Walkmen, on stage.
Jazz saxophonist and flautist Jessica Lurie also joined the band for a handful of songs. Jeanie Schroder had blue lights drawing eyes to her sousaphone, but portrayed her skills on upright and electric bass, as well as the flute (“How many shows do you get to see two flautists?” asks Urata, and I realize this is probably the only time I’ll ever experience that.) Tom Hagerman exercised his talents on accordion, violin, and piano. Urata, too, swapped instruments during the set, from guitar to theremin, even bringing out a bouzouki for the latter half. None of this outshone Shawn King’s resonant polka-like percussion. They chose to play with isolation of sound on both sides of the room, making the audience feel enveloped by sound.
Older tracks like “100 Other Lovers” still had the same life years later. After that song, I overheard the guy behind me tell his friends, “You know what? Holy shit! I knew this song, a couple of songs, whatever, but holy shit, they’re really fucking good.”
Of course, the night was not complete without an encore: a solemn, yet rhapsodic rendition of their famed track “How It Ends.” Most of the crowd didn’t miss a single word, and seeing the immaculate joy on the bands’ faces show that they’re happier than ever to be back doing what they love.
I first saw Diana Kinscherf slamming the kit during an excellent set backing Hamish Kilgour of The Clean at The Glove in Brooklyn. The next time I saw her play live was in Manhattan at Pianos when she made an awesome impromptu appearance in Nick Rogers’ (of Holy Tunics) solo set. Before meeting Diana, I had also heard some recordings of her both playing and experimenting on the kit with fellow musicians. I was impressed by the force behind her drumming and her ability to jump on the kit at any moment alongside any other instrument – whether it was guitar, saxophone, vocals, or otherwise – and immediately find a compatible and consistent beat for the song. When I got to know Diana on a personal level, I was introduced to her wicked sense of humor and we bonded over our mutual love of music and animals (specifically cats). I learned that Diana was not only a fellow cat lady but a regular volunteer at animal shelters.
Diana moved in with some friends of mine and the first time I paid them a visit with their new resident, I almost accidentally sat on a an enormous and friendly brown tabby smush sitting on an antique chair. His name was Toki, and he was happy to let me stroke and hug him (but he clearly wasn’t going to give up “his” chair). Just when I thought I was going to die of a cuteness overload, another equally adorable and giant feline came slowly crawling down the stairs. It was Scrambles with her chubby orange belly charmingly draping through the gaps in the staircase. I could tell the entire household was smitten with these two kitties, and I could understand why!
AF: Please introduce your furry friends!
DK: Meet Scrambles and Toki – both nine year old rescues! Five month old Toki arrived first from a litter of kittens being fostered at a Bayside, Queens vets office, and a few months later Scrambles came to me via a friend who took her in from the street in Bed Stuy but couldn’t keep her. They became best buds immediately!
Toki and Scrambles have very strong personalities. Toki is well known for his forward friendliness and his love of being handled – he’s a giant baby that loves to be held! Any attention is good attention for Toki. Scrambles has a more introverted personality, but still loves attention… though she is less forward than Toki, she WILL (vocally) let you know when she wants something!
AF: You volunteer at animal shelters. Can you recommend any for those looking to adopt a new fuzz love?
DK: I’ve volunteered and worked for BARC (Brooklyn Animal Resource Coalition), an independently run no-kill animal shelter in Williamsburg. I’d volunteer to walk dogs and worked with cats. I’d definitely recommend adopting from BARC, [/fusion_builder_column][fusion_builder_column type=”1_1″ background_position=”left top” background_color=”” border_size=”” border_color=”” border_style=”solid” spacing=”yes” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” padding=”” margin_top=”0px” margin_bottom=”0px” class=”” id=”” animation_type=”” animation_speed=”0.3″ animation_direction=”left” hide_on_mobile=”no” center_content=”no” min_height=”none”][or] another no-kill shelter, like Sean Casey in Park Slope. I’m a strong supporter of “adopt, don’t shop” so any animal shelter is a great place to save a life! No-kill shelters are a great to support in general, as vetting and animal care is costly and if you can’t adopt, shelters always appreciate a donation!
Diana cuddling up with Toki & Scrambles
AF: When did you move to NYC, and where did you grow up?
DK: I was born in and raised in Queens; my high school was in Manhattan so I spent a lot of time hanging out on St. Mark’s Place, spinning the cube on Astor Place and haunting the local record stores (I later ended up working at one of them, Kim’s).
Diana playing with Hamish Kilgour at the record store she currently works at: Earwax in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
AF: When did you start drumming, and can you remember the moment you decided to hit the kit?
DK: I wanted to play drums most of my life, but I didn’t give it a solid start til around early 2012 – I began playing small gigs with anyone who’d let me play with them almost immediately after. I began lessons around that time from a friend (Michael Evans – an excellent and versatile drummer) and Oneida’s Kid Millions. Kid’s best advice to me as a beginner was “Don’t wait until you’re ready – get out there and play!” This resulted in a few shaky first shows, but you gotta start somewhere!
Diana playing with Loop Diary for their “Sun Ra Remix” cassette release for Personal Affair at The Glove this past October. Photo credit: Ben Jaffe.
AF: Can you give us a rundown of all the projects you are in now?
DK: I’d say my current main projects are Giggle The Ozone, The Unnamed (we’re working on a name!) a trio with organ, drums, and bass/guitar (we haven’t played out just yet, but hoping to play soon), and occasional backing for Hamish Kilgour (The Clean) in his solo sets.
Flyer for a Hamish Kilgour show Diana played this past November featuring art and design by Diana.Diana playing with Hamish Kilgour at Secret Project Robot last August. Photo Credit: Jordan Bell.
AF: What was your first band? How many bands have you played with since you started drumming?
DK: My first band was duo (sometimes trio) Pulcinella, with largely improvised sets. One of my first on-stage performances was playing with several other drummers for Man Forever at Death By Audio for Thrill Jockey’s 20th anniversary show. Since then, I’ve also played with one-off projects or as fill-in in Caring Foxen, Straw Pipes, electronic dubbers Loop Diary, Brooklyn theatrical noise band BBW, with Sugar Life at the kit for half of one show (that was unplanned but exciting!) and a couple of jams with Eighty Pound Pug. There’s probably more, as I rarely turn down a gig when offered!
Diana playing a Bushwick Rooftop with Giggle The Ozone in September 2016. “Not a doom metal band, contrary to the aesthetic” says Diana. Photographer unknown.
AF: Who was your first pet? How many have you had over the course of your life?
DK: My first pet was technically a budgie named Genaro, but I was like 3 years old and barely remember him. Genaro went to a relative as at five my family adopted a pair of kittens from North Shore Animal League in Long Island; Louie and Ricky were my best remembered childhood pets. I was very close with Louie and he made it to almost 20 years old! We also had two dogs, two iguanas, and two garter snakes (although reptile expert Ben Jaffe told me they were probably ribbon snakes) in my childhood household in the course of about 15 years. There was a fish tank at some point, too. Later on, I had adopted an older adult cat (also from North Shore Animal League) who I’d only gotten to know for a year, as he passed away shortly after I’d adopted him. As sad as it was to have such a short time with him, it’s beautiful to let an older animal be able to live out their last days in a loving home rather than at the shelter.
Young Diana with her First Major Fur Love: Louie.
AF: What was it that drew you to your current kitties? Did you choose them, or did they choose you?
DK: Although Toki and Scrambles are both rescues, there was not a lot of choice involved! Toki was one of many near identical tabbies in a litter, and the vet opened the cage and told me “Have a look!” All the kittens scattered out of the cage except for one that preferred to stay put and continue eating. I picked him up to look at him, and he immediately kissed me on the nose! There was no decision to be made, I was taking this little guy!
Toki and Diana snuggling up
Scrambles’ adorable face was on a flyer in the window of the shop next door to my workplace at the time I was looking for a buddy for Toki with the words “FREE KITTY” – excellent timing, I needed a free kitty! As previously mentioned, Scrambles was found on the street and taken in by someone who wasn’t able to keep her… I remember going to Bed Stuy with my empty kitty carrier at night to get her, not knowing what this cat would be like; I heard her loud meows before I even saw her when we got to the door. Scrambles was a little aloof the first few years, but is now my best (fuzzy) friend and incredibly close to me!
AF: You are now working with GP Stripes. I loved your recent flyer for their Northside showcases! What would you say your role in this label is and how did you begin working with them?
DK: My involvement with GP Stripes is kind of a “right place at the right time” sort of deal… I had just left a less than great living situation and moved in with friends… so my part in GP Stripes snuck up on me! I’ve been able to get a bunch of GP tapes into a couple of the shops I work at and online, and have assisted in organizing a couple of shows. Of course there’s always the actual tape production that always needs a few hands on board; dubbing tapes, cutting J-cards, packing tapes… QUALITY CONTROL! Toki has been glad to “help” too!
Toki testing out a GP Stripes cassetteToki “helping” Ben Jaffe fold some Holy Tunics shirts
I guess my role in GP Stripes aside from production of the tapes is distribution – the tapes are in a few shops in NYC and in the works for being stocked in some stores in Tokyo – a few are on their way to Dunedin, NZ as well! Psyched you liked the flyer btw! It’s one of my favorite things I’ve done recently.
The GP Stripes Northside 2018 Flyer by Diana Kinscherf
AF: If Toki and Scrambles started a band, who would be the drummer?
DK: Scrambles would definitely be the drummer; I’ve caught her tapping her tail to the rhythm of music I play at the apartment! She’d be a singing drummer… Scrambles loves stoner metal!
Scrambles rocking out on keys
AF: What instrument would Toki play?
DK: I could see Toki potentially play keyboard, but Toki appears to be indifferent/dislike music, so maybe he’s more of a fan of John Cage’s 4’33”?
Toki not giving any fvx about jamming
AF: What are your pets’ favorite human foods?
DK: They don’t have any real interest in human food (I’m not upset about that!). Toki will want a bite of cheeseburger here and there, but Toki’s interest in food instantly declines as soon as I try to give him any.
AF: How do Toki and Scrambles influence your creative side?
DK: I’d say they’re very supportive of me; when I work on flyers or any design stuff, I’m often up at all hours of the night (apparently the only time these things get done). Scrambles will sit and sleep by my side as I work – Toki may try to sit ON my work!
AF: Can you share a funny memory you have with your cats?
DK: Scrambles enjoys licking my high hat stand (for reasons unknown). There’s a whole video of this, but a picture will have to do for now …
Scrambles also has an owl beanie that she loves – she stole it from me and I just couldn’t take it away from her! It looks suspiciously like her…she’s thrown it at me (only when I’m not looking) with incredible force!
Scrambles relaxing with her Owl
Toki never has a dull moment – he’s very possessive of a particular chair and will try to push whoever’s sitting in it off. And Toki doesn’t actually “meow” or make normal cat sounds. He makes a sound that can best be described as “MAGUB.” I found out about this when Ben insisted Toki was saying “magub” and I thought he was messing with me. Soon after, everyone else in the apartment has heard “magub” and I have no idea what they’re talking about until Ben records Toki making his notorious “MAGUB” noises – my best guess is that’s what Toki calls everyone that’s not me!
AF: Where and when I could see can we catch your next set?
From Diana’s most recent set with Hamish Kilgour at The Glove this month. Photo Credit: Anthony Procaccino.
DK: My last set was backing Hamish Kilgour at The Glove July 15th. I love playing with Hamish – we rarely (if ever) rehearse, and the cast of characters is subject to change from gig to gig when I play with him… the set tends to be a mix of Hamish’s solo compositions, songs by the Mad Scene, and sometimes a Clean song here and there. Hamish is one of the handful of people I can play with intuitively, so there’s never much of a struggle to “find the groove” in our set. As Hamish is a drummer himself, his rhythmic guitar style allows me to change between a motorik drive to a painterly, less pulse-based sound. Violinist Marija Kovacevic and tenor saxophonist Greg Vegas joined us for the show Sunday night at The Glove; both Marija and Greg are fun to play with as well as they both have a good sense of space and dynamics during the semi-improvised set. The four of us have played together before – it’s always exciting to see what direction we’ll take!
The Glove. July 15th, 2018. Photo Credit: Anthony Procaccino.
I was delighted to have many people tell me after we played Sunday night how much they loved our set! That’s always a good feeling, when audience members give you that positive feedback. sometimes I’ll get on stage and behind the kit super last minute – you never know where I’ll pop up!
Diana backing Hamish Kilgour at Earwax Records in November 2015. Photo Credit: Alessandra Maria Iavarone.[/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
Gabrielle Marlena is young and earnest, character traits that describe many NYC transplants. Her second EP explores love in, around, and for the city. Brooklyn in particular is a character in Marlena’s music, the new boyfriend who remains steady, unlike the ones who often disappoint.
“Easier Love” is the title track and first single off Marlena’s follow-up to last year’s debut Good Music for You. On first listen, the catchy refrain brings to mind pop singer-songwriters like Ingrid Michaelson and Sara Bareilles: “It’s ok that you’ve found an easier love / and it’s ok that you didn’t try hard enough / and I will learn what I’m really made of.” Marlena’s voice stands out from the pack with its gritty underbelly, a throaty warmth that comes off as genuinely road-weary. In the video, Marlena scrolls through photos, texts, memories of her ex, as time speeds up all around her; the ache is there and so is the motivation to move on.
We caught up with Gabrielle to talk classical music, the Montreal folk scene, and what Brooklyn hotspot is her #goals performance space.
Watch “Easier Love” below:
AF: As a girl, you studied the clarinet and classical piano, as well as the glockenspiel. Not gonna lie: I had to look up what a glockenspiel was. What drew you initially to classical music?
GM: Wow… I’m trying to remember. I totally wasn’t drawn into it! I think it felt like the standard for my parents to provide their children with well-rounded educations that involved trying a little bit of everything. I definitely preferred music class in school over sports, so we started with piano lessons. I think the only reason I chose clarinet for the elementary school band was because my older brother played it! And for the glockenspiel… I think it was seriously only because my middle school band instructor needed a player, and I was the only one who was willing and able.
AF: You moved to Montreal to study Economics, but ended up getting involved in the electronic scene there. Draw the lines for us. How did that happen?
GM: The phrase “moved to Montreal to study economics” is weird to me actually (even though I’ve probably said that before). I moved to Montreal because it was MONTREAL. College was sort of my excuse to try out that amazing city, and I chose economics because for some weird reason I was really good at it. It wasn’t at all what I was really interested in, so I gravitated toward the music scene in Montreal. I actually wasn’t so much involved in the electronic scene as much as the folk scene. I definitely enjoyed the electronic scene (Montreal has a lot to offer in that arena), but in terms of involvement, the hippie folk circles in apartment basements were more my thing.
AF: I was about to ask what the folk scene in Montreal looked like… Is it all coffee and apartments and friendly Canadians?
GM: My second year of college, I started performing at this place called the Yellow Door Coffeehouse right near my apartment. It was sort of like a local YMCA type thing; they had these open mic nights where they had self serve tea and coffee in the basement of an old apartment building (obviously pay by donation). There would be a featured performer every night who played a full set, and a hat was passed around at the end for tips (there were banjos and it was weird and awesome and I felt right at home).
AF: Brooklyn is your home base now. I love the line from “Sorry I Ever Fucked You” that talks about using the G train as an excuse. Highly relatable content from a former Bushwick girl’s perspective.
GM: Lol. 2% of the time when that guy actually agreed to come to my apartment, it would feel like he was crossing oceans to see me and I would get all giddy.
AF: Taking the G train is a kind of dedication. Has the landscape of the city affected you musically?
GM: Well I think there is a very unique New York culture. Everyone is working so hard all the time, and anyone who’s lived here knows that it’s easy to feel lonely even with a million people around you. FOMO is a serious issue and feelings of loneliness often creep into my writing (or they’re actually the main subject sometimes). NYC makes you reflect a lot. At least once a week, I need to step back and be like “I can’t believe I live here!” It makes you think about life a lot and what could be elsewhere, and that makes for good writing material.
My newest EP is actually about emotions I was experiencing while I was out of New York on tour. When I had even more time to reflect on what my life in NYC looked like compared to what it could be like in a million other places. Tour made me feel very grateful to live in Brooklyn actually, and I was inspired to turn all my thoughts into songs when I got back.
AF: Absence makes the heart grow fonder?
GM: Yes!
AF: You’ve spoken glowingly about working with producer Katie Buchanan. Can you give us a glimpse into the production process?
GM: I honestly can’t imagine working with anyone else at this point. I’m stuck. Any other studio wouldn’t have enough tea. No, really, her studio is in her apartment and it’s awesome. The way our production process has worked is: I send her demos, we get together, talk about my vision and hers (most of the time we agree and feed off of each other’s ideas); then we start tracking the basic instrumentation. The sound will evolve bit by bit. Sometimes we will start by tracking a guitar part that I used to write the song… and then that guitar part doesn’t even make it onto the record, so it’s very piecemeal. Also, I want to say I am very grateful to have found a female producer and I’m never going back!!!
AF: I’ve also been digging the accompanying artwork by Sarah Myers. How did ya’ll come to collaborate?
GM: Sarah is soooo talented. We met at an art fair in Brooklyn where I was singing and she was selling her work. Turns out she is also an awesome violinist so we jammed a bit and she played a few house concerts with me. Our musical collab kind of faded (maybe we should get back into it!) but I’m forever a fan of her art. I saw one of her “shadowboxes” that she posted on Instagram and thought “I need that of me and it needs to be my album artwork!” Ended up choosing a portrait taken on an iPhone (lol) but her artwork has been totally amazing to have on merch.
AF: Tell us a bit about the video for “Easier Love.” It has a lovely, melancholy feel to it.
GM: Shooting this video was a totally new experience for me; it’s all filmed in one shot, so we had to do it like 30 times. My initial idea for the video was pretty different from how it turned out, but I’m excited about how it evolved. My idea from the start was to somehow incorporate photos on an iPhone that matched with the lyrics of the song from the time that I wrote it. I had strong visual associations with the lines. It’s very literal. It tells a story, and I would be thinking of certain images in my head when I sang it so I wanted to bring that to life.
AF: What music do you have on rotation right now?
GM: Today I was listening to Yoke Lore, Glassio, and Soren Bryce (who I’m proud to call a friend). All Brooklyn based!
AF: Do you write music in solitude? Or are you someone writing down lyrics on the subway?
GM: Both! I write down lyrics on the subway all the time, but I would never write a song with my guitar if there are people in ear shot.
AF: Where do you see yourself performing in five years? What’s the dream venue?
AF: What’s the best advice you’ve ever been given (in regards to creating music)?
GM: Write about what you know.
Keep an ear out for Gabrielle Marlena’s debut EP Easier Love, set to release this month![/fusion_builder_column][/fusion_builder_row][/fusion_builder_container]
One of my favorite descriptions of summer, particularly its languid, melancholy months, comes from Don DeLillo’s first novel, Americana: “Summer unfolds slowly,” DeLillo writes, “a carpeted silence rolling out across expanding steel, and the days begin to rhyme, distance swelling with the bridges, heat bending the air, small breaks in the pavement, those days when nothing seems to live on the earth but butterflies, the tranquilized mantis, the spider scaling the length of the mudcaked broken rake inside the dark garage.”
This of course is not the summer of your childhood, spent racing to the river, camping out on the trampoline, and picking salmon berries in the woods. It’s a slower summer; the passage of time stifled by heat and concrete, and the knowledge that as an adult, the only distinguishing aspect of the season is its boiling sun and—if you’re lucky—an abbreviated Friday at the office. During these months I tend to favor tunes that match the heat in grime and delirium, rather than turn up to the tempo of summer jamz (who really needs to cue those up anyway, when they’re blaring from every idling car come August?). For me, summer is a season of slower music, mimicking the sluggish pace of trudging through the sweltering city, and dreaming of a place with more trees—or at least cheaper booze. For all the like-minded, hot weather sloths, here are five records to get lost in this summer.
Van Morrison, Astral Weeks, 1968
For me this record is synonymous with waking early up in a sun-filled room and shaping a slow and quiet day; making a pot of coffee, scrambling some eggs, and lazing about. Van Morrison’s 1968 freeform masterpiece blooms with verdant imagery so beautiful it is agonizing, and while I’ve probably listened to it in full more than any other record, its transportative nature always manages to take me to a place I’ve never been before. The meandering phrases of flute, saxophone, guitar, and bass make you feel like you’ve wandered an unknown region of the world without so much as stirring from your couch. Perfect for the days when it’s too hot to venture outside.
Astral Weeks feels as much a part of the sky as and stars as it does the earth. On its centerpiece “Cyprus Avenue,” spare bass roots the song into the dirt, while plinks of harpsichord and fluttering woodwind lift it skyward. It is an aching portrayal of love so painful that its narrator endures multiple bouts of complete paralysis: “And I’m conquered in a car seat/Not a thing that I can do,” Morrison sings. “Cyprus Avenue” is one of the most precise depictions of new love—something that summer can rot just as easily as ripen. The title track, which opens the eight-song cycle, is a (slightly) less heartbreaking soundscape, arranging strings, celestial flute, and brushes of guitar into a solar system of sound, at the center of which is Morrison’s voice, beaming like the sun.
Townes Van Zandt, Our Mother the Mountain, 1969
Maybe I’m so drawn to this record in the sunny months because that’s when it first came to me. Townes Van Zandt’s second album Our Mother the Mountain is filled with tales of gambling saints, witchy women, and enough booze to power a dam. Van Zandt’s lyrical mysticism made his songs sound as if they were born in an era when folklore was taken at face value—and yet his interpretation of country music was completely original. Perhaps he was so ahead of his time that he sounded ancient.
Our Mother dances between deep, undeniable melancholy, and slightly sad songs that merely sound chipper. Opening ditty “Be Here to Love Me,” falls into the latter category, in which a drunkard entreats his woman to stay. Van Zandt paints summertime depictions of a small town with his distinct twang: “The children are dancing, the gamblers are chancin’ their all/The window’s accusin’ the door of abusin’ the wall,” he drawls, depicting a bawdy saloon scene. Cowboy ballad “Like a Summer Thursday,” meanwhile, is a sombre tale of love lost, in which Van Zandt recounts the stunning traits of a long gone lady. “Her face was crystal, fair and fine,” he sings, before revealing her cold disposition. “If only she could feel my pain,” he continues. “But feeling is a burden she can’t sustain/So like a summer Thursday, I cry for rain/To come and turn the ground to green again.” It is one of the most aching summer love songs, Van Zandt blaming the heat as much as the heart for all of his grief. If anything, Townes Van Zandt might just be the best summer companion for the sweaty and miserable.
Smog, A River Ain’t Too Much to Love, 2005
Bill Callahan’s final offering under his Smog moniker turned out to be his masterpiece. A River Ain’t Too Much to Love is an hour of slow simmering folk songs brimming with naturalistic poetry. It’s hard not to associate this album with summertime, simply for the fact that its descriptions of woods and rivers and horses and valleys are so colorful and numerous. “Drinking at the Dam” recalls a particular kind of smalltown summer, where adults are absent and the brambles are the place to hang out and flip through “skin backs.” The sun is as much a part of this record as broken hearts and booze are to Our Mother the Mountain, and its rays fall upon rivers, bedrooms, and forests of pine, adding a waking melancholy to Callahan’s pensive lyrics. It is a record so stifled by heat, all there is to do within it is lie around and think. “It’s summer now, and it’s hot/And the sweat pours out,” Callahan sings on “Running the Loping.” “And the air is the same as my body/And I breathe my body inside out.” A River is replete with this kind of imagery, and that’s exactly what makes it a pleasant companion for the sweltering season.
Bob Dylan, Nashville Skyline, 1969
Along with Astral Weeks, I’ve listened to Dylan’s country delight Nashville Skyline so many times in my life, it automatically qualifies as a “Desert Island Disc,” god forbid I ever have to pack that suitcase. Aside from its beatific album cover, featuring Dylan tilting is hat like a southern gentleman against a blushing sunset, Nashville Skyline is bursting with the stuff of rural summer: Bluegrass fingerpicking, lazy lovers, and backwoods euphemisms involving every type of pie you can name. Opener “Girl From the North Country” (a duet with Johnny Cash that reimagines the original version from 1963’s The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan) features the lone mention of cold weather and winter coats before the record bursts into the jubilant guitar duel, “Nashville Skyline Rag.” This album is a lively companion for cooking summer meals and drinking beer on the front porch. Heck, it’s so homey and warm, it can even make you feel like you have a porch.
Amen Dunes, Freedom, 2018
Damon McMahon’s fifth studio album as Amen Dunes may have been released in the dead of winter, but the 11-song suite is radiant and lush—far more suited to aimless summer strolls than March hibernation. The entirety of Freedom is rendered with production details that place you seaside, on a boardwalk in shirt-wilting temperatures. The bright riffs of guitar, the breezy reverb, and McMahon’s languid delivery all move with the pace of light waves bending on hot air. While the previous albums I’ve mentioned might lend themselves best to lounging around light-filled rooms or dank taverns, Freedom begs you to walk around town and project its sun-faded imagery before you. Whether it’s the nostalgic twang of “Skipping School” or the beachy bent of “Miki Dora,” this is a record that can weave silvery summer blues into tapestries of hope.
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