Bartees Strange

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Bartees Strange On 'Live Forever' & Why "It Shouldn't Be Weird To See Black Rock Bands"

Speaking to GRAMMY.com, the D.C. songwriter and producer discusses his musical upbringing, his journey towards making 'Live Forever' and what he says to anyone who asks about his "genre-defying rock music"

Hannah Jocelyn

GRAMMYs

Sep 26, 2020 - 7:40 am

Bartees Strange is clearly a student of all things indie rock, and that was clear as soon as his introductory EP, the National covers project Say Goodbye To Pretty Boy. Inspired by a concert where he was one of the only Black audience members, he wanted to re-interpret their catalog and connect it to his own experience. While working on the project, he would slip in references to Bryce Dessner’s project Clogs or even other National songs he didn’t cover. A close listen to "Mr. November" reveals the chord progression of Sleep Well Beast highlight "I’ll Still Destroy You."

You just need to hear "Mustang" to understand how versatile Bartees Strange is, but also where his primary loves lie. "Mustang" started as a country song but evolved into something that takes inspiration from 2000s rock like the Walkmen’s "The Rat," while introducing unexpected time signature changes and glimmering synths. Then an unexpected hardcore breakdown at the end of the track hints at the chaos to come over the next half hour. Live Forever, his debut album releasing via Memory Music on Oct. 2, pulls together elements of country, rap, IDM and rock into something unlike any record out this year. Despite comparisons to TV on the Radio, his eccentric approach puts him just as much in line with iconoclasts like St. Lenox and Young Fathers.

The references to indie rock continue: "Mustang" quotes the Antlers' "Epilogue" ("you’re screaming and cursing")—but it’s more an album about Bartees’ personal journey. Growing up in Oklahoma, Bartees worked for non-profit organizations while moonlighting as a drummer in various bands. Second single "Boomer" documents the moment when he finally felt at home in Brooklyn, the title not referring to the oft-mocked generational term but a period of time Bartees felt like he was "booming." Other songs like "Mossblerd" directly address his status as a Black man operating in a space dominated by white men—that title is a combination of "Mossberg" and "blerd," itself a portmanteau of "black" and "nerd," over a heavily compressed noise collage. It’s fitting, because Live Forever is essentially a series of musical portmanteaus.

Speaking to GRAMMY.com over the phone, Bartees discusses his musical upbringing, his journey towards making Live Forever and his suspicion of labels.

How are you holding up? You just got a new job at a studio? And I remember hearing that you were working on a new record with Will Yip producing?

Will and I are talking about doing our next record together, and I'm going to pre-produce it in October and just see what I pull out. But I finished a bunch of it already, I’m just trying to see what the next one will be like. I'm excited about it. I just moved out of my old spot, which was my apartment. It’s been really cool to have bands reach out and want to work with me. I’ll be producing a bunch of bands and artists through the year while keeping up with my stuff. I always wanted to do this so I think it will be fun.

How did you discover music was a passion of yours?

I found music through my parents. My mom's a singer and my dad is a really avid music collector and like speakers and record players and he really liked that kind of stuff, even though he wasn’t a musical person. I got to hear a lot of interesting things that way, but my personal journey with music and being able to really seek it out and buy the things I want probably started when I was in middle school. I was one of the only Black people in my school where I was going. There were a bunch of people that were into heavier music, they were into Glassjaw and a bunch of Christian hardcore bands, all the Tooth & Nail bands and As Cities Burn. They also looked different, they were like a little bit more diverse [of a] crowd. And then all the white people looked really f**king weird and I felt like I could kind of slide into that crew and kinda be a little more anonymous. I was just kind of sick of sticking out all the time. But it was through that, that I found At The Drive In and a ton of other bands that really changed my life.

I read that your mother was a Jubilee singer. If at all, how does what your parents grew up listening to (and performing) inform the music you’re making now?

Legacy is something that weighs heavy on me. Like, I always grew up hearing about my mom singing when she was younger and all over North Carolina. Everyone knew my mother, and I would remember being a kid and every time we go home in North Carolina, I was listening to her sing in all these huge churches. As I got older, I learned more about my mom's side of the family, and all of these people who were tremendous singers and vocalists and guitar players and bass players, and all the way back as far as like anyone can think. And this is like Chitlin' Circuit, era, Black music in the South.

My first solo project I ever put out was a six-song folk album that was all about just connecting country music and blues and all of these like super Black sounds together. It's definitely in the backdrop of the music I make.

Before we get to the full-length, I want to ask about the National EP for a second, Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy. On "Lemonworld," you changed the line from "I was a comfortable kid" to "I'm an uncomfortable kid, but I don't think about it much anymore." Can you talk about that change and those kinds of easter eggs?

The EP is called Say Goodbye To Pretty Boy and in my theme of the record is like, I felt like I had always been precious in my previous life. Like before I really started taking music seriously, I was very precious. And I felt like I was trying to be this person that I really didn't like. And a lot of the record was about saying goodbye to that. It's like me sneaking in saying that I'm growing, I'm moving on, and I'm feeling better about who I am and I'm more comfortable now.

It's just fun songwriting to put your own kind of feel into it and to reference things. I always kind of think of it as like sending smoke signals up to people that I want to work with one day, like there's shit that I did in the National record purely because I wanted Aaron Dessner to hear it. I was like, “Yo Graham, we should do this, it's a Clogs reference." It's just nerdy shit that I enjoy. I guess subconsciously, I want people to catch t, but I don't plan for that, you know?

Have you thought about making a record with Aaron?

Oh, I'd love to. I mean, I just don't think Aaron has ever considered doing that with me. She probably would imagine he's pretty busy, but I would love to work with him.

Tell me about the timeline of recording and releasing Live Forever.

In December, 2018, I hit up [No Earbuds founder and indie publicist] Jamie Coletta and I was like, "Hey, I have this song, but I also am about to go and record an album. Would you be down to work with me? Like at all?" She was like, "I don't want to commit to the album, Let's just see how this single goes." And so we released that single ["In A Cab"] and then I went and recorded the album. I went for like almost two weeks in February and recorded 17 songs. And then me and Brian DiMeglio started mixing it right after that. And he and I shot a bunch of versions back and forth, like over the next month, probably a month and a half. And then we got it mastered by Jesse Cannon, who's in New York and he's a great engineer. It's a cool studio up there.

And then, I circled back up with Jamie and we were like, cool, we've got a record. Let's see if we can build a team around it and see if we can find the label. We shopped it for a long time and no one really was that into it, to be honest. Like, I think people thought it was cool, but maybe it just wasn't the right time or something. And then we just kept on going and we got some booking help and eventually like we got it to Will and then he was really, really into it, like super pumped. And that was honestly like right before we put out Pretty Boy. So we were shopping the album around for almost a year.

It must have been frustrating to have this whole album ready to go without actually releasing it!

I really felt like I wanted to take the time, I know I've seen a lot of bands release music and I've been in a lot of bands that released music and we always did it way too fast. And Jamie gave me great advice. She was like, "We should take our time. Like if it takes a year, like it takes a year. They're like, we're gonna just get it to as many people as we possibly can." And it worked. Eventually, we found somebody, but I think in that year I also locked down the Pretty Boy project and recorded it. So, we had a label to do one release and I think that was like a really great thing to happen. I think it was like a good way to introduce my music. So it all worked out somehow.

There are several left-field experiments like "Flagey God" and "Mossblerd." Can you talk about that song in particular?

I really wanted the album to be like an exploration of sounds. And I feel like I naturally am writing a lot of different things all the time. Like it's always been hard for me to just be write hardcore songs or just punk songs or whatever. I felt like with songs like "Kelly Rowland" and "Mossblerd" and some of the more beat-driven ones, it's hard for me to say that there's like a through line between those and like the rock songs. But I remember looking back at the projects and saying, "I don't have to be afraid that all these songs sound different" because the through line I think is just me, just that I made them. And that it's my story and my voice and my experiences. I think beyond that, there's no sonic element that makes everything similar. I'm just kinda pulling it together.

One of the differences I noticed between you and a comparison point like TV on the Radio is that their lyrics are less directly about Tunde Adebimpe’s life and more conceptual. Meanwhile, on Live Forever, there’s an in-joke about your PR work ("I lie for a living now that’s why I can’t tell you stuff"), there’s an Antlers reference, there’s even a reference to the Hershey Relays. That kind of storytelling about your own life is very rooted in rap. Was that contrast deliberate?

Yes. I think that was very deliberate. One thing that I love about hip-hop for me is, I know what's going on. Like, shit is very clear. All of the messages are sharp and succinct and clear and if you're not familiar with the lexicon, I guess that's a barrier, but if you are familiar, you can know what's happening. And I feel like in rock music, you could be talking about anything in a rock song, but if it's arranged right, it can just be great.

And I wanted to bring that type of approach that's normally used in hip-hop with writing lyrics and making things super clear and concise. "Boomer" starts like a DaBaby song, like right on beat one. Like there's no intros, it's just like, boom, like we're in the song [and] I'm rapping, you know? That was something I wanted to do a lot. I did it on "Mossblerd" too. Cause I thought that shit was genius. Like those DaBaby songs are so simple and they start so fast and so quickly, it's like a freight train. And I was like, "How can we do that in a pop punk format?” Which in my mind is like a freight train, but just in a different way. Those were some ways that I was like, "Maybe I can smash these two ideas together." And I liked how it sounded.

When you're writing, are you thinking in terms of "this is my National song, this is my weird trap song?" Or is it just like, "I'm going to make a loop or a piano part and just see what happens?"

So I normally start with a loop or a piano part. Once I work that section, I just start collecting sections, like, so like literally in project files. Then, once I like have as many sections and ideas collected, I just start arranging them and when I can hear it and I can look at it and say like, "Oh, it would be sick if I was rapping. Or if there was a drum and bass beat here." I go through incrementally like that. But I definitely don't think like, "Oh, let me make [this kind of] song." I'll just think like, "I love when DaBaby does this, I want to try and find a way to do that on a song."

You’ve spoken extensively about how your race informs your songwriting; what does it mean to you for someone to "sound Black"?

It’s hard not to say that most Western music doesn’t sound Black. Many of our most popular forms, pop-rock-dance-soul-funk-gospel-country-folk-blues, hip-hop, all seem to be rooted in Black people. Or at least shaped by formative Black artists.

I think that it's kind of strange and impossible to be expected to stay within a genre. And I feel like genres, and how they've played out, just in the categorization for Black artists, it's all just kind of set up so we'll lose. When Tyler, the Creator put out Flower Boy and Igor, I remember listening to them and being like, Whoa, these are pop records. Like, these are huge, super future-facing pop records, you know? I don't see how naming them all Urban [helps]. I think that Black people that are just, you know, the shit and it shouldn't be weird to see Black rock bands. Like, there should be tons of them. It shouldn't be weird for them to also have hip-hop influences.

That sounds like it ties into "Mossblerd."

And also just like how genres grow to impact your life and how you see yourself and the contributions that your community makes. I ended the song talking about my nephew who is a pretty outstanding rapper. But I remember being 16 and Black, and I know a lot of young Black guys that all thought they were going to be rappers and we were just going to sell drugs and just be rappers you get that from the shit you see on TV. And it's all tied back to genres and what we're telling people that they can accomplish. So it can be kind of dangerous.

That's why when people ask me, Oh, what's it like making "genre-defying rock music." I'm like “All that is just Black music and I'm Black," and that's it, that’s the whole thing.

So someone wants to get into playing music—maybe they’re also into the National and those kinds of bands but don’t see themselves in it. Do you have a message for them, the kind of thing you wish you heard when you were 16 and thinking you were going to be a rapper?

I didn't know what I could do or become until I saw it.

And I remember seeing Bloc Party and TV on the Radio and bands that had people that looked like me and how much it meant to me. And I think that was really important and something I've just learned in making music is that sometimes you just have to be your own biggest fan, and you have to build the thing that no one else knows is real yet. You might be the only one for a while that knows that you have something special to offer. And that doesn't mean that you're wrong. I spent a lot of time, in my teens and 20s, playing in all sorts of bands, trying to fulfill myself because I didn't trust myself.

And I didn't believe that my music was worth making because I didn't look like other people. And my voice was so resonant. And I just sounded like a church kid in a hardcore band, which is weird to hear my Black voice over these riffs. You just feel like you can't do it cause no one has seen it, but you might just be on some shit that other people can't do. And you have to learn to trust yourself and really learn to go with your gut early. And then people will just form around you because you'll be doing something that is genuine and from the heart. And that's the hardest thing, to create things that actually connect with people.

Is there anyone you want to shout out?

Melanie Charles. I think she's the best vocalist and hip-hop producer... ever in New York. I would want to shout her out. Taja Cheek and her band, L’Rain. I really loved their music. Felicia Douglas. Felicia is in Dirty Projectors, but she's got two side projects that are amazing. I look up to those people quite a bit and their music is always super tasteful and excellent. I’m loving everything Dancer is putting out, I’m loving everything Pinkshift from Maryland is putting out. I'm not sure if there are [more Black bands] now or if people are just elevating those people more. But I do know that there have always been people of color and Black people in rock bands and they just didn't always get the same opportunities. So, maybe it's like a little bit of everything.

Matt Berninger's Optimistic Malaise

Grammys Newsletter

[From left]: Bartees Strange, Anjimile and Jordana Nye. Photos courtesy of Julia Leiby, Maren Celest & Grand Jury Music

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Bartees Strange, Anjimile & More On What It's Like To Release A Debut Album In A Pandemic

A variety of rising artists sit down to discuss the unusual and inopportune circumstances of releasing a debut record during COVID, and what it takes to make the best of an impossible situation

Mike Hilleary

GRAMMYs

Oct 27, 2020 - 1:36 pm

Video-chatting through her phone, Wichita-based singer/songwriter Jordana Nye shows me a tattoo she recently got on her right forearm. Written in small red ink is a single word: "numb." "I feel like I've just been kind of numb throughout the whole thing—like my tattoo," she says. Laughing at herself, almost as an aside, she quickly adds, "The decisions you make when you're in quarantine."

The "whole thing" Nye is referencing is of course the increasingly fragile state of the music industry as a result of the coronavirus pandemic, a global health crisis that has in just a few short months forced the closure of concert venues across the country, the cancelation of festivals and tours, and manifested an overwhelming sense of uncertainty for the untold number of musical artists that make recording and performing songs their livelihood. While established, high-profile acts such as Bruce Springsteen, Lady Gaga, and BTS are fully capable of releasing a new album in the middle of a volatile and complicated environment and experience little to no impact on their financial bottom line and cultural cachet, those like Nye, who only just made her first steps into the industry with the release of her debut album Classical Notions of Happiness in March, are finding themselves mentally and professionally hobbled at the exact moment they are trying to introduce themselves to the greater music listening community.

In addition to Nye (who has followed Classical Notions of Happiness with the EP Something to Say and has a second EP … To You scheduled for release in December), a variety of rising artists, including Christian Lee Hutson (Beginners), Anjimile (Giver Taker), Bartees Strange's Bartees Cox Jr. (Live Forever), and Nation of Language frontman Ian Devaney (introduction, Prescence) all sat down to discuss the unusual and inopportune circumstances of releasing a debut record during COVID, and what it takes to make the best of an impossible situation.

The Initial Shock

Jordana Nye: I kind of went through like the worst depression. I mean, you just gotta keep swimming. It's hard to sometimes. But you get medicine, get therapy, talk about stuff. That's what I did, and it helped a lot. I couldn't even do anything for maybe three months straight. It was the worst.

Ian Devaney: It was kind of disbelief, especially when I realized how long it would go on and I realized what that would do to small and mid-sized venues. I was like, even when we do come back from this, the landscape is just gonna be so totally different. What does this mean as far as these businesses as independent hubs in the community? But my brain also just zoomed out to the corporate consolidation of touring above the D.I.Y. level basically. Are the only people who are going to be able to keep their venues open the ones who aren't as artist-friendly?

Bartees Cox Jr.: After we released my EP Say Goodbye to Pretty Boy, it was crazy. We got invited to play this WNYC soundcheck live show thing on March 12. And then we also had a show in New York on March 13. And this was when the shit was really going down in New York. And we were there, we played the thing, and we were all like, "Dang, this looks like it's gonna get really serious." And then after the EP came out, my team and I were like, "Well, do we just not do anything for a year and a half? We have momentum now. We should just ride this and keep writing." And that was just it, let's just follow the wave. It's working right now. So why why stop, you know?

The Road Is Closed

Christian Lee Hutson: Just from my perspective, the thing that seems to help debut artists the most is supporting other artists on tour, and that element has been completely taken out of the picture. Having your name tied to whatever the act is you're opening for and getting a chance to be in front of new people that might not have heard you on whatever streaming playlist, that aspect is probably the most damaging.

Ian Devaney: I've always been someone who feels like Nation of Language captures more people through the live show. And so when it became clear that we weren't going to be touring for a long time, I was like, "Oh, I guess we're doomed. I guess we'll put these things out and maybe some people listen to them, and then it will just fade away and we'll get on with the next thing and wait. But I was very shocked and flattered that the record started doing much better than I ever thought. That was very exciting. I feel very grateful for that.

Bartees Cox Jr.: I'm glad that we put Live Forever out now, instead of right at the beginning of the pandemic, because I don't think people knew what the f**k was going on in March. I saw some bands, put some records out that were really good in February and January who had huge tours booked all summer. I feel like this really hit them in the chest. That just takes so much like gas and energy out of you.

Ian Devaney: We were three shows into a tour, when they were like, "OK, everyone has to go home." It wasn't just disbelief that a dangerous thing was happening, but disbelief from the whiplash of the fact that we were about to be on the road for a month. But now, I'm back in my apartment. There was confusion and then, yeah, just real sadness of not knowing when I'm gonna get to do this again.

Christian Lee Hutson: Doing my first real headline tour, that was supposed to happen. I was supposed to on it right now, actually. In June I was also going to tour with one of my favorite bands, The Magnetic Fields. I was excited to spend a month with them. Those are two things I feel like, "Oh, man, those would have been cool." And hopefully, in a world where we're safer, those things can still happen.

Ian Devaney: I was really looking forward to playing the Seattle show on our canceled tour. KEXP seemed like the first radio station that consistently was reaching out to us and playing us on a regular basis, and we kind of developed a close relationship with them. And to me they've always been sort of one of the gatekeepers of like, "Oh, I'm in this level now. KEXP knows about my band." And so, them just being excited for us to come and us getting the sense that people just driving around in their cars during the day were hearing our music—and that being such a strange thing to wrap our heads around—it felt like we were gonna show up and be like, "We've arrived."

Jordana Nye: I was going on my first tour. I felt unprepared. I was also really nervous. And then when the COVID stuff started, there was a surreal moment where I was like, "What? I was just about to do something that could impact my life in such a big way and now it's gone." I was told there was gonna be hotels.

Christian Lee Hutson: Not touring is a huge change in my life in general. I've been touring with other people or just on my own for the last 11 years in my life. So to not do it at the one time I've finally released an album and not be doing it feels hilarious.

Bartees Cox Jr.: I keep telling myself, "It's just delayed. You will get to play the record for years. It will always exist." It won't be the same, but I also think when shows open up, people are gonna be really hyped to go to shows. The bottom line is, it'll be okay. Again, I have no choice. It's hard to like dwell on that. I knew that would be the case, before I put it out.

Fiscal Feasibility

Anjimile: I would describe it as not an ideal time, but I also have never monetized like my music career in a major way. It's not like, "Oh, no, all this money I usually make is gone!" [Laughs.]

Christian Lee Hutson: My wife and I are both living on unemployment and savings right now and just kind of hold on as long as we can, just hoping that touring can come back before we're in a crippling amount of debt.

Ian Devaney: The unemployment insurance is currently supporting me. When we left for tour the restaurant I was working at I said, "I understand if you won't have a space to me when I get back," but they were like, "We I think we'll be able to work the schedule," and I thought, "Perfect." But then the reason we came back was because everything was shutting down. And so I got an email suggesting we should all file for an appointment, and we'll see what happens.

Jordana Nye: At least I have my job back in Wichita. I work at a brewing company called Norton's. They're super involved in live music and it's a great place. I was like a barback during the summer. And now I'm a dishwasher. It's humbling.

Team Building and Content Alternatives

Bartees Cox Jr.: I just feel sometimes [as a new artist] you're the only one that knows that you have something special, and you just gotta build around it. And then all of a sudden people just show up around you. You have a team and you have a plan. But you got to make the first step.

Anjimile: It definitely changed the scope and nature of the promotional cycle. When it became apparent that touring was not happening I was like, "OK, so I guess we'll have to get creative and do other things to generate and maintain interest in this record."

Christian Lee Hutson: I think everyone was just flying by the seat of their pants, like, "We'll do the best that we can do and we're just gonna do everything that we can as we think of it." Those were really the kind of conversations that were had. The funny thing about all of this is all you can do is throw your hands up and just do it, surrender yourself to it. And I feel like everyone has a label and Phoebe and me and my management, everyone has been pretty good at just being like, "Alright, we're just gonna roll with it."

Anjimile: I'm also working on building a team. I now have a booking agent. And I'm talking with managers for the first time and that's super exciting. I'm doing all these behind the scenes team building stuff.

Ian Devaney: We've actually, in the middle of the pandemic, gotten booking agents. And they were like, "This is weird, but we an tell people about the band for when things open back up. We can get your name into circulation of who's being considered for what." You can get the sense that they are ready to just throw us intensely on the road, and we are ready to do that as well.

Bartees Cox Jr.: Will Yip, who runs memory music, was just like, "This thing is super fresh. It's good no matter what. You got to just trust us." I was the most apprehensive because no one's ever cared about my music or anything I've ever done. So I was like, "Well, OK, if this is what you think, I trust you guys." And they were all just so passionate about it and they just worked so f**king hard. My publicist Jamie and manager Tim, they just really pushed the record really, really hard. Teams are so important. I didn't know how important they were until really this year, how much how much it helps to have a label and a manager and a publicist that love you and love your record, and are going to put in extra hours and go the extra mile. That was the difference-maker. I think that's why it didn't matter what was happening around us because yes, it's an election year, yes the world was literally ending, yeah there's a pandemic. But this record is f**king good. And it's not the first time a great record has come out when things are really bad.

Anjimile: I got hit up by a U.K. booking agency first, and they were like, "Hey, obviously, there's no touring happening right now, but we love your sound and we're looking into the future to see where you would fit in certain clubs, and we just want you on the team." The same thing happened with my new U.S. booking agent. She was like, "We've been following you for a couple years, seen your name everywhere. Booking doesn't really exists, but I want to work with you and get you on the team and we can talk about slowly building what a live Anjimile thing looks like."

Ian Devaney: I think part of it is letting fans know that we're not stopping. It often helps me emotionally invest in a band if I can believe that the band is really in it to keep moving. I don't know if that makes sense. People will email us or reach out through Bandcamp and things like that. And it's always just really nice to hear people's stories of how they've enjoyed the record.

Jordana Nye: My team taught me to just try to keep working and keep busy until we get a sense of what the hell is going to happen—and just release music because it's really all you can do. Anything you can do, you just have to do it.

Anjimile: I think the main idea for me is just galvanizing and continually engaging my social media presence. My social media numbers have climbed substantially as a result of this release, which is exciting. And not to sound like a f**king music industry business guy, but content is helpful, and so I'm just trying to create chill content without losing my mind. We're about to have a contest. We've got a video coming out. Hopefully people can sit at home and watch. I want to try and create content that folks can engage with at home. Part of our merch is boxers. We were like, "What about hats?" "Well, nobody's gonna see the hat." "What about fanny packs?" "Nobody's going anywhere." "OK. Boxers. People will be at home wearing them." We're just trying to be as creative as possible.

Jordana Nye: I've got some music video stuff in the works. There's a new one coming out that was filmed in my home of Wichita for "I Guess This is Life," and my best friend is in it with me. It's very, very sweet. And I can't wait for it to be out. But I'm also shooting a music video out here in L.A. for the track "Reason." It’s going to feature me walking an invisible dog on a leash. I'm f**king excited for that. I can't wait.

Ian Devaney: Our manager has been really kind of fantastic and diligent. In his mind there's still people who don't know the record. And so just because it came out in May, doesn't mean we're not going to keep working it as though everyone knows it, because they don't.

Mental Health Whiplash

Christian Lee Hutson: It's like, for debut artists, what do you have to compare it to?

Bartees Cox Jr.: I almost feel like more people are listening to music now than they were before, like really listening through albums, and really interacting with them.

Christian Lee Hutson: I think it would make me crazy to sit around and just be like, "Damn it, I spent all this time on this and of course when my record comes out, this is what happens." I mean, I'm actually kind of encouraged by the response to the album just in general, because I feel like it's such a weird time for music to come out and I'm happy that anyone has found it at all considering it's come out in the most turbulent year in recent memory. That aspect I feel positive about, like it was weirdly worth it, even though I'm not doing all of the things that I thought I would be doing a year ago.

Bartees Cox Jr.: I mean I've never had fans like I do now, and I'm doing all this during a pandemic.

Ian Devaney: In a strange way, I'm glad we're putting music out now. I feel like we are, as much as anyone can, engaging with the madness and sort of being defiant in the face of the madness and not giving up on trying to be creative and trying to dream big about what we can do in the future.

Anjimile: It feels surreal, but at the same time I've released music locally in Boston over the years. And nothing has ever come of that. And so releasing an album nationally with a label, I think my expectations were actually pretty low. Usually when I put out music nobody cares, you know? Why should they really care? And this time some people cared, and I was like, "Holy f**k." Even that that was beyond my expectations. And so I don't know, I'm just kind of trying to go with it. Because even though things feel weird, and at times, unfair and strange I don't know what is going to happen in the next three months, six months, nine months, right? I'm just cautiously cautiously optimistic about what will happen next. Because I do think that so far, things have actually happened right on time. Even though shit is really weird right now, and I don't know what's going to happen next, maybe something positive in my career will occur. Who knows?

Bartees Cox Jr.: I was talking to a friend about this. You look at these areas in music, or in America, like Vietnam War era music or these other big social phenomenon and the music that came from it, I think that one day people will look back on this quarantine pandemic era and think, "All these records came out during this weird ass time are interesting because of it."

What Comes Next

Bartees Cox Jr.: I was thinking that bigger artists that need bigger studios are gonna kind of be hamstrung by this where more D.I.Y. people can just be like, "Yeah, I'll write another record."

Jordana Nye: Going on tour, getting experienced would have helped my career a lot in way. But working on new music is also helping it.

Ian Devaney: For Nation of Language, we're planning on putting out a seven inch either like, December or January. So we've been working on two songs, as well as songs for the second record.

Anjimile: At this point, in the year, I have a lot of songs written, some which I think might be good. And so I'm just stacking up demos at the moment, trying to make sure I have like the juiciest tunes available.

Jordana Nye: I'm still just making music and content, and it kind of tells me that I can pretty much do anything that I set my mind to, which is comforting, especially in dire times when I feel like I'm not doing anything at all, and I feel like I'm a loser. People are digging the new stuff so I'm super excited for that, and makes me want to do more with different genres and just play around with them.

Bartees Cox Jr.: I'm gonna really take my time. I put out two records this year. I don't feel like I gotta like, hustle. I just gonna just keep working try to make some money and hold it down.

Christian Lee Hutson: I'm honestly just writing a lot and I am recording a lot of stuff at home. Early on in quarantine, I was just like, "Alright, in order to tell the days apart, I'm gonna record a different cover song for fun every day." So I did that for a while until I got bored of that. And now I'm just demoing and recording new stuff. It's the only thing I really know how to do. And I'm grateful that there's a lot of time to do it. Something I noticed observing other friends' album cycles in the pre-COVID world is the amount of time that they had to actually write and follow up their debuts is actually pretty slim, which I feel like I have a lot of time to accomplish that.

Capturing Los Angeles' COVID-Closed Venues

Matt Berninger

Photo by Chantal Anderson

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Matt Berninger's Optimistic Malaise

On his solo record, 'Serpentine Prison,' the National frontman's introspection belies optimism

Caitlin Wolper

GRAMMYs

Sep 24, 2020 - 9:07 am

Matt Berninger is a self-proclaimed optimist—which, given his songs, might come as a surprise. Best known as a vocalist and songwriter for GRAMMY-winning indie-rock standard bearers the National, Berninger’s lyrics are often mired in reptilian fantasy or drunken exploration; there’s a flickering television or a stiff drink, a miscommunication or a revelation. Similar malaise follows in his side projects, from the band EL VY to the score for Mike Mills’ short film I Am Easy To Find.

To harp on those examples, though, would ignore Berninger’s witty, sardonic, self-mocking tendencies: there’s nothing quite like hearing "It's a common fetish for a doting man/To ballerina on the coffee table, cock in hand" or "I’m a perfect piece of ass" wedged in an otherwise morose track.

Berninger tells me he always feels optimistic, "even in the worst." Right now, he feels hopeful about America and about art, more than ever before—though "it’s probably going to get darker before it gets brighter...somehow I actually am genuinely optimistic." He points to recent releases, from Bright Eyes’ Down In The Weeds, Where The World Once Was to Cardi B’s "WAP" to Fiona Apple’s Fetch The Bolt Cutters to Taylor Swift’s Folklore (produced by National bandmate Aaron Dessner) as proof that songwriting is at a peak.

"Artists I know are making their bravest most interesting, most honest work right now, and that's what artists do: when everything is chaos, they interpret the chaos," Berninger says. He adds, genuinely: "It’s not a political song that’ll change the way someone votes: a love song will."

But you can’t reckon with global issues before you reckon with yourself: that’s what Serpentine Prison, his first solo album, tries to do.

"Everything I’ve ever written—at least, the good stuff I’ve written—I’m always reckoning with myself, and that's political: reckoning with my own fears and reckoning with my own desires and my own problems," Berninger says. "Mostly, when I write, I'm just trying to sort myself out."

All the same, he calls Serpentine Prison the most collaborative album he’s worked on. Produced by Booker T. Jones (a GRAMMY-winning record producer and musician), Berninger brought in a number of artists, including Scott Devendorf, Walter Martin, Matt Sheehy, Gail Ann Dorsey, Sean O’Brien, Harrison Whitford, Hayden Desser, Brent Knopf and Mike Brewer. His wife and frequent collaborator, Carin Besser, wrote alongside him.

At first, when Berninger went into the studio with Jones, it was to make a covers album. He wanted to record songs he loved as a way to get out of his own head.

"I started sharing some originals [with Jones] that I’d written with a bunch of different people, sort of orphan songs," Berninger says. "By the time we went into the studio to make this covers record, we had more originals than covers." (The covers will be included in the album’s deluxe edition.)

The originals that make up Serpentine Prison are true to name: labyrinthine explorations of the psyche, they oscillate between pleading and desire, between dependency and assertion. Even the somewhat silly-lined opener "My Eyes Are T-Shirts" ("My eyes are T-shirts, they’re so easy to read") quickly turns into a paean ("When I see you, something sad goes missing").

The hypnotically meandering "Silver Springs" is a duet in parts; "Distant Axis" worries over timing and communication; "Oh Dearie" wallows, warning others away so they don’t get dragged down: "Name the blues, I got ‘em/I don’t see no brightness/I’m kinda startin’ to like this."

On The National’s 2005 album Alligator, Berninger sang, "I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain/It went the dull and wicked ordinary way." Serpentine Prison seizes on this image, combing through depths for quotidian answers.

In an interview with The Creative Independent, Berninger said all good songs are either about love or fear: on his title track, that fear seeps over love. "Serpentine Prison" is deeply overwhelmed and exhaused, grappling with global disaster, mental health, and identity: it’s a winding self-exploration. The song’s biggest concern? Passing on these worries and this instability: "I don’t want to give it to my daughter."

It harkens to Berninger’s hypothesis about human interaction: We’re all water, and any moment you meet a person, whether they say hello or curse at you, that affects your own water’s color. Your identity, your life, is altered; in the tiniest ways, we’re constantly changed by the touches of those around us.

"You always have to be writing about your own water, and, in doing that, you’re writing about everyone that’s made you you, and you’re writing about your world, you’re writing about your politics, you’re writing about your history, you’re writing about your future," Berninger says. "All of those things are ideas and you do manifest whatever it is, but it's all you. It’s all you, and you’re everything."

Bright Eyes Usher In A New Apocalypse

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Alicia Silverstone as Cher Horowitz in 'Clueless' (1995)

Courtesy Photo: CBS via Getty Images

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How 1995 Became A Blockbuster Year For Movie Soundtracks

From 'Clueless' to 'Dangerous Minds,' soundtracks were big business in 1995, but the year's hits offered no clear formula for success

Jack Tregoning

GRAMMYs

Aug 9, 2020 - 4:00 am

Mariah Carey, Alanis Morissette, 2Pac and The Smashing Pumpkins all had No. 1 albums in 1995. Despite such hallowed competition, four movie soundtracks also topped the Billboard 200 chart that year. Two were family-friendly Disney behemoths: Pocahontas and The Lion King, the latter still powering from the previous year. The other chart-topping soundtracks, for the Michelle Pfeiffer vehicle Dangerous Minds and the stoner comedy Friday, were no one's idea of kids' entertainment.

Beyond those No. 1 spots, 1995 marked a fascinating midpoint in a soundtrack-heavy decade. According to a New York Times report, a new release CD that year typically cost anywhere between $13-$19. At that price, a soundtrack needed major star power or an undeniable concept.

For movie studios and musicians alike, the format was rich with opportunity. However, there was no certain formula for success. Some soundtracks were guided by a single producer, while others drew on a grab bag of then-current songs. Several featured one clear hit that eclipsed the soundtrack, or occasionally the movie itself. For all their differing approaches, the soundtracks of 1995 epitomized the energy and audacity of the decade, while also establishing tropes for the next 25 years.

The Bodyguard: Original Soundtrack Album (1992) set the bar high for the decade. With a 20-week reign at No. 1, it remains the biggest-selling soundtrack of all time. Whitney Houston performed six songs on the album, including the titanic power ballad, "I Will Always Love You." (At the 1994 GRAMMYs, the track won the GRAMMY for Record Of The Year and Best Pop Vocal Performance, Female, while the soundtrack itself earned the Album Of The Year award.)

While The Bodyguard magnified their commercial potential, movie soundtracks like Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs (1992) and Pulp Fiction (1994) framed the medium as an artistic showpiece. Throughout the '90s, Tarantino and fellow indie auteurs Paul Thomas Anderson, Richard Linklater and Spike Lee made music a key character in their films. (The latter continues the trend on his latest movie, Da 5 Bloods, alongside six-time GRAMMY-winning composer and trumpeter Terence Blanchard.) Both instincts, for commercial returns and artistic validation, were well-represented in 1995.

Read: 'The Bodyguard' Soundtrack: 25 Years After Whitney Houston's Masterpiece

Batman Forever (1995) epitomized the big-budget, mass-appeal mid-'90s soundtrack. Spanning PJ Harvey to Method Man, the 14-track set employed some tried-and-true tactics. First, only five songs on the track list appear in the movie itself, ushering in a rash of "Music From And Inspired By" soundtracks. Second, its featured artists largely contributed songs you couldn't find on other albums: According to Entertainment Weekly in 1995, U2 landed a reported $500,000 advance for "Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me," an offcut from the band's Zooropa album sessions.

Most significantly, Batman Forever backed a surprise smash in Seal's "Kiss From A Rose." Originally released as a single in 1994, the ballad blew up as the movie's "love theme." In its music video, Seal croons in the light of the Bat-Signal, intercut with not-very-romantic scenes from the film. Outshining U2, "Kiss From A Rose" reached No. 1 in 1995; one year later, the song won for Song Of The Year, Record Of The Year and Best Male Pop Vocal Performance at the 38th GRAMMY Awards.

Both Bad Boys and Dangerous Minds had their "Kiss From A Rose" equivalent in 1995. Diana King's reggae-fusion jam "Shy Guy" proved the breakout star of Bad Boys, transcending an R&B- and hip-hop-heavy soundtrack. Meanwhile, Coolio's "Gangsta's Paradise," featuring singer L.V., the key track on Dangerous Minds, became the top-selling single of 1995; it won the rapper his first, and only, GRAMMY for Best Rap Solo Performance the next year.

Other soundtracks from 1995 endure as perfect documents of their time and place. Clueless compiled a cast from '90s rock radio to accompany the adventures of Alicia Silverstone's Cher Horowitz and her high school clique: Counting Crows, Smoking Popes, Cracker and The Muffs. Coolio, the everywhere man of 1995, contributed "Rollin' With My Homies."

From the same city, but a world outside Cher's Beverly Hills bubble, came the Ice Cube- and Chris Tucker-starring Friday. Its soundtrack took a whistle-stop tour of West Coast hip-hop and G-funk via Ice Cube, Dr. Dre, Tha Alkaholiks and Mack 10. True to the era, the music video for Dr. Dre's "Keep Their Heads Ringin'" is half stoner comedy, half cheesy action movie.

Waiting To Exhale, the 1995 drama directed by Forest Whitaker, boasted a soundtrack with a clear author. Babyface, the R&B superproducer with 11 GRAMMY wins for his work with the likes of Boyz II Men and Toni Braxton, produced the set in full. Following Babyface's co-producer role on The Bodyguard soundtrack three years prior, Waiting To Exhale featured two new songs from the movie's star, Whitney Houston.

Read: 'Score': Soundtracks take us on an emotional ride

Houston's "Exhale (Shoop Shoop)" and "Why Does It Hurt So Bad" led a track list that also featured Aretha Franklin, TLC, Chaka Khan, Mary J. Blige and then-newcomer Brandy. A powerful showcase of Black women across generations, the soundtrack has prevailed as a standalone work, going on to receive multiple nominations, including Album Of The Year, at the 1997 GRAMMYs. In a crowded year for soundtracks, which also included Dinosaur Jr. founder Lou Barlow's work on Larry Clark's contentious Kids, Waiting To Exhale demonstrated the power of a singular vision.

For the most part, the soundtracks of 1995 tried a bit of everything. The previous year, The Crow: Original Motion Picture Soundtrack went all-in on covers, including Nine Inch Nails overhauling Joy Division's "Dead Souls." That trend continued into 1995, from Tori Amos covering R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion" for Higher Learning to Evan Dando's update of Big Star's "The Ballad Of El Goodo" in Empire Records to Tom Jones gamely taking on Lenny Kravitz's "Are You Gonna Go My Way"' for The Jerky Boys movie. (Is there a more '90s sentence than that?)

Elsewhere, the Mortal Kombat soundtrack blended metal and industrial rock (Fear Factory, Gravity) with dance music (Utah Saints, Orbital). For every Dead Presidents, which zeroed in on '70s funk and soul, there was a Tank Girl, which threw together Bush, Björk, Veruca Salt and Ice-T to match the movie's manic tone.

Continuing from their '90s winning streak, grown-up soundtracks have proven surprisingly resilient. In an echo of Babyface's role on Waiting To Exhale, Kendrick Lamar oversaw production on 2018's chart-topping, multi-GRAMMY-nominated Black Panther: The Album, uniting an A-list cast under his creative direction. On the same front, Beyonce executive-produced and curated The Lion King: The Gift, the soundtrack album for the 2019 remake of the Disney classic, which spotlighted African and Afrobeats artists. In 2016, Taylor Swift and One Direction's Zayn recorded "I Don't Wanna Live Forever (Fifty Shades Darker)," pitching for the movie tie-in bump enjoyed in 1995 by Seal and Coolio. (The millennial stars stopped short of including scenes from the movie in their music video.)

Like Batman Forever back in the day, the DC Universe continues to put stock in soundtracks. Both Suicide Squad (2016) and its follow-up, Birds Of Prey (2020), are packed tight with to-the-minute pop, R&B and hip-hop. Each soundtrack reads like a who's who of the musical zeitgeist. In 1995, Mazzy Star, Brandy and U2 grouped up behind Batman. In 2016, Twenty One Pilots, Skrillex and Rick Ross powered the Suicide Squad. In 2020, everyone from Doja Cat to Halsey to YouTube star Maisie Peters form Team Harley Quinn.

As 1995 taught us time and time again, nothing traps a year in amber quite like a movie soundtrack.

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Dua Saleh

Photo: Grant Spanier

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Dua Saleh & Psymun Talk Minneapolis Community Building, 'ROSETTA' & Music For Social Change

The Sudan-born, Twin Cities-based artist released their second EP, 'ROSETTA,' executive produced by Psymun, on June 12

Ana Monroy Yglesias

GRAMMYs

Jun 25, 2020 - 10:58 am

Meet Dua Saleh. They are a non-binary artist born in Sudan and based in Minneapolis, creating haunting alt-pop from another dimension. Their second EP, ROSETTA, whose name was inspired by rock and roll pioneer Sister Rosetta Tharpe, just came out on June 12 on indie label Against Giants. On the expansive six-track project Dua explores facets of their identity, using the power of their vocals with an effortless fluidity, enhanced by beats from producer Psymun.

In response to the killing of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police, Saleh released "body cast" on May 31, a powerful song condemning police brutality, created with Psymun in 2019, originally set for a future project. They donated 100% of proceeds to Women for Political Change, a local nonprofit actively investing "in the leadership and political power of young women and trans and non-binary folks."

dua saleh · ROSETTA

We recently caught up with Saleh and Psymun (born Simon Christensen), calling in from Minneapolis over Zoom to learn more about ROSETTA, the current situation in Minneapolis, supporting Black and Queer artists, and more.

Psymun | Photo: Zoe Pizarro

I want to start by checking in and see how you're feeling right now, and how you've been coping with these difficult times.

Saleh: I'm feeling pretty anxious. Anxiety and fear have been the streamline that's been running through my system. But I've also been feeling activated and feeling ready to put in as many resources and as much love and care into my community as possible, because everybody's dealing with a lot, both from the uprising and from the COVID-19 shut down and financial ruin. And just a lot of personal things that are happening to people within the Black trans community, and just across all communities that I've been attached to personally.

Christensen: I've been also pretty anxious, but overall fine. I haven't really been making music much; it's just hard to focus, I guess. Have you been feeling that, Dua?

Saleh: Yeah. I feel like I've also been sick for a long time and, even now, I'm anxious about interviews that I'm doing. So I haven't been able to even focus on music because my voice is not capable of even talking for long periods of time. I don't know if that's because that anxiety is also adding to that, but I think that's just been on my mind.

I felt like I was having a lot of the same symptoms that were COVID-related for a lot of people. A lot of chest pains, I couldn't breathe during times. I had to intake a lot of vitamin C, otherwise, I would literally be gasping for air and my heart would be palpitating immensely. Also, my voice hurt for a long time. I couldn't speak for like two weeks, legitimately.

Christensen: Did you get tested?

Saleh: Yeah, I tested negative, but I didn't get my antibodies tested, which I should check that out.

Christensen: I think the antibody test is expensive. I got tested [for COVID-19] and it came back negative. I'm getting tested again today because it's free, just to make sure.

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I want to get your pulse on how things are feeling right now in Minnesota. How would you describe the current situation we're in here in the U.S., through the lens of the activism and uprising in Minneapolis?

Christensen: Well, the feeling of it, it's a lot. It's really beautiful for a lot of reasons, but it's also really, really tense for a lot of reasons. Currently, things haven't stopped. There's still plenty of protesting, but from what I've noticed, rioting and stuff has slowed down. I think people can literally only handle so much. And also I think it came to a point where a lot of people [and] protesters were afraid for their lives.

It's not like things have stopped and I don't think they're going to. I hope not. But there is a weird part that feels like things have almost gone back to normal in the city. I think the media doesn't cover a lot of what's still going on, so it's hard. It does feel like things are back to normal in a way, but they're not actually.

Saleh: I feel like for me, I've been seeing a lot of community care infrastructure being put in place by community members, like mutual aid efforts and sanctuaries. People have been signing up to be security and medics at the sanctuaries and offering food and medical supplies for people, tents for displacement and homelessness. And people being there for GoFundMe efforts for people who have been harmed or their businesses and their homes have been completely destroyed by non-local agitators, as well as some local agitators.

I've just been seeing a lot of community efforts of love and care. And I feel like that energy is what makes people feel like things are going back to normal, because it's not really about the urgency of immediate fear of death and pain because there aren't weapons with live ammunition being pointed in the faces of people, but they are still afraid of being harmed by police officers.

One of the sanctuaries that was set in place by community members had to move a few times because police officers were called and they literally displaced all these people. So in my mind, I feel like the urgency is still there, just the narrative around it has shifted and people aren't as interested or intrigued by talking about sanctuaries or mutual aid because it's not as tantalizing as, I guess in a pornographic way, as protests and as tear gas grenades and other things that are thrown at people. It's more about institutional violence and ways to help people who are in urgent need in that way.

It's so inspiring to see the outpouring of support for different orgs, like the Minnesota Freedom Fund that got so many donations they asked people to choose other local institutions to help. It just shows how, like you said, people have to bring the attention in all the right places, because I think many people want to help and offer what they can.

Saleh: Definitely. And there are a lot of different organizations and arts-based orgs that are doing healing programming for people to try to figure things out that way and also need immediate funding. Like Mercado Colegio, who are working with Latinx community members, or Free Black Dirt is helping with healing efforts and food redistribution, and also Women for Political Change, which me and Psymun are donating all of our proceeds from "body cast" to directly. They've been doing a lot of immediate on-the-ground work with medics, medical aid and security. As well as with redistributing funds to Black youth, specifically Black women and Black trans and non-binary people who are in immediate need, especially after all the events that occurred with the uprising and with COVID-19. People are very vulnerable and need support, so organizations like those are very helpful.

I would love to talk a bit more about "body cast." At what point did you feel called to release the song early?

Saleh: Psymun, do you remember—I feel like I've just been talking out my ass for most of these interviews, because I don't really remember how the songwriting process started. I know I had some random lyrics written down in my Notes app and I think you sent me some chords or something and the title of it was called body cast, and that spiraled me into something. Or were we in the studio?

Christensen: I was in L.A. when I sent it to you. It was when I sent you that grip of ideas and that one actually wasn't just chords, that was like one of the two that I sent with drums. It was called body cast, I just named it something random.

One thing I really like about working with Dua is, a lot of the time, whenever I send them anything, it's just named something random and they typically write a song based off of what I titled it. Which is really funny, because most people don't do that.

Saleh: I don't know. I get lazy with titles. So I'm like, yes. Also, it's really good inspiration. I appreciate your titles. Actually, "windhymn" which is on the EP, was called yah originally. I miss that name, to be honest.

Christensen: [Laughs.] Also, "bankrupt" was called bankrupt when I sent it to you and then same with "cat scratch." [For "body cast"] I remember you sent me two videos; you specifically wanted a sample of Black women telling off cops. You sent me, the one we sampled, was from Angela Whitehead. You also sent the Sandra Bland one, which I think, I don't know if it was just me, so I'm not trying to speak for you, but I remember feeling like, man, this is really sad.

Saleh: Yeah. Triggering, probably. I'm glad that you chose the other one. I think the first one I sent was the Angela Whitehead one, because I think in myself, I was like maybe the Sandra Bland one is intense. I've been very cognizant of the way that auto-played videos of Black people in distress have been triggering Black people who follow me on social media. So I haven't re-posted any of those videos.

I think back then, I wasn't thinking about that. It was a year ago. And I didn't even think that we were going to release the song now, I thought it was going to be in a future project. But I definitely now, upon reflection, appreciate the fact that the Angela Whitehead video was chosen, because that video is such an energizing and activating video because people see it as reasserting their right to be aggressive and loud and to live in the comfort of her home without fear of invasion.

Read: Rapper Niko Brim And Activist Opal Lee On The Importance Of Juneteenth: "It Represents Freedom"

And once you released "body cast," what did it feel like to share that message, standing up to police brutality, at this time? It is really powerful and I saw it get covered in quite a few places.

Saleh: I feel like people resonated with it. I've been getting a lot of DMs and messages and just a lot of articles being published about it from GRAMMYs, Hypebeast, Rolling Stone, other publications that I was not expecting and didn't solicit. They just either posted on their own or they reached out to us directly.

It's been invigorating specifically because we've been trying to build narrative about giving back to community through the song. Seeing Minnesota Women for Political Change being tagged on different articles and seeing people being linked to their work and having people accredit them for the very essential movement-building that they've been doing, that has been very fulfilling for me personally.

And in what other ways have you been advocating for justice and engaging with everything right now?

Saleh: Well, I've been helping with a Twitter page that's specific to Minneapolis, just re-posting different things that I've been talking about. So, mutual aid efforts, GoFundMes for people who have been displaced, people's medical transition needs, people's immediate donation needs at sites and sanctuaries. And that's been the way that I've been trying to help navigate this, especially because I've been careful about organizing spaces, considering my personal triggers. With previously being in organizing, I have some concerns about safety for myself and younger Black people, Black youth and Black trans people, and how they're not always held by larger orgs in the ways that they need to be held. So, I've been trying to navigate space in that way, and also trying to help with arts initiatives and healing initiatives.

I also got trained to be a medic, but I still haven't utilized it because I was so sick for so long, and I didn't get my COVID-19 test back until near the end of the uprising pretty much. So I was only out there once and I didn't need to do anything or apply anything to anybody medically. But yeah, those are the small ways that I've been contributing.

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It sounds like a lot.

Saleh: Psymun's been doing a lot. Mutual aid efforts, I think. Right?

Christensen: I have a car, which is helpful too for a lot of people right now, so I've been helping with transportation. North Minneapolis got hit really bad when there was those weird specific few days of attacks from white supremacist groups and stuff. So I've been letting a couple stay at my studio in Northeast Minneapolis because they were being terrorized where they live. I guess I've doing a lot of food and medicine supplies delivery. I was at some of the protests.

I'm not trying to sound like I've done a ton or anything because I haven't done as much as I could, I'm sure. I guess my point is that having a car has been a way for me to be helpful because transportation is huge and being able to deliver stuff to people is really huge.

Saleh: I think it might encourage other people to do it or to help people who need emergency safety stuff like that couple does. Everything's so heightened and everybody's tensions and personal entrenched violence has been lifted to the top, everything's lifting up, so I think community being there for each other and being able to have spaces for people to be safe are vital. To have spaces and resources for people to sit and rest or to get rides, all of those are very essential and seeing one person do it will motivate another person to do it.

Christensen: Yeah, I feel that. And yeah, that's a huge part of, when you were talking earlier Dua, about how it almost feels like things have gone back to normal but are still so different. Because I feel like the community has come together in so many different places that it really never existed before and among different people. It's definitely interesting and great to see the community almost just running things and it feels like people aren't relying on authority. Especially law enforcement, obviously, but any higher ups—it feels like less people are relying on or trusting those systems and we are looking to each other more now because of the uprising. And I imagine it's like that elsewhere, not just here in Minneapolis.

I want to make sure that we talk about ROSETTA. Dua, how did it feel to release your second project out into the world? And I'm also curious of what inspiration Sister Rosetta Tharpe had with it, based on the title.

Saleh: It feels—I don't know. I feel like there's a huge amalgamation of feelings that I'm experiencing just because I released it at such a sensitive time. Usually there's time for everybody who works on the project—I guess I've only released two EPs now—but usually there's time for us to talk about it, celebrate together. Because of the urgency of the times COVID-19 safety measures, there have only been group chat celebrations. I haven't seen Psymun in a long time and I haven't seen Alec [Ness], who mixed and mastered the project, in a long time.

It's felt odd, but it feels good to have it out now because I feel like people needed a reminder to re-center, and a reminder to sit with art and to let that flow through their body. Especially with all of the death and turmoil that's surrounding us, with George Floyd's murder specifically in Minneapolis, but also the many other murders of people, like Tony McDade, and Riah Milton and Dominique Fells, who were two trans women murdered within their communities.

Read: The Curious Career Of The Legendary Sister Rosetta Tharpe

But there's just been so much death and turmoil that I think people needed a source of healing. Sister Rosetta Tharpe is a huge source of healing for me personally—the person that music historians' credit as the inventor of rock and roll is a Black queer woman. Finding her music was a huge source of my personal healing in my journey towards lifting the burdens of life off of my own shoulders. And I wanted to use the narrative of her legacy to entrench into this project.

It happened naturally though. I wasn't thinking about Sister Rosetta Tharpe when I made all of this music, but obviously all music that is rock inspired or that's indie-inspired has a root. And for us, I think the root is Sister Rosetta Tharpe and rock and the origins of rock and roll music.

I agree that music and art, and this project specifically, is definitely something that is needed right now. The whole EP has a lot of interesting sonic elements, so I'd love to look at the different elements of "smut," which I was really drawn to, and you sing in Arabic on it.

Saleh: The song was produced by Psymun and Sir Dylan. I wrote the song acapella and then they put production over it, and then we added Velvet Negroni's vocals on it and Psymun manipulated that. The song was primarily written in English, about sexual escapades, primarily about my ex, but there's a portion of the song inspired by the Sudani Revolution that happened. I use the term Kundaka, which was inspired by Kandake which means queen in Nubian text, but I queered it to mean gender nonspecific royalty.

The song is one of my favorite songs off the project as well. Psymun, you can talk about the sonic elements of the production, if you want to.

Christensen: Yeah, that song, me and Dylan, I remember we were making a lot of the percussion out of crazy noise samples that we both had. It was really fun. I remember Jeremy, Velvet Negroni, came back to record his part another day and his throat was all f**ked up. But he was so in love with the song that he still pushed through for it.

How can the music community at large better support Black and queer artists?

Dua: The best way to support Black and queer artists is by offering them direct financial support and listening to their concerns. I've curated a Spotify playlist called DO IT LIKE DUA featuring mostly Black trans and queer artists [the playlist includes Mykki Blanco, Noname, b ooboo, Kehlani, Frank Ocean and others]. Please listen to these talented artists and donate directly via Spotify's COVID-19 Relief fund on their profiles or find them on Bandcamp.

Also, consider following them on social media. The artists I've highlighted are very knowledgeable about ways to give back to the community. In addition, they all have very humorous, engaging and critical content! Please show them love.

How Black Trans Artists Are Fighting To Achieve Racial Justice & Amplify Queer Voices

The GRAMMYs

Latin GRAMMYs

MusiCares

Advocacy

Membership

Bartees Strange On 'Live Forever' & Why "It Shouldn't Be Weird To See Black Rock Bands"

Grammys Newsletter