Courtney Barnett

Courtney Barnett at The Stanley Hotel

 
 

Photo: Joshua Mellin

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Courtney Barnett Talks Life, Music And (Almost) Everything

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The Australian singer-songwriter tells the Recording Academy about her supernatural near misses, finding the words to fight inequality and how she’s still learning to tell people how she really feels
Laura Studarus
GRAMMYs
Feb 12, 2020 - 12:20 pm

When it comes to telling it like it is, Courtney Barnett has nerves of steel. Across three full-lengths, including 2018's Tell Me How You Really Feel, the Australian singer-songwriter has unpacked a host of complicated ideas throughout her wry folk rock. 

There's the danger of ambition, on display in "Avant Gardener" where after a near-deadly asthmatic attack, she moans, "I should have stayed in bed today.". There's suburban ennui: See "Depreston," where she considers the benefits of a two-car garage. She even tells off detractors on recent track "Nameless, Faceless": "He said, 'I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup/And spit out better words than you'/But you didn't."

But when it comes to the topic of ghosts, she admits that it's easy to freak herself out, even though she likes to consider the idea. 

Barnett's open mind is an asset, since we're sitting at The Stanley Hotel, an Estes Park, Colo., resort that's believed to be one of the most haunted locations in the U.S. Whether or not it really has a spirit population is always in question. Given the building's history, which includes an explosion in room 217, multiple post-death sightings of the founder's wife, Flora Stanley, and inspiration for both Stephen King's "The Shining" and "Pet Cemetery," it's easy to believe there's some kind of strange forces at work. 

But rather than ghost-hunt, Barnett has come to The Stanley Hotel to perform as part of a tradition of small-crowd concerts dating back to Houdini performing illusions for a clutch of society women. 

Courtney Barnett

It's a small room for the GRAMMY nominee, who has also performed on "Saturday Night Live," "ellen," "Late Night With Jimmy Fallon" and a host of summer festival stages. But Barnett admits that part of the goal of her solo tour was to stretch herself by performing in interesting spaces.   

Before she could charm the crowd with her left-handed guitar and seemingly endless display of quips, Barnett tells the Recording Academy about her supernatural near misses, finding the words to fight inequality and how she's still learning to tell people how she really feels.

In honor of the fact that we're sitting at The Stanley Hotel, do you have any good ghost stories? 

Not major ones. The last town that we stayed [in], I felt I actually had like a little ghost feeling. It was weird. I just like, I was shot up in bed at 5 a.m. both mornings and I felt like someone was in the room, which has happened a few times in my life, but not that many. So when it happens, it is a really particular thing. We watched half [of] The Shining last night. I think in the lead-up to playing here, I started researching it to see what it was all about. 

What one thing, if removed from your life, would make you go as crazy as Jack Torrance from the film? 

The connection to people is probably a big one. I think it would probably send me into some sort of crazy. 

Do you get to invest in the Melbourne community when you're home? 

Home time has been pretty minimal in the last five or six years. But yeah. I have a record label [Milk Records] in Melbourne, which I started six or seven years ago. And so, that has grown and has local bands and a few that aren't local. So that keeps growing and ticking over as we put on shows and put out records and all that stuff. When I'm home, I go out and see lots of shows. 

Read: Frances Quinlan On Her New Album 'Likewise,' Love Of Visual Art And Learning To Speak Her Mind

Your label, Milk Records, recently opened a storefront.   

We did it as a pop-up store in December in the lead-up to Christmas. And then we built a little stage and we had some semi-acoustic performances, and now we're just seeing how it goes in a bit more semi-regular way. I love it. I think it's really nice. People can come in and look around, and people can do shows. And when people are visiting from out of town, I want to make it so they can pop in and play if they want to and sell some records. Milk Records has somehow created this really amazing community of people who love music and just really want to share with each other. It's just a really special thing. 

Because I'm now picturing you as a Nick Hornby-style record shop owner, what are the top five albums or songs you're currently listening to?

What I've been listening to? We've done some really good albums on this tour. I started making a list the other day of new songs, like the new TORRES. Paul Simon. Elizabeth Cotton. Julee Cruise. These are all just random songs.  

I think it's nice to listen with focus, not like background kind of music, because I ended up doing that a lot, and if I'm at Melbourne at the Milk warehouses [and] there's something on the background, we don't listen to it properly. So it's nice just putting headphones on or putting a record on and sitting and listening to it.  

Where do you fall between optimism and pessimism? 

I always would say that I'm an optimistic pessimist, because I think I am pessimistic by nature, but I'm also kind of melancholy and have always been more on that side. But I really want to be hopeful and optimistic. It's like, I don't want to be like a pessimist who's like grumpy about everything. But I can be that person. 

Has touring with The Ally Coalition and Headcount helped change your perspective? 

Oh, yeah. I think that's been cool. It's such a small, easy thing to invite them and have them; I know that they do so many shows. It's such a simple thing to be able to broaden conversation with people who might not be aware of certain things. It's available and they can chat, or they don't have to. 

That's a huge resource I'm sure is missing from many people's lives. 

Which is kind of crazy because we think we have access to everything, but it's almost like sometimes I don't know where to look for information. Even though the internet, it like [leads us] to believe that everything is available. But sometimes, yeah, it's an overwhelming kind of overload. And to do all that research yourself is hard. So I think when you find people who are doing really amazing work and have done amazing research, you kind of can look up to them. 

If you could change one thing about society, what would it be? 

I guess an umbrella term would be inequality. I would get rid of that. 

Do you see your music in the same bucket as artists who focus on activism? I know you've been compared to Bob Dylan quite a bit. 

I don't feel like I'm outspoken enough. I kind of wish I had the words to be so. But I don't think I've written anything as powerful as some of those people. I think it's just finding the words and finding the voice to be able to say things, which I struggle with sometimes. So I ended up writing around them or, you know, I think it's still there, but in a kind of more symbolic way. 

Read: TORRES On Writing Queer Country Songs, The Power Of The Spoken Word And Her New Album, 'Silver Tongue'

It's funny to hear you say you write around things, because from an outsider point of view, your music is so personal and immediate. 

I don't even notice what is behind a lot of what I'm writing. It's kind of hidden to me until later. Sometimes, it's kind of strange to just unpack as time goes on. Two years on from making and releasing the album, I play the songs every day and play them different in different ways. Playing them solo, now there [are] certain words or phrases that, with time and distance and perspective, you just see them differently. I always find that fascinating. 

Has there been a song in particular that has gone through that transformation?

Like the song "Need A Little Time" on [Tell Me How You Really Feel]. [When you're writing], you kind of know what you're talking about… but I don't fully know. And with different situations, the words just mean different things. Maybe I'm talking about that person or that person, or maybe I'm actually projecting something onto them and actually talking about myself. Or all of the above, which is also totally acceptable. 

How does playing solo change the dynamics of your show and the material? 

I haven't played solo in a really long time. I was a bit nervous before the tour started, but I've been kind of, strangely, quite calm and comfortable, and I think the audiences have been really, really lovely... I think I've been just experiencing the songs differently. It's inspired me 'cause it's so much more vulnerable: nothing to hide behind and no wall of sound to hide behind and dark lights to fade into. I can hear the songs again how I wrote them… it's kind of inspired me to write; I want to write better songs.

When the voice in your head is telling you that things aren't good enough or that you're not doing well enough, how do you shut it up? 

I think the most useful way is to pretend that someone else is saying it to you and you're trying to confront them. You would never talk to someone the way that you talk to yourself a lot of the time. Trying to look at it in a realistic way with none of those neuroses and hang-ups is hard. 

After writing such a direct album called Tell Me How You Really Feel, has it been easier to tell people exactly how you feel? 

No, I think it's just a learning process, growing-up process of learning how to communicate with people. I've learned that the outcome gets easier. It's normally not as bad as you think it is, and it's a kind of weight off the shoulders. It kind of uses more energy and it's more of a waste of time to just hold on to things. I guess it's an important thing to learn over time and to let go of those things that drag us down and make us resentful. It all just builds up in your body and you feel it and it's just such a waste of space. 

Since you appear on Anna Calvi's upcoming collaborative album, Hunted, what artists would you love to hear covering your songs? 

I think that it's such a cool idea. You kind of think like, "Who could do it?" Like in a similar vein, but someone who is from a totally different musical world. I mean it's just endless. [I'd like] someone like Kim Gordon or St. Vincent, or even someone like Dev Hynes [who] could turn [it] into this whole beautifully different, amazing thing.

So, what's next? 

I kind of planned to spend most of this year at home writing, and then I accidentally organized a solo tour. I'll probably write, and I might do some kind work on some projects with some people, maybe some collaborations back home. I just kind of want to write and read and be a sponge to the world.

Beach Slang's James Alex On The Albums That Made Him

Arlo Parks

Arlo Parks

 

Photo: Alex Kurunis

 
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Arlo Parks Talks Debut Album 'Collapsed In Sunbeams,' Winning Over Billie Eilish & Phoebe Bridgers

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The British singer/songwriter plumbed profound emotions with a simple toolkit on her debut album, 'Collapsed In Sunbeams.' Now, some of her favorite musicians are along for the ride
Hugh Morris
GRAMMYs
Jan 28, 2021 - 9:09 am

"I'd lick the grief right off your lips."

Fans rejoiced at the tantalizing thought of new music from Billie Eilish after she captioned a passport-style Polaroid to her Instagram in January with those emotionally charged words. But the lyrics actually come from a hotly tipped singer/songwriter from the U.K. Eilish was referencing Arlo Parks' "Black Dog," a candid look at the realities of trying to help a friend living with depression. A year apart in age, Eilish and Parks represent a new generation of songwriters intent on tackling Gen Z's problems head-on.

It's not just Eilish who's singing the praises of Parks—the vanguard of the creative arts is rooting for the young singer. "Cola," from her 2019 debut EP Super Sad Generation, appeared in Michaela Coel's critically acclaimed HBO series, "I May Destroy You." Phoebe Bridgers and Florence Welch have shown love, too. Although the influencer generation has shifted the capacity to create stars from institutions to individuals, Parks has taken home a host of industry awards, too, landing a spot on the BBC Music Sound Of 2020 long list, which launched the careers of Michael Kiwanuka, Haim and Sam Smith, and NME's Essential New Artists For 2020 list.

Parks has had a meteoric year, but she's remained undeterred by the pressure; she spent 2020 and early 2021 mostly confined to her childhood bedroom. She's gained and maintained a fan base via a social media presence as sincere and personal as her songs, emphasizing self-love and openness. Her lyrics tackle big subjects—unrequited love, addiction, mental health struggles, sexuality—and her vocals are tender, unflashy and inviting.

Themes like these are the bedrock of her debut album, Collapsed In Sunbeams, a series of vignettes describing friends and their problems tied together by a calm, wistful energy. (The album's title is lifted from British author Zadie Smith's 2005 novel, On Beauty.) Nodding to her influences, like Radiohead and Portishead, Collapsed In Sunbeams easily flits between lo-fi pop, R&B and the indie sounds of her youth. Yet the real beauty is in Parks' smart observations on life, which she tackles directly yet compassionately.

GRAMMY.com chatted with Arlo Parks about Collapsed In Sunbeams, her literature collection and how her heartfelt lyrics entered Eilish's imagination.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

What are you reading at the moment? I learned a new Japanese word recently—tsundoku, or the art of leaving a book unread after buying it. Are you like that?
I'm definitely like that! My favorite thing to do is wander around quaint little book shops in SoHo, like Skoob Books, and buying 10 books at once. I've got Shampoo Planet by Douglas Coupland, This Young Monster by Charlie Fox and The Swimming Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst on my desk, to name a few. There's something so comforting about books as a little physical world to explore, but making the time to read them is a different story.

Aside from your musical influences, which artistic figures inspire you?
I'm obsessed with sensory, muscular writers like Virginia Woolf, Zadie Smith, and Raymond Carver. Some special books to me are Just Kids by Patti Smith, Chelsea Girls by Eileen Myles and Blueberries by Ellena Savage. I'm also interested in [photographers] that capture youth culture and act like super-observant documentarians, like Wolfgang Tillmans, William Eggleston, and Nan Goldin.

In terms of films, I love Xavier Dolan—especially Mommy—[as well as] Wes Anderson's catalog, Vertigo by Hitchcock and quiet, sensitive films like In The Mood For Love by Wong Kar-Wai or Driveways by Andrew Ahn.

Can you remember which came first, writing stories or listening to music?
Listening to music came first. I remember sitting on the carpet in the living room and listening to everything from Françoise Hardy to My Funny Valentine by Chet Baker to Zombie by Fela Kuti. Music permeated the house, and the car rides to Sainsbury's. It's in all my conscious memory.

You're a prolific journal writer. Is that where your ideas for songs germinate?​
Definitely. This album was inspired by poring over old journals and picking out fragments of conversation, dissecting explosions of emotion and important stories [magnified] by adolescence. Journaling also allows me to have those quiet moments of introspection and makes me a more honest, focused, and experimental writer. Everything I write feeds into my songs.

How did you go about recording Collapsed In Sunbeams?
It was recorded between my bedroom, a few Airbnbs, and two studios. I wrote the demos for "Portra 400" and "Bluish" in my bedroom and recorded the Bluish vocals at 3 a.m. at home. Most of the songs were written and recorded in Airbnbs in East London—Dalston and Hoxton.

It was a very organic and instinctive process. We approached this album on a song-by-song basis to make sure everything felt fresh, and the sonic palette was broad.

Your songs' emotional maturity is surprising given your age. Have you always been that emotionally in touch?

I've always been somebody who felt a lot all the time. That sensitivity and empathy is a big part of who I am, and I've always had a sense of self-awareness when it comes to my inner landscape. I learned a lot about emotion and communication just from being around very open people—from helping friends and understanding myself.

You've spoken elsewhere about being blessed with a supportive family, who helped with that emotional intelligence. What do they make of your new stardom? And what has it been like living with them while your career has skyrocketed?

They always say how proud they are of me, but there have been adjustments to be made. Being on TV or being recognized in the park, or being in the paper has taken some getting used to. It has felt so grounding to be surrounded by the people who know me and love me best during the chaos of this year, so I'm grateful for that. It's refreshing to watch some Hitchcock films with my mom or just chat with my brother between interviews. It centers me.

"Black Dog" is particularly devastating, but elsewhere on the album, there's a more uplifting message. How can we maintain hope during this bleak period?
I think this album is an exercise in balance. Being a human being involves spikes of elation and dejection, and I wanted to explore both sides. Honestly, I would say try and make space for your own joy every day, whether it's going for a quick walk, getting a posh coffee, having a solo dance party or a bath with candles. Doing little things for yourself consistently and being aware that what is meant for you will not pass you by.

How do you feel about flaunting your influences? I can hear bits of Radiohead and Portishead.
It's super important to me. I'm a music lover before a music maker, and I love the idea of picking little elements of records I enjoy. Maybe a kick drum from [A Tribe Called Quest's] The Low End Theory, some guitar reverb from a Beach House song, a melodic approach from [Elliott Smith's] Either/Or, creating a unique collage.

I like paying homage to and basking in the songs that made me fall in love with music and allow me to fall more deeply in love every day.

Speaking of influences, Billie Eilish says she's a fan. So is Michaela Coel and Phoebe Bridgers. How do you cope knowing the cool kids are watching?
It's surreal to know that such powerful, unique human beings are a fan of my work. It's validating in a specific way because these are people I look up to.

You're very in touch with your fan base, particularly through your candid social media presence. What's been the most impactful fan reaction to your work?
I feel connected to my fans, there's a familial quality to [my] community, and I find that lovely. Someone said that "Eugene" helped them come out to their older sister and feel a sense of comfort in themselves and their sexuality. I also remember someone saying the only way their baby boy would sleep was listening to "Cola", which I thought was very wholesome.

Your natural lyricism and interest in words of all kinds lend themselves to rap. Can we expect that on future albums, or will you keep it centered around spoken-word for now?
Maybe so. Who knows? I'm a big fan of hip-hop. Artists like Navy Blue, MF Doom, and Earl Sweatshirt are so playful with language. The sky's the limit, and that's so exciting to me.

Phoebe Bridgers Talks 'Punisher,' Japanese Snacks & Introducing Conor Oberst To Memes

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Ryan Hemsworth

Ryan Hemsworth

Photo: Colin Medley

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Ryan Hemsworth Talks Combining Two Worlds On 'Quarter-Life Crisis'

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The new EP's cohesion came naturally as he "tried to make it more like a mix or a compilation of like-minded people that are all kind of in the same world," he says
Danielle Chelosky
GRAMMYs
Dec 9, 2020 - 5:59 pm

Ryan Hemsworth's goal was simple: To allow his love for indie music to interact with his passion for producing. He's worked with Tinashe, Tory Lanez, Yurufuwa Gang—the list goes on and on, and it's diverse and full of surprises. For Quarter-Life Crisis, his EP released on Nov. 4 via Saddle Creek, the Canadian producer switched gears and brought in a circle of more low-key artists: Charlie Martin of Hovvdy, Frances Quinlan of Hop Along, Claud, Hand Habits and Yohuna. The ambiance is different—it's calm, sparkling, free-floating.

"Time just stretches out a lot," he tells GRAMMY.com a couple of weeks before the EP release, the day that the track "Comfortable" is unveiled. "It sort of was a good thing in the end because I've grown these relationships with everyone on the project."

The artists he collaborated with are also, in one way or another, interconnected. The cohesion came naturally as he "tried to make it more like a mix or a compilation of like-minded people that are all kind of in the same world," he says. That world is heightened in Quarter-Life Crisis—the delicate vocals, the earnest lyrics, the careful movement. It sounds less like a crisis and more like a resolution.

Read on to hear from Hemsworth about the timeline of the EP, the process of collaboration, and the inspiration to combine indie and electronic music.

When did you start making this EP?

The general idea started years ago. I was emailing with Saddle Creek—who's putting it out—probably well over five years ago. It was about this general idea of having a handful of different singers and people from different projects, but putting it all together into one hopefully cohesive project. It's been a long time coming. The songs actually started probably two years ago. I feel like that Hand Habits track ["Comfortable"] that came out today was maybe the first that got this into motion. Since then, I was finishing it through the start of COVID-19. It's sort of a pre-COVID project.

Read: 'Tron: Legacy' At 10: How Daft Punk Built An Enduring Soundtrack

How did you pick who to work with?

Kind of a mix of different ways. Half of them are part of the Saddle Creek label, and Amber is the A&R and she introduced me to a few of them. That helped a lot to get some level of trust going into it, like, "Hey, we know this guy, we know you guys would probably make something good together." That can be the one of the hardest parts at times, especially with a project like this.

Hand Habits, for example, had never really done a collaboration this way. I invited them to the studio and usually they'd play guitar and write everything themselves. I had an instrumental demo ready and I just played them a few different ideas. With the first one, Meg [Duffy, a.k.a. Hand Habits] was already like, "Yeah, this is sweet," just sitting there, humming and writing down lyrics. It was—hopefully for everyone, and myself included—just a refreshing approach. It was the same for Frances [Quinlan] as well. I don't think she'd really worked sitting there with a producer before and making this type of music.

Did you feel any responsibility, especially since it was their first time doing that sort of thing?

Yeah. I wasn't too in my head in the moment, but after I was like, "I'm glad this went well because I probably could've turned them off from wanting to do something like this ever again." I wouldn't want to be responsible for that. [Laughs.]

But with Frances, who's just the nicest person, after she was like, "I've never really considered working in this way, but now I'm really interested in doing this more." Because I never really know; I'm not like most producers that are super cocky and have a big mixing board and are like, "Come on, we're gonna make a gold hit." I'm definitely more self-conscious and I want the other person to be super comfortable and happy. It's hard to turn that part of your brain off sometimes, but I think it went pretty well overall.

Is there anything specific you learned from working with all these musicians?

Definitely a lot of different elements. In a nerdy way, the approach to mixing. I feel like before this, I was really thinking more about how something sounds from the "How does it sound in the club?" perspective—the kicks and bass should be louder. This was more of a freeing experience, where I was playing a lot of it live with guitars and everything and I could actually make it sound rougher. I didn't need to use those words like "slap" and "smack"—I'm not thinking about music in those terms. [Laughs.] It's a personal, nice growth.

Especially working with Frances, who's really meticulous with how she makes music. That song changed a lot and went through a lot of demo stages. One section went from one to another, and we got a children's choir on the chorus and all of this different stuff. That let me step back and be like, "I'm not gonna control this thing. I really want her ideas to get across here." I wanted to amplify that and make it the best it could be in general. That's probably the producer goal in a way.

To me, the EP has this feeling of floating and this dreamy, delicate vibe. Was that something you were trying to capture?

I would say that's kind of what always comes through, for whatever reason or maybe for a bunch of different reasons. I definitely use certain synths that are heavily reverberated and certain sounds that kind of reference to '80s synth-pop stuff. At the same time, I really was going back to my high school indie band influences on these songs—thinking about Grandaddy, and all groups that combine electronic sounds and rock sounds in a not cheesy way.

Tell me about what your life was like when you were in high school and got into indie. How'd you get into it, who'd you like, what shows did you go to?

I started playing guitar in grade seven, and it was through my cousin who had a band. I looked up to him and wanted to emulate everything he did. So, just having a good role model, I think, and letting me steal his old CDs, like Smashing Pumpkins and stuff like that. Through high school, I was always excited to get home right from school and find music and go on blogs all day. I was in Halifax until I finished university, and honestly not a lot of big bands came there, so show-wise, I didn't really go to a lot. I was just sort of on my computer all day, every day.

I feel like I was originally really into this type of music, and sitting on my laptop and getting more into production, it lent itself to the electronic world and doing more and more of that, which ended up being the last 10 years of my life. I was like, "Wow, I can combine these things." I don't know why I was always scared of that a little. I thought it would like turn one side or the other off in those two different worlds, but I think nobody really cares anymore.

Why's it called Quarter-Life Crisis?

When I started thinking about the project, it was more accurate to quarter-life, but at this point I'm 30 now. The general idea was reached when I was playing a lot of shows and electronic festivals and there were definitely a lot of elements that I didn't really love about it. In general, I just wanting to be at home and go back to that sitting on my computer and not having responsibilities again.

Did that crisis just pass through you?

I guess so. Maybe the project is me sort of working that part of my life out. It does feel a bit cathartic to make this music that I've always wanted to but I didn't know if it would be accepted or if I would be accepted in this different world musically. It’s been a nice feeling so far.

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Frances Quinlan

 Frances Quinlan

Photo: Julia Khoroshilov

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Frances Quinlan On Her New Album 'Likewise,' Love Of Visual Art And Learning To Speak Her Mind

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The Hop Along frontwoman discusses her debut solo album, professional jealousy and the loaded meaning behind the word "likewise"
Laura Studarus
GRAMMYs
Jan 31, 2020 - 1:41 pm

Frances Quinlan is shocked. The singer-songwriter was attempting to expound on an answer, thoughtfully tackling the idea of solitary art, when nature intervened in the form of a particularly aggressive muskrat, springing into action outside of the Milwaukee Art Museum. 

"He just tackled a duck and went for his throat!" she yelps. "I'm surprised he could take her down!" 

"Animal Kingdom" exploits may be one of the few times Quinlan hasn't offered eloquent commentary on an event or emotion. (Then again, maybe "wow" is the best summation of National Geographic action). As the frontwoman for Hop Along, she's spent the last decade crafting chamber folk mediations on death, abuse and the pricklier side of love.  

It's a similar emotional quagmire fans will recognize in Likewise, Quinlan's newly released debut solo album. Likewise, out today (Jan. 31) on Saddle Creek Records, is a folk-fueled study in emotional details: a haunted dream, a bug in a woman's brain and meaningful notes found in a library book. ("Somebody wrote 'tender' in the novel's margins/As if to remind about a precious force," she sings on album track "Your Reply.") It's also an accurate depiction of her complex, thoughtful and often funny internal monologue. 

Following the release of Likewise, Quinlan spoke with the Recording Academy about professional jealously, business cards and learning to speak her mind. 

In honor of the fact that you're calling from a museum, when did your love of visual art begin? 

I started out painting when I was very young. My mom actually really encouraged it. She hasn't really done it for a few decades, but she made kind of amazing etchings and was the first person to take me seriously as a visual artist, which is a wonderful, wonderful thing for a child—just adults in general that see potential. Especially because it's not like I was all that good when I was little. But my mom saw, and a few teachers as well saw, that I really liked doing it, and just encouraged me quite a lot. 

I'm still working on it, honestly. I just went through the museum looking at a kind of painters, and I have this really terrible tendency to calculate the age of a person when they make their work, mostly to know that there's still time. 

I tend to go the other way and get jealous of people younger than me who have accomplished great things.  

I do both. I look at age and go, "Man, they were 23 when they did that, holy cow." But at the same time that I look and see like how they were 56 when they did this. That's great. I mean, there's no formula. That's the great and daunting thing about it—there's just no way that you have to do anything, and certainly no age either. 

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Do you see the connection between visual arts and music in your life?

I do think there's a connection between the two. I'm not sure. I'd have to think more about that, but they certainly fulfill different aspects of what I need spiritually. 

When did you get to the point when you felt comfortable being like, "Hey guys, here I am?" and writing songs that are so open and honest?  

I would say that in life, that's going to be a work in progress. I think it's not for me to say I have it figured out. It's a big, big moment to really accept yourself fully and accept however people decide to define you. I definitely think that's a challenge and to let go of how people define you. There's certainly people that have made their decision about who I am. And I understand the lack of control. That's someone else's emotions. They're allowed to have them. 

This solo album is super interesting to me, especially hearing that you recorded it in pieces. Was there a moment when you stood back and saw the light narrative thread going through these songs? 

I started to see a little bit of a thread once I was in the middle of recording. It just kind of occurred to me that these songs all seem to be dialogue in a way. I mean, not all of them, but that does come up a number of times. 

As you've gotten older, have you found that it's sort of easier to have honest dialogue with the people you care about? 

No, it's not easier. Not for me, anyway. The only thing that I find is that I am getting a little better at it. Uhh, I don't mean to quote from the show "Louie," but there is a scene where Joan [Rivers] says, "It doesn't get better. You get better." And I think with confrontation, I don't think it gets easier. As long as you remain emotionally engaged, heartbreak doesn't lessen as you age. Also, maybe your perspective [widens] and you have a better idea of the big picture. But humans are unpredictable.

Read: The Cranberries Reflect On Their First GRAMMY Nod: "Dolores Would've Been Delighted And Honored"

"Likewise" feels like an incredibly loaded word. 

It's funny, I've been noticing it more that people [are] saying it. Like I thought initially writing it down, I thought it was sort of a dated word. But I'm hearing it more and more now. So maybe [it's] just because I'm more conscious of it. First of all, I just, I like the sound of it. "Likewise." That internal rhyme within the word. I liked that it's a singular word that contains a whole, pretty loaded meaning of, "I understand you, I feel the same way." Likewise. It's such a funny thing to say, like, "We're the same." We feel things the same, and yet you're saying it to someone you probably just met. What a funny thing. 

So other than "likewise," what should we bring back in 2020? What words or things that we haven't done as a society for a while? 

"Zowy!" No, just kidding. No one should say "zowy."

What would your business card say if you had one? 

Not artist. I'd have to find some kind of sneaky way to have some kind of more official-sounding, artisan kind of name. Well, something that just indicates a concrete process. If I were a session player, that would look good on a card and it would make sense. But musician, to me, even that—I certainly wouldn't put guitar player or even vocalist on a business card.

While you were working on your first album, did you have a celebrity crush or a person that you really looked up to? 

Bright Eyes, of course. Saddle Creek in general. I loved that that was made up of people making records with their friends and that it could be attainable in that way. Before that, I heard the radio and it seems so distant, the ability to make an album and release it and have it be in the store.

Do you believe in fate? It's amazing your story seems to have come full circle now that you're part of Saddle Creek.   

I think there's too much chaos and horror in the world. It's hard to think that anything was destined to happen with so many, you know, crazy, horrible mishaps and disasters. But I certainly would hope that no one planned it, that no cosmic being intended that. I'm almost hopeful that there isn't. That sounds pretty bleak, but doesn't mean I'm not hopeful.

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serpentwithfeet on album cover of 'DEACON'

serpentwithfeet

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Serpentwithfeet Celebrates Black Gay Love With Delicate Devotion On ‘DEACON’

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“I hope that people are encouraged to be soft, and to be gentle as they can be,” serpentwithfeet shared with GRAMMY.com about his new album, ‘DEACON’
Jack Riedy
GRAMMYs
Apr 2, 2021 - 10:52 am

Serpentwithfeet is happy, and you can hear it even when his voice goes beyond language. Midway through “Same Size Shoe” from his new album DEACON, the Baltimore-born singer also known as Josiah Wise introduces a “trumpet” fanfare that’s his own voice layered several times over, heralding a love steeped in understanding and empathy. Released March 26, it celebrates Black gay love with a giddiness to rival pop hits from ‘60s Motown or ‘90s R&B, a pivot from the darker tones of previous serpentwithfeet releases.

The singer enlisted new collaborators like British singers Sampha and NAO (each of whom he had previously opened for in 2016) to attain the album’s bright sound, recorded between Los Angeles and London over the past three years.

On the phone, Wise raves about his current home: “Part of the reason why I love L.A. so much is that people in the industry are so kind. I think it's such a great city because I get to work and I can do sessions and all of this, but then also the people that I work with are so much fun to be around.” Even with 808s from “Mo Bamba” and “Panini” production duo Take A Daytrip, the music hangs in the air like a generous dollop of whipped cream atop a dessert.

DEACON’s joy is a perfect fit for the beginning of spring, as people tentatively return to gathering together safely. “Malik” and “Amir” are composite character sketches of past lovers, while the closing track “Fellowship” celebrates friendship.

"I hope that people are encouraged to be soft, and to be gentle as they can be," Wise says in conclusion. "I think that that's all I can really wish for, is that people listen to this work, and maybe it will give them some encouragement to be gentle."

You just released the Apparition EP in April 2020. What was the development of DEACON like?

The thing is, I'm always working on music, and I like to organize; "Okay, like, this feels like it's part of this particular idea." The Apparition songs definitely didn't fit what I was going for on DEACON. I said, "This should be its own project." It's funny, because people have asked if this is a concept album, and I've never considered any of my projects concept albums, because that just seems really ambitious. But I do think I'm pretty good at knowing what the mood is, and I just knew the mood and the sonic palette for DEACON, so I try to stick within those confines.

The idea was to make something that felt really airy. I really wanted to feel and hear breath, and when I think breath, I think about space, the space to breathe, and about ventilation. That was my interest. Does this album have space? Does it feel loving? Does it feel gentle? Those are the feelings and the ideas I was in pursuit of for DEACON.

Possibly my favorite part of the project is the “trumpet” line on "Same Size Shoe." Can you tell me about writing that fanfare but recording it as a vocal?

I had that idea very early on. And I was uncertain about keeping it because I didn't know if it was too campy, but actually I love the campiness of it now. I just wanted to do a vocal fanfare moment. It's just so apropos. I think that song is so much about celebrating, celebrating Black love, Black gay love, and I just wanted something that felt jubilant and jocular, and doing a vocal fanfare just seemed really appropriate.

Where did the concept for “Same Size Shoe” come from?

I was just thinking about being with someone that I can trust, being someone who I don't have to explain anything to. Being with someone who has a similar cultural reservoir or cultural experience as me—I was writing about dating and being in love with Black men, and just the ease and the trust that is there. When you ask someone to walk in your shoes, well, I hope they wear the same size shoe. Because it's pretty painful if they don't! And that's one of the last lines of the song, like, "You can walk a mile in my shoes, that's why I trust you."

As you're recording and working on music, do you have a set process to keep track of your ideas?

I love being in the studio. But I think there's always an intention for sure, every time I go to the studio. The same way, with every project I've done, I knew what I wanted to do. I keep a little document of all the ideas of "Okay, so for this next thing, this is the territory I want to explore." Or, "I want things that are all above 130 BPM." I have to be pragmatic in that way. It doesn't mean that everything I put out is going to fit that criteria. But it's really helpful for me to start with a set criteria. Maybe that's the school kid in me coming out, like I need direction, and because I don't have a teacher, I'm the instructor. I have to be my own taskmaster.

Is it an emotional process when you're recording, to lay down these vocals, especially if you're recording by yourself?

 Well, I've never had a session and started weeping or anything. But there are moments when I surprise myself and I give myself a high five a lot. I forget which writer said this, but they said you aren't writing until you've scared yourself. And I sort of take that same approach to music making, like I'm not making my best music until I've scared myself, or cry to myself, or done something where I feel a little like, "ooh."

"Hyacinth," I think, surprised me the most. It was interesting to see what happened when I got in front of the microphone, where I would have things written out, and then I would start singing, like, “Yeah, this word doesn't work.” I ended up surprising myself. That particular song, I didn't weep or anything, but was very emotional, in a sense, because I had told myself years ago—before I dropped the first EP blisters in 2016—I knew that the next project I wanted to do, I said, I want it to be really loving, and I want to write a song about nature. But I just didn't have a gentle touch. And I think you can have an agenda but sometimes you have to live to execute it.

When I wrote "Hyacinth," I was like, "Whoa, this is what I said I wanted to do five years ago." I was really touched that I was able to write something like that. So, in that way, it can be an emotional or wonderful reflecting process.

Were there any other parts of this recording or the writing that scared or surprised you?

"Sailors' Superstition," with Take a Daytrip. They're genius. It was stepping out of my comfort zone, but in the most wondrous and rewarding way. There was nothing stuffy or uncomfortable about those sessions. I had a lot of fun. They're both also very quick.

I knew I wanted to do something that was more danceable, and we talked about some ideas. When they heard what I wanted, they said, “Okay, great. It needs to be this BPM, we need to have the kicks on the twos,” and they just had their producer lingo. I was like, "How are y'all working like this?" Within 15 minutes, we had an instrumental. Even when I was recording my vocals, I did different takes, and they were like, "Oh, do this one, 'cause you were more in a pocket," or "Use this one, because you'd like your inflection here."

Sampha, while working on "Fellowship," stopped me from singing. I was recording the chorus and he was like, "Stop!" and I was like, "Whoa, I've never had somebody tell me to stop." And he was like, "I'm gonna sing with you, but I want to sing at the same time as you." And then he was like, "Lil Silva, you come and sing too." But that was Sampha's idea, to have us all sing together. Because I was just doing it by myself, and trying to make a really pretty chorus, with my little vocals. And he was like, "Nope, that's not it." But I was open to it, because it's Sampha.

The harmonies on "Fellowship" reinforce the theme of the song. Can you tell me about that song as a platonic love song?

I think friendship is such a wonderful, magical gift. And I definitely do feel like I have been gifted with friendship, and obviously, I've worked for it and all of that. "Fellowship," we wrote in 2019. And I was just thinking about how wonderful it is that I have people in my life that I can be my full self with, that I don't have to be around my friends and wonder, "Oh, can I not crack that joke," or "Can I not talk about my dreams, because they might sh*t on my dreams?" Or “Can I not wear this crazy outfit?”

My friends have seen me in so many different times in my life, and a lot of my friends I've had for years. I mean, I'm still friends with people from high school and college, and they're so, not just accepting, but they celebrate me and I celebrate them. And we also have lots of fun together now in the same way that we laughed and cut up when I was 16.

To me, this album sounds very happy and positive and upbeat. Are there any undercurrents of negative emotions, or bittersweetness to these songs for you?

I don't think so. So much of my previous work was about bittersweetness. The bittersweetness of grief, because grief means that you have loved, grief means that you have cared and you've been cared for. What I was talking about on [my 2018 album] soil, my grief was a response to having such a wonderful love experience.

But this time around, I didn't want that bittersweetness. I wanted to talk about maintaining and celebrating the love that I have in my life. And you know, I was very intentional about editing lyrics for a long, long time to make sure that there was no angst or bitterness. That took a lot of time, actually, to make sure that it actually felt joyous, and not fake joyous or half-joy.

Are there other works that fill that same space of celebrating Black gay love for you?

I'm inspired by so many different things. I think about TV shows, like I look at “Noah's Ark,” which I show a clip of actually in "Same Size Shoe." “Noah's Ark” is a TV show about a group of Black gay men. And there's the film Tongues Untied by Marlon Riggs, which is about Black gay men. I have so many different references, where I'm like, "Okay, how do I take that warmth from Queen Sugar and put it into a song?”

In addition to that, I was just thinking about loving songs that just feel like a balm. Like Janet Jackson's Damita Jo, specifically, the downtempo songs, like, "Spending Time With You," or Brandy's song "When You Touch Me" from Full Moon. I think I've had so many examples of how I can make a sweet song, like Musiq Soulchild's "Just Friends," which gave me a lot of information, when he says, "I'm not trying to pressure you, I just want to be your homeboy." Like, can we just be friends? So I was thinking about all those different artists that have offered such generous tunes.

I love the word generous that you used, and I want to turn it around to you. Does it feel like you are offering a lot of yourself to the world, like you yourself are being generous in this album that follows in those songs' footsteps?

Absolutely. My goal is always to be emotionally available. And some days are better than others, obviously, but that's always my goal. With writing these songs, I was very intentional about wanting to be emotionally available, and also wanting to sing about men who are emotionally available. And I think emotional availability and generosity go hand in hand.

What is your day-to-day like in recent weeks now that the project is done?

I'm taking a moment. I think it's important to celebrate. I'm a big fan of celebrating. I'm still working, 'cause I have a [livestream] show coming up and all that. But, I do plan to celebrate, take a moment, reflect. That's all part of the process, too.

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