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Jimmy Eat World 

Photo: Oliver Halfin

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Jimmy Eat World Are 'Surviving': "At The End Of The Day, We're Fighting For The Same Thing"

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The Recording Academy speaks to frontman Jim Adkins about where 'Surviving' fits in the emo stalwarts' extensive catalog
Jennifer Velez
GRAMMYs
Oct 28, 2019 - 2:19 pm

25 years and 10 albums into his career, Jim Adkins, frontman of emo mainstays Jimmy Eat World, says one of the key factors for keeping a band together this long comes down to a choice made every day.

"We all realize, at the end of the day, that we're fighting for the same thing," he says on the phone from Arizona.

The band's latest album, Surviving, out now, comes after the band's 25th anniversary in February and 20 years after making their third album, Clarity, which, at the time, they thought would be their last. "It was like a last meal on death row. We loaded up our plate with string sections, timpanis, mallet instruments and dream machines," a post reads on the band's Instagram reflecting back during the album's anniversary date.

Surviving has Adkins in a different headspace than 20 years ago. Not that Adkins isn't aware that it could all end ("Your career is finite," he says). But lately he's much more focused on reflecting on the self. 

"What's been fascinating me lately [are] the blocks you put in your own way that prevent you from experiencing growth. That keep you in a state of fear or depression, or self-pity, or a lack of self-worth," he says. " What evolutionary advantage possibly could there be for the levels of self-sabotage we think we need?" 

The band's newer music still features the hard-rocking melodies fans have come to love and revere, and Adkins admits that the pressure to live up to his own expectations has grown over the years. "You're not just making albums, you're not just releasing singles," he says. "You're building your catalog. And everything that you do lives right next to everything you've ever done."

The Recording Academy spoke with Adkins about where Surviving fits in Jimmy Eat World's extensive catalog (Surviving is their 10th studio album), the challenging aspects of making a record, what he's the most proud to have accomplished with the band and more. 

Surviving is album number 10. How does it feel to be 10 albums in?

Pretty crazy. We don't take any of this for granted and there's a finite amount of opportunities that you get. It could be one album, it could be 15 albums. I think on page one of [Donald] Passman's book [All You Need to Know About the Music Business] he says it a couple times, your career is finite. And I take that to heart so you have to appreciate everything that comes your way. And we've been really, really fortunate that we've been able to do this for as long as we have.

You recently celebrated an anniversary as a band. What, in your opinion, has been the glue that has kept you guys together for so long?

That's a good question. I think it's a couple of factors. There's a level of respect for each other, especially creatively. I think that the idea of how many bands break up because of quote, unquote creative differences, which I know is kind of a cover for some extra other deep stuff. But it's true. I can see how that derails a lot of people and as heated as an argument might be when we're working on material, we all realize at the end of the day that we're fighting for the same thing.

It's not like you don't take any of that stuff personally. I wouldn't want to work with people that didn't have passionate ideas and envisions for the creative direction. Of course, it's not going to be exactly the same [as mine]. That's why you work with other people. If you want to just do your thing, you just do your thing. [If you want a collaborative environment], you're going to get things that aren't your idea. But hopefully in the end ... it'll make for an idea that nobody had on their own. They'll be something collaborative. It's something that none of you had thought of on your own and couldn't have thought on your own.

Some artists have told me it's basically like marriage, being in a group for so long.

Yeah, yeah. I can see that. It's a relationship on a level ... Any relationship that's going to last is, it's a partnership first. A band is a partnership first.

This album explores how you deal with ego. Tell me more about that.

Yeah, roughly. Every song has its own little thing, but roughly what's been fascinating me lately [are] the blocks you put in your own way that prevent you from experiencing growth. That keeps you in a state of fear or depression, or self-pity, or a lack of self-worth. A lot of those things are really your own fault. The crazy thing is I put this stuff there, but yet I'm so afraid to take it away. Why? Why is that? What evolutionary advantage possibly could there be for the levels of self-sabotage we think we need? 

It's crazy. "I really don't like where I am right now. I'm not happy with my job. I'm not happy with the relationship I'm in. I live in constant fear of finances or whatever." But to change or do anything different, that's just too scary. I don't know if I want to do that. Why? Why is that? It's kind of fascinating to me. So, that's what a lot of Surviving is about. 

I've read stuff about the ego and sometimes what happens is that we're not living in the moment. Like you said, we're thinking about the future, we're thinking about how we're not happy. Do you feel like you were in the moment creating this album?

Yeah, I can see why there are people who check out of society and dedicate their entire being to inner work of removing the self. Eckhart Tolle has a great book [on that], The Power Of Now.

It really changed a lot of stuff for me. But yeah, that's true. We future trip, we hold onto guilt. We choose to re-live pain that doesn't exist. I don't know if this kind of gets at your question at all, but it's like something I used to find myself doing is catch myself in this state of anxiousness, or I basically work myself up into a really not great place. And that's the thing, I took 15 minutes out of the day and nothing else in the world had changed, but I had gone and chosen to re-live pain in my head. 

It's crazy. I'm not being present. I'm not interacting with people around me. I'm not experiencing a connection to people 'cause I'm in my own head. Either future tripping or reliving guilt I guess would be the fear of the past, I suppose you could call it. So, it's a constant quest to be present, and it's a longer answer than maybe you intended. But it's sort of the trick, with creation, with writing, with music. You got to turn off somewhat because I think writer's block is essentially not being able to shut off the inner critique.

But music is like you're responding to something. You're also creating something. You're responsible for the momentum and the direction. And you're also listening, and you're responding to that at the same time. And if your inner critic is constantly chiming into naysaying something, you're not going to get anywhere. So you got to turn that off. It's a real trick to be present, but also to turn that voice off is a real trick. And that's why this is so hard.

Have you always been this aware?

No. No. [Laughs.] Not at all. It's a newer thing, I guess.

Did anything else inspire this album?

Well, I mean everything. I think our albums are time capsules. These sort of encompass everything that's been happening, everything that I am curious about, everything that floats to the surface of life and living in the timeframe since our last thing that we did, which was about three years ago, Integrity Blues, came out three years ago. So yeah, it's basically a time capsule of the last three years. 

Was there something about making this album that was different from the rest?

Hmm. I think the longer that we do this, the more pressure there is to live up to our own expectations, our own standards. Increasingly, the way people consume music now... You're not just making albums, you're not just releasing singles. You're building your catalog. And everything that you do lives right next to everything you've ever done. It's right next to it. And then that lives right next to the Library of Congress and anybody can take whatever they want out of that. So, what you're doing has to feel... there has to be a reason for it. If anything, that might be the difference is if we're going to take the time to add to our catalog, it better be something we feel is meaningful. It better be something we feel like there's a reason that we're doing it in the first place.

So what do you feel was the reason you made Surviving?

In the past, I think when you're starting out and especially us, when we were younger, you just do something. You don't know why. You just feel it. You have to, we have to do it. Here's my idea, I just have to get this out. You don't question it. You don't analyze it. You just do it cause you have to. Not like someone's making you do it. You have to otherwise, you'll just explode. You will die, you'll die unless you can get this thing thinking out.

That's how it feels when you're younger. But as you get older, I think this is a quest to know yourself. The more you learn doing that, you find reasons there. You find things that are important to you. And that's the thing that you choose to talk about. So, I guess that's just the reason now. I don't know. We feel like our ideas are good enough to live next to everything else we've ever done.

Is there a part of the album-making process that you enjoy the most?

I think there are two thoughts really. When the first draft demo, when you get the initial idea and you take your stab at hearing that happen in real life and if something comes out of it, that's great. And then I think the next phase is probably listening back to it. Listening back to the master copy for the first time. Yeah, it'll never quite sound that way again, ever. So, it's nice to take a second and play that once.

Was there a challenging aspect in making Surviving?

I think it's all pretty challenging. I think the most challenging aspect of it is that simple thing that confronts you every time sit down to work. It's just finding the balance of not... I'm trying to be present with whatever is happening and also silencing the inner critic. Because there's an awareness and then there's a complete subconscious that you have to kind of balance. That's always harder.

What is one thing that you are really proud to have accomplished all these years later?

I guess I could say I'm proud that we've always been honest with what we've put out. We're always been honest with the music we put our name on is material we feel is fun to play [and] had been rewarding to create. We've never made something to chase the approval of some imaginary listener.

People really pick up on that. There's nothing more of a turnoff and someone trying to chase your approval. So I think that we've done a good job in disregarding that. Not everyone's going to like what we do, but I think if you put out something honest, I think the right people will find it.

Behind The Record Celebrates Behind-The-Scenes Creators Of Your Favorite Albums

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Bright Eyes

Photo by Danny Cohen

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Bright Eyes Usher In A New Apocalypse

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After a nine-year hiatus, Bright Eyes' new album, 'Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was,' hinges on apocalyptic imagery, desire and loss
Caitlin Wolper
GRAMMYs
Jul 1, 2020 - 8:49 am

An announcement cuts through barroom chatter. In Spanish, a woman welcomes the crowd warmly, preparing them for the song ahead—at the end of a hallway, they’ll open the door of forgotten memory. If you don’t speak Spanish, you’ll still catch when she names the composition’s theme: "Your most vivid nightmares."

From there, "Pageturner’s Rag" dissolves into a ragtime overlapped with conversations; at first, it feels like you're sitting in the crowd.

But of course, the song is far stranger than that. Recorded primarily in Pageturner's Lounge, an Omaha bar co-owned by Bright Eyes frontman Conor Oberst, every line is deliberate. The bar "audience" received pre-written potential topics, phrases, or conversations on cue cards; you can hear those recordings throughout as Pageturner pianist Dan McCarthy plays and Bright Eyes member Nate Walcott joins on trumpet.

These conversations are spliced with snippets of a recording from Oberst's home, a three-hour conversation between him, his mother and his ex-wife Corina Figueroa Escamilla (the Spanish-speaking announcer) after they all took psychedelic mushrooms.

Oberst and his bandmates consider the dissonant opening track to be "what makes a Bright Eyes album a Bright Eyes album," calling it a "pay-at-the-door situation": if you’re willing to step through the oddities, then you make it to the songs. ("We’re kind of shitheads like that," he laughs.)

"I’ve always loved the idea of putting the music in a world that is outside of a sterile, cold, studio sonic environment, so the little sound collages and all the field recordings and bits of sound, that’s all throughout the record," Oberst says. "It creates a world for the songs to live in that isn’t just a straitlaced studio situation."

After a nine-year hiatus, Oberst, Mike Mogis and Nate Walcott have returned with a new Bright Eyes album. Named after a now-abandoned poem/flipbook that Oberst was making after his brother’s death, Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was finds them searching for what’s left among ruins.

Long considered eerie, surreal, or apocalyptic, Bright Eyes' wary-eyed paranoia is discomfittingly prescient for a COVID-era listener. Whether it’s capitalistic reanimation ("This old town looks empty but we knew it wouldn’t last/Behind bulletproof windows they’re still wiring the cash"), or more literal apocalypse ("This world went down in flames and man-made caves"), we’re in a strange world, made all the more disorienting by sudden, interruptive conversations and Mogis’ producing. The band wanted to ensure that after their time away, Down in the Weeds fit seamlessly into the Bright Eyes catalogue—as it stands, it could easily be a marriage between Fevers and Mirrors and Cassadaga.

Read More: I Love You Far Too Much: Bright Eyes' 'Fevers And Mirrors' Turns 20

While the album was recorded pre-COVID, its dystopian bend aligns uncannily with our present. A number of lines now feel eerie. Saying he’s "obviously not the only one with these ideas on my mind," Oberst believes he’s tapped into a collective consciousness "where maybe because of certain advances of the world, we’re all kind of dreaming the same dreams and having the same thoughts to some degree."

Reckoning with lost love, new love, endings, illness, and death, massive abstractions are cut with quotidian action—after all, even in the face of apocalypse, someone still needs to cut celery for soup.

"That approach of blending mundane things with more fantastical or supermacro broad philosophical concepts is interesting to me," Oberst says. "That's honestly the way I feel in my life: like most of life is routine and boring, but then I go to sleep and I have very wild nightmares or nice dreams, or during the day I’m preoccupied with some sort of gigantic thought that really has nothing to do with my life."

He says that, to some degree, he thinks of all his albums as concept albums because the songs come in waves and hinge on a specific set of obsessions. At the forefront on Down in the Weeds? Dissociation; paranoia; questioned faith; resurrection.

"To Death’s Heart (In Three Parts)" is the most outright search for meaning, broken up by the words of a lover (who calls him exhausting), the words of the pope (benedictions) and the last words of Parisians who died in the Bataclan (ephemeralness). The song ends with a distorted, spoken exchange between Oberst and another, where Oberst interrogates: "What I'm wondering is, do you believe in god, champ?" "I believe that, uh…" "But you’re the champ, right?" The next track, "Calais to Dover," opens with a narrator who can’t recognize himself.

And as the songs' narrators (all composites) look for and lose themselves, paranoia furthers that divide, pulling harder on the tether to reality. "Mariana Trench" captures an entire world, pointing listeners to extreme highs and lows while warning of what lies between them: "Look out for the plainclothes/Look out for what the wiretap knows/Look out on the ever-widening money trail and where it goes."

It’s an ever-running current of love that keeps the album from giving in to its dread. While “Just in the World” starts by affirming that humans either discover or destroy, it leads into a narrator facing storms with his love and concludes: “If it ever occurred/just once in the world/a love as absurd/as ours I would scream what we lost/From the mountaintop.” Down in the Weeds never loses its sense of the world at large even as the individual loves and loses.

“I feel like some of my songs come across as a little schizophrenic: one verse will be about one thing or situation or person and the next verse will be about a totally different person and situation and they’re connected,” Oberst says. “They connect perfectly, logically in my mind, but they don’t necessarily come across as clearly to a listener, which I think is OK. I appreciate that in other people's music, a more surreal logical line.”

Oberst loves records that unravel and reveal themselves upon repeat listenings. He credits Mogis’ production style for Bright Eyes’ ability to do so: “every little sonic taster, little delay or weird effect — all that stuff might blow by you the first time you hear it, but if you listen on headphones enough times you start picking out more things.”

Bookended with subterranean vignettes, Down in the Weeds offers us a world uncannily similar to our own, where conspiracies intermingle with heartbreak.

"I’ve always been a pessimist and I think there’s been a slightly dystopian, apocalyptic bend to my songs and words for a long time, so it’s nothing new to me," Oberst says. He adds wryly: "I take no joy in being right about all this stuff."

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

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Haim

Photo by Drew Escriva

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Haim Open Up About 'Women In Music Pt. III,' Protesting In L.A. & Music Industry Sexism: "Not A Lot Has Changed"

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Ahead of the release of their third studio album, Alana, Danielle and Este Haim sit down with GRAMMY.com for a wide-ranging interview about loving (and almost leaving) L.A., battling gender-based genre stereotypes and much more
Pamela Chelin
GRAMMYs
Jun 25, 2020 - 8:43 am

While conversing over Zoom, it’s easy to see why the Haim sisters work so well together. Chatty and affable, they alternate between finishing each other's sentences and talking in unison, and paying rapt attention as each sister speaks. Born and raised in a tight-knit family in the San Fernando Valley area of Los Angeles, bassist/vocalist Este Haim (34), guitarist/vocalist Danielle Haim (31) and guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist Alana Haim (28) grew up playing in Rockinhaim, a covers band with their parents. In 2012, Haim released their debut EP Forever for free on their website before releasing their debut full-length album, Days Are Gone (2013), which shot to number one on the U.K. Albums Chart and garnered a GRAMMY nomination for Best New Artist. Something To Tell You, their sophomore record, was released in 2017. After opening a string of dates on Taylor Swift’s 1989 tour, headlining their own international tours and selling out both New York City's Radio City Music Hall and London's Alexandra Palace two nights in a row, a couple of "SNL" performances, and attracting celebrity fans in Fleetwood Mac's Stevie Nicks and U2's Bono, the trio is on the verge of releasing their highly anticipated third record, Women In Music Pt. III.

Due to the coronavirus pandemic, WIMPIII’s release date was initially pushed to August from April before being rolled back to June. The viral outbreak also cut Haim's promotional deli tour short (they had just begun a jaunt performing at delis across the United States). On its surface, a deli tour may seem strange. But for Haim, who share a lifelong fondness for delis, it's actually a natural fit. "We grew up going to delis and when we were introducing the record we wanted to do something creative that we’d not seen before. We really do feel at home the most in delis," Alana tells GRAMMY.com. "We really wanted to do a different thing and we thought how cool if people can go and be able to eat Matzo ball soup." In fact, Haim's first gig with their parents 20 years ago was at West Hollywood landmark Canter's Deli, where the band also hosted a star-studded party with special guest DJ Mark Ronson in 2017. Earlier in the year, Haim—along with their frequent music video collaborator director Paul Thomas Anderson—shot Women In Music Pt. III’s album art Canter's. In the cover photo, Haim are shown standing behind a deli counter with sausages (wink, wink) hanging behind their heads with NOW SERVING 69 (hint, hint) prominently displayed.

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Co-produced by Danielle and longtime collaborators Ariel Rechtshaid (Danielle’s live-in boyfriend) and Rostam Batmanglij (formerly of Vampire Weekend), WIMPIII is Haim's favorite record to date. "For the first time, with this record, I don't think I’ll ever get sick of it," says Alana, crediting their years of recording experience. "We’ve always been confident but this is our third record, our third time around the sun if you will, and even thinking back to Days Are Gone, we didn’t know anything in the studio." "We knew the fundamentals of production when we first got into it, but now we know so much more," says Danielle. 

This time around, it was important to Haim, who are known for their highly energetic performances, to capture their live sound on record. "We wanted it to sound like the person listening to it was in the room while we were recording it, and that’s why it sounds super live," says Alana, who says they played as loudly as they could and put a room mic in the corner of the studio. Danielle says making use of her home studio was pivotal, too. "Being in expensive studios on Days Are Gone, there was so much pressure with being in those kinds of professional studios. But at Voxx [Studios], where we also did our last album, too, we'd do basic tracking and then take it into a home studio, and that’s where we feel our most comfortable," says Danielle.

Their most mature, contemplative, revealing and musically realized record, the melodic, hypnotically rhythmic and catchy WIMPIII reflects Haim's huge evolution over the last eight years including a deep lyrical exploration of myriad relationships (romantic, self, each other, the music industry and the media). In Haim's customary genre-busting musical style, the 16-song offering incorporates a variety of musical influences, seamlessly blending pop, R&B, hip-hop, folk, ska and classic rock (in addition to splashes of Prince and '90s pop-radio mainstays Savage Garden). Despite the range of musical influences going into WIMPIII, what comes out the other side sounds uniquely Haim.

Hoping the record's title Women In Music Pt. III speaks for itself, they are understandably as tired of talking about being women in music in 2020 as they should be. "In the back of our minds, we were hoping that because we’d named our album that, it wasn't going to be the first question everyone asks," says Danielle. "That’s why we put our song 'Man From The Magazine' in music form so we would be able to touch on it without having to have it be the thing that we talk about constantly."

The lyrics of "Man From The Magazine" discuss Haim's experiences with sexism ranging from a male journalist inquiring inappropriately about the faces Este makes when she plays bass (Man from the magazine / What did you say / Do you make the same faces in bed / Hey man what kind of question is that / What did you really want me to say back?) to a guy working at a music shop who assumes the sisters are beginner musicians. (Man from the music shop / I drove too far for you to hand me that starter guitar / Hey girl why don’t you play a few bars / Oh what’s left to prove?)

Asked if things have improved over recent years, the sisters sigh. Unfortunately, they haven't. One after the other, Alana and Este both say, "Not a lot has changed." 

What frustrates Haim further, which Danielle elucidates as another of WIMPIII’s themes, are perpetual attempts at forcing genre-specific labels on their music. "We have had to deal with people trying to put us in a box our whole career and not understanding what we do," she says. "There was a lot of, ‘Oh, you’re a girl band’ or ‘Oh, you make pop music,’" says Alana. "We've always felt that we carved our own path and made the music we wanted to make and we never put a label on it and we were OK with it. But to some people, if they don’t understand what box you go in, they get confused and say they don’t understand it, which is weird to me. We’ve always bridged the gap over a bunch of things and we’ve never been afraid to explore different kinds of genres and different kinds of songwriting." 

"I think other bands that aren’t all female can dabble in a bunch of different genres yet they're still called a rock band," says Danielle. "Meanwhile, we’re women and we dabble in all sorts of genres, [but] because we’re women it’s pop. That’s frustrating to be honest with you."

When they first received recognition in the U.K., Danielle says even being tagged with having a "California Sound" was baffling. "It was funny when people started saying that we have a 'California Sound.' We didn’t realize. We were just making music that we were coming up with. It's interesting. We never thought about it that way. Maybe it’s the harmonies? I don't know," says Danielle. "Our hair?" asks Alana. "Our long hair? Our middle parts?" says Danielle. "We never really felt super L.A. until we went to the U.K.," says Alana.

That’s not to say they resent the L.A. tag, though. You’d be hard-pressed to find greater L.A. champions than the sisters Haim, between their album art, lyrics (songs on the new record reference Crescent Heights, earthquake drills and freeway overpasses), music videos and recent promotional photos showing the band gracing the front page of L.A. Times Calendar section strategically placed over their seemingly naked bodies.  

"We’ve always been advocates for our city and we've repped it super hard, and throughout our whole lives we had to deal with pop culture telling us, ‘L.A. sucks.’ I feel like that was a popular theme," says Danielle. "Yeah, New York is the cool place. L.A. sucks," says Alana. "Yeah, it was always, ‘L.A. sucks’ in a lot of different movies," says Danielle. "In movies and TV shows, it never got respect," says Este. "We ride for L.A.,” says Danielle. "And I think with this record we embraced it. We talk about L.A., and obviously 'Free Fallin’' and Tom Petty are huge huge inspirations to us our whole lives. Actually, Wildflowers was a huge inspiration on this album."

Ironically, WIMPIII’s opening track, "Los Angeles," reveals Haim contemplating moving elsewhere. "That song is speaking to the mass exodus of everyone and their mom moving to L.A. and having a vindication that, yes, L.A. is the best,” says Danielle, "So the aftermath of that for me was, ‘Wait, is this city even mine anymore?’ Maybe I recognized why some people didn’t like it and we kind of collectively thought maybe we should move somewhere because we’ve never lived anywhere else." It's plain as the Hollywood sign on a clear day, however, that the sisters aren’t going anywhere. "I love it," says Alana. “L.A. is stuck with me.” 

The only thing stronger than the love for their hometown is the sisters’ adoration for each other. The penultimate track on WIMPIII, "Hallelujah," is a beautiful guitar- and vocals-driven ode to sisterhood emanating a "Landslide" vibe that would make Fleetwood Mac proud. Solemn and somber, the tender and naked ballad reflects each sister's grappling with personal and heavy topics—Este’s Type 1 Diabetes, Alana’s grief for a close friend who was killed in a car accident years ago and Danielle’s coming to terms with Ariel’s testicular cancer (he’s now cancer-free)—while expressing gratitude for each other’s support. Their close bond is most sharply illuminated by the lyric "three roads, one life."  

"That was a cathartic song to write, a hard one to write but a really nice release," says Este. "I think we had so much to say and it flew out. I remember the day we wrote it, it felt like I lost 20 pounds and felt light as a feather and needed to happen," says Alana. "Another overlying theme of the record is dealing with things we’d kind of been running away from. For years, we’d been a touring band that [thought] leaving your troubles in L.A. is the easiest thing to do. 'See ya when I come back, probably not but OK bye.'"

Meanwhile, the sisters have been isolating separately from each other, and lockdown has been tough. "It sucks,” says Este who’s suffered the most in isolation. "I feel I’m a strong, independent woman but I think that I’ve realized in this quarantine that I also crave human connection. It’s also why I love touring so much, and the idea of not being able to do that is heartbreaking. It feels like I’m going through a breakup and, truly, the relationships with audience members that you foster on the road—to me, that’s connection. To go from feast to famine is really, really difficult for me. I very much love the routine of touring and being able to share it with my family is so special. And now being home is kind of sad.

After spending the first month of lockdown without seeing each other, the longest time Haim have ever spent apart, the sisters made a pact only to visit with each other and no one else. Though they’ve used their lockdown time productively, doing press for their record, appearing on talk shows and hosting weekly Zoom dance classes for their fans, it’s been heartbreaking to sit on a record that was specifically made to be played live. "The thing we wanted to make sure with this album is, and it’s bittersweet now, but we were really thinking about how we were going to play this album live. That was at the forefront of our minds. Playing live is such a big part of us and something we take seriously," says Danielle. "We were just stoked to play this shit live. That’s the thing. We love the studio but we love the tactile act of playing music, so the idea of not being able to do that is pretty tough,” says Este.

Notably, even while Haim air their grievances and disappointments, they remain warm, upbeat, enthusiastic, playful and positive. They are grateful for their success while simultaneously seeming slightly incredulous as if they are still pinching themselves to make sure they aren't dreaming. "The fact that we started out playing at the Echo, first of three [bands on the bill], and have made it to this point, just on our own, is the biggest gift," says Alana, who is still stunned that Haim sold out L.A.'s Greek Theatre in just a few hours. Her eyes widen in disbelief as she says, "Man, the f**king Greek? What? What?"

While they are L.A. to the (hard)core, the sisters haven't gone Hollywood. Down to earth and accessible, they are highly interactive with their legions of fans online where they post regularly. Recently, when a fan posted concern on Haim’s Instagram page that WIMPIII’s release date would be changed yet again, the band immediately responded with assurance. "It’s just how we’ve always been and how we’ll always be," says Alana. "We truly crave human connection and thrive on it. We’re just three sisters from the Valley, you know," says Este. "You can take the girl out of the Valley but you can’t take…," Alana trails off with a wry smile.

While they typically veer towards quirky and lighthearted online, the sisters have switched gears in some of their recent Instagram posts voicing support for justice for Breonna Taylor who was shot eight times in her apartment by police in Kentucky, posting photos from Black Lives Matter protests they attended in Hollywood and downtown Los Angeles following the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis, and calling upon L.A. Mayor Eric Garcetti to fire LAPD Police Chief Michel Moore after unsettling remarks in which he said protesters and looters also had the killing of George Floyd on their hands (the remarks were later rolled back by Garcetti and retracted by Moore, who issued an apology).

"When the protests began, we knew there was a risk with COVID, but we had to go out, support and protest," says Alana. "It didn’t feel right to just stay at home. We needed to be out there with everyone. Walking down Hollywood Boulevard with everyone chanting the same thing, moving together, it was a really special feeling. There were so many people that came out to help one another, too, to make sure everyone was safe and protected. People were handing out masks, hand sanitizer, water, etc. it’s been really beautiful to see everyone come together and stand for change."

"Having this platform is not something we take lightly, especially during times like these," says Este. "We've been protesting, donating, calling and sending emails to help raise money and awareness to help organizations like the People’s City Council Freedom Fund and Black Trans Femmes in the Arts Collective. We’ve been encouraging our fans to do the same."

In the meantime, while it's anyone's guess as to when bands will be able to perform live, the sisters are happy WIMPIII is finally being released while remaining cautious about scheduling future tour dates. "We can’t wait to start playing shows but want to be sure that we’re keeping our fans, our crew and everyone’s health and safety a priority. When it’s finally safe for everyone, we’ll definitely be playing live," says Este.

"I do feel when things are opening, then maybe we can finish the deli tour," says Alana. "Or if delis are open and that’s the only form of how to play music, I can solely do a deli tour. If that’s the only way to play live, I’ll solely play delis."

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

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

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The singer/songwriter talks to GRAMMY.com about nostalgia for life on the road and how she personally defines the word "punisher"
Laura Studarus
GRAMMYs
Jun 22, 2020 - 9:27 am

The day before the scheduled release of her sophomore album Punisher, Phoebe Bridgers let the cat out the bag. "I’m not pushing the record until things go back to ‘normal’ because I don’t think they should," she tweeted, along with an album link. "Here it is a little early. Abolish the police. Hope you like it."

The move, while unorthodox by most promotional standards, was a no-brainer for Bridgers. Open about her beliefs, both on social media and in interviews, the musician has already been a strong supporter of Black Lives Matter and The Bail Project, which in early June she helped fundraise for with a hushed version of Bright Eyes' classic "First Day of My Life."

Of course, resiliency and improvisation isn’t a completely unheard of attribute in the mist of the 2020 quagmire. When we spoke in early May, Bridgers is calling from on top of a treadmill in the middle of her house. For the singer/songwriter, the exercise equipment represents the adjustment we’ve all been forced into, and a way to get some exercise now that walking in her Los Angeles Echo Park neighborhood has become too complicated. (Only walking—she confirms, citing "shitty knees.") The sense of movement helps her think, particularly after calling her summer tour off after only one rehearsal with her band. 

This pause, both figurative and literal, has been the first Bridgers has had, almost since her 2017 debut, Stranger in the Alps. As if supporting one critically acclaimed album wasn’t enough (see the year-end lists and string of film placements that made singles like "Motion Sickness" shorthand for complicated sadness), in 2018 she hit the road with boygenius, a meeting of minds featuring her, Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus. In 2019, she repeated the collaborative trick again hitting the road as Better Oblivion Community Center, a project she shares with Conor Oberst. Fans have been catching on to Bridgers’ ability for narrative storytelling—and not just the social media manager at Men's Health, who seems to be an omnipresent visitor during her live streams. ("I feel like they’re doing something right over there," she cracks of her unnamed admirer.) 

Of course, it hasn’t been all stillness. Even recently during lockdown, Bridgers has been making the rounds, including a recent appearance on "Jimmy Kimmel Live!," where she gave a pajama-clad, Omnichord-led performance of her single "Kyoto." (An aesthetic, she explains, that was inspired by both acoustics and a similar performance from The Killers.) She also recorded a video for "Kyoto" on green screen—channeling the aesthetics of Japanese Monster films, after a trip back to the country was scrapped. Creativity is still happening—even if she has no clue when fans will get to experience it live. 

Ahead of the release of Punisher, Bridgers spoke with GRAMMY.com about Japanese snack food, learning to be grateful and nostalgia for life on the road. 

So aside from the treadmill, what has been the most unique purchase you've made during lockdown?

I bought a bunch of cheese cloth so that I could make almond milk at home. I'm not very crafty or homey. So, that was a big purchase. For me, even though super cheap, but like out of the box, I bought a pajama onesie with a skeleton on it, but the crotch has ripped out of it already because it’s really cheap.

Is it true that you were Conor Oberst's gateway to memes?

Yeah! I still think he's pretty outside of the gate. Sometimes they'll genuinely make him laugh, but mostly he's just like, "What the f**k is that?"

You're doing a service to humanity one meme at a time.

Exactly. I'm solving all our conflict that's reported on. Totally taking it upon myself.

Given that you were casually into other bands last year, when did Punisher start coming together?

It started coming together before even my first record was out. I kind of take forever to write music, so I started writing it and then started recording it like, right after I recorded both my other bands. "Garden Song" was one of the first ones. "I See You Too." I remember playing that for everybody on the boygenius tour the recording. So, we were working on it for a really long time and then and then finished it up.

Are you the are you the kind of writer that’s constantly writing?

No, I go through weird phases. Mostly I'm procrastinating.

Hence your amazing Twitter presence. I get it now.

Hey, yeah! You're hearing the only 10 songs I really have. I guess I have like one extra song that I finished after the album was already recorded. I tend to write what is needed for me and I don't really like edit, or use elimination. I just record what I have.

Has the fair amount of collaborating you've done in the last year change how you work with other artists on your solo albums?

I really learned how to collaborate with first record, and then just every project I've done since it's like involves more and more people. Just because my friend group and the people I can like, call upon has become very big. I've always wanted his work like that. But this is the first time I've had the opportunity to.

Are there any names you wish you could add to that creative Rolodex?

It's so funny because like, honestly, not really. I think I will discover more people that become collaborators of mine, but for right now, my group is so solid, and it works.

Punisher seems like a very evocative title.

Well, I was gonna do like a self-titled album, which I might do to the next one. But then I wrote a song called "Punisher" and I was like, that's actually a sicker album title. A Punisher is someone who doesn't know when to stop talking. So, I think of like, older relatives who are talking about, like their hip replacement or something. They just don't know when you're disinterested. And I think we've all been that, like, to our heroes. So, in this context, I'm like punishing someone. You know, like, you get cornered at the bar by the friend that the person you were hitting on. That's a punisher.

I wish you could see the spit take I just did. 

Yeah, I think it's a little too relatable for everybody.

I feel like at some point everyone has been a punisher--and everyone who's been to Japan claims Kyoto as their favorite place. What's your relationship to the city?

It was like my favorite place I've ever been. Still is. I just had such a good time when I was there and wanted to go back. Yeah, I just made like a really big impression on me.

How do you handle that sense of displacement when you're discovering these amazing things so far from home?

Right now, I would kill to be on tour. But when I'm on tour, I save cute Pinterest home ideas. And I like look on Google maps [of] hikes by my house. I think it's pretty common, like wanting to be where you're not, but it's especially prevalent and weird when you're, like, living out something you've always wanted to and you're thinking about the next thing.

Yeah, I think anyone who lives in fast motion like that can identify with that as well. When those moments strike, and you realize that your brain is somewhere else like you described in the song "Kyoto," how do you bring yourself back?

It's hard. I'm still working on it every day. I'm trying to write like three things I'm grateful for every day now. I think it's pretty common and Pinterest-y again. But it seems to be working because at first you really have to wrack your brain and then after a while, it just gets easy and they become like tiny little details. But I've been talking to a couple friends it's like, when we forget about all the fear of being alive right now, it's going to be tempting in 10 years to be like, remember that crazy time when we were all just like finding ourselves or whatever? Like, I know there's gonna be like op-eds that are, like, romanticizing right now. And it's easy to think of the past that way. Because it's really hard to romanticize your present. Especially when everything's so uncertain and literally dangerous and life-threatening. But yeah, I just want to romanticize my life a little bit more while I'm living in it instead of in the future or past.

So, what has been on your list for the three things you're grateful for?

I should go look at it. But some days are really bad where it's like, I didn't eat until I got sick. But that is a special skill. I feel like an anxiety mechanism is like, I ate five toaster waffles in a row in the middle of the night a couple nights ago and I felt ill. So, the next day was a victory to not do that. I learned how to not do that. Sometimes I'll turn on a yoga class on my computer and then lay on my yoga mat and stare at the ceiling. And since I've been writing stuff down, I realized that when I finish the class I will write it down. Or like if I make something, or if I get enough sleep, or just like, you know, made a really good pot of coffee today, and it kind of sets the whole day instead of reheating yesterday's coffee.

I like that you're giving yourself credit for the little victories we're all having right now.

That's all there is.

Since it played a role in the song "Kyoto," what is the best thing about Japanese convenience stores?

Snacks. Just like, the triangle rice onigiri at convenience stores are so good, which is funny because I think they're for kids. Oh my god.

If you had to place yourself in the chaotic good chaotic evil sort of square, where would you rank?

I'm like all over the place. Sometimes chaotic good. And sometimes I'm neutral evil. I'm all at different times in my life.

What are you looking forward to most once we get back to the era of live music?

I'm finding myself looking forward to the weirdest smallest things, like being at a truck stop in the middle of the night. Going to diners after shows. Looking out the window if the bus in Montana. Seeing other bands. I'm remembering all the extra stuff, but mostly I'm just looking forward to playing these songs. We had one rehearsal before shit the fan with the band and it sounded so good. And I was kind of scared that it wasn't gonna translate. But it did immediately and it was so fun to play the songs. I can't wait.

Hinds' Carlotta Cosials On 'The Prettiest Curse' & Why "Rock And Roll Is Free Of Gender"

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Hinds' Carlotta Cosials On 'The Prettiest Curse' & Why "Rock And Roll Is Free Of Gender"

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Cosials speaks to the Recording Academy about her band facing misogyny head-on, turning time into creativity and the depths of studio experimentation on 'The Prettiest Curse'
Lior Phillips
GRAMMYs
Jun 17, 2020 - 9:18 am

Sitting in Carlotta Cosials' room via Skype feels a lot like listening to her band Hinds’ new album. For their third LP, The Prettiest Curse, the Spanish indie rockers took time to crack open their world and define themselves—retaining the strident energy of their first albums yet refusing to be reined in by the world’s definition of them. That same ease and freedom flows from Cosials, an inviting warmth that draws you in far enough to discover new rules to the game, the new rubric for understanding Hinds. "When you’re creating something that doesn’t exist, you feel more free," the guitarist/vocalist says. By stopping people from defining Hinds, Cosials and her bandmates found time to slow down the pace and explain themselves on their own terms.

Hinds built their reputation for constant touring and raucous live shows. But rather than continue to chase that energy on record, the quartet spent time in both Madrid and New York City with producer Jennifer Decilveo to capture a reality beyond the four walls of a concert hall. They imagined themselves explaining their reality to children, to streamline exactly who they are and what they do—without the filter of outside expectation or the romanticism of rock and roll. 

The Prettiest Curse crystallizes that experience. Over a rubbery rhythm section, "Just Like Kids (Miau)" catalogs the inane comments leveled at Hinds in a nasally mockery, the band channeling their mania through indie pop as smoothly as garage rock. The euphoric "Good Bad Times" churns with ‘80s energy, wrapping heartbreak, anger, sadness and misunderstanding into a glossy ball. To compound the dizzying appeal, the lyrics alternate between English and Spanish, exemplifying the album’s ability to draw every listener into its "us against the world" embrace.

Cosials spoke with the Recording Academy about facing misogyny head-on, turning time into creativity, and the depths of studio experimentation on The Prettiest Curse.

This album is such a journey sonically, and I’m sure it must have been to record as well.

You are so right. We had so many songs! For the first time in Hinds, we wanted to create something with a background that is not necessarily just what you hear and what you see. We wanted something behind the Hinds world, something kind of magical. And for that we had to explore new sounds, which has been such an amazing journey. For the first two albums, it was only two guitars, bass, and drums. So suddenly we were like, "Oh my God, let's use this instrument over here, and oh look at this old piano that sounds like this!" It was just super cool.

What other instruments did you experiment with?

I don't even know how many there are! So many synths, so many pianos, so much space echo vocals. We really had fun at the studio. When you're creating something that doesn't exist, you feel more free. So it was like, "Let's look for the sound that sounds like morning." We would look for sounds that make you feel like it's the morning, waking up and stuff. That was the kind of exploration we were doing—anything, literally anything. Suddenly, production was the priority, and then we would think about the live show, instead of the other way. The other albums were more like turning a live show into a record.

I really hear that. I was struck by the freedom in this record thematically, as well. There's this constant motion, and it deals very openly with the struggles of being a musician on the road, away from the people you love—but without being overly sentimental. What ignited that freer feeling?

We've finally reached the point where we assume that we're going to be musicians forever and that this is our life. We wanted to share the reality of that, and how the reality is tough sometimes. Reality is not as beautiful as what you think of when you think about musicians. Being a musician isn’t just all parties and laughs and claps. We wanted to tell this reality through a story you could tell to a child—saying something that is completely real and not necessarily easy, but you put it in a way that you can swallow it better. It's not hiding it, it's not running away from it, it's not trying to avoid it, or not looking at it. I can go through it, I can face it, and I'm going to put it in a more poetic way because that's what I do. What I do is music. It's my pleasure to talk about the realities of being a touring musician.

What emotional bank, if you can call it that, did you need and pull from in order to make that change and be that open?

This is going to sound silly, but one of the most important things is that when we were recording in New York City, the studio was exactly 45 minutes away walking from the Airbnb we had rented. I have the best ideas when I'm walking or when I can't sleep. So each day, an hour and a half, 45 minutes each way, was the perfect amount of time to listen to an album. It really refreshed my mind and I arrived at the studio with a fresh brain and not full of stress.

The other albums have been always in between tours, and in a rush. I'm not saying that the songs were worse, but when you have more time you just enjoy the process more. There were still some moments of doubt. Like, "Are we going with too many instruments or too many sounds? Is there too much going on, too many layers in a song?" But then at the same time, I don't want to become a guardian of rock or something, the police of rock and roll. So, we just went for it.

It’s incredible how time and freedom can turn into the perfect recipe for creativity. Was there anything from your past records that you wanted to get rid of? Were there things that you didn't want to repeat?

In a more philosophical way, I wanted to get rid of all those fears. We used to be actually proud of only having used four instruments in a whole album. We felt pressure to tap ourselves into rock and roll because that's what we wanted to be: a rock and roll band. Us being girls and stuff, sometimes it's confusing for people. "Why are you here? What the hell are you doing? Are the songs good enough?" So certainly for us it was a relief to be a rock and roll band because I think rock and roll is free of gender. And we felt better if we were established as a rock band. But suddenly with this third album, we're older and wiser. [Laughs.] We just don't care that much about what people think.

So what were the albums that you were listening to when you were walking to the studio every day?

During those walks, I listened a lot to Jesus and Mary Chain. To me, the songs on their first two albums, Psychocandy and Darklands, are pop songs. They're in disguise, but it's actually pop lyrics with pop guitar riffs. And they're the darkest thing you could imagine. You would never think they were cheesy. So if they can do it, we can do it too. Just because we smile more or have fun, that doesn't change the music we do. So, let's go for it.

And then during this year, I'm re-discovering Spanish-singing rock and pop music. I've been studying each album from Los Punsetes, Mujeres' Un Sentimiento Importante, Sen Senra's Sensaciones and Carolina Durante's self-titled album. I've been really enjoying that journey.

Your new album really does mix Spanish and English lyrics in a natural yet urgent way. Was that a conscious decision to do that here?

Yeah, definitely. Ana [Perrote, vocals/guitar] and I wanted to speak more Spanish in the songs. We even tried to write a whole song in Spanish, but it didn't make it to the album. It wasn't good enough. [Laughs.] But I'm really happy how it turned out.

We used to get asked why we sing in English all the time, but it was really never a decision. You accidentally write songs. You know what I mean? You're not actually looking for something. You write songs that sound similar to the music you listen to. At that moment, we were listening to a lot of garage music, and all of it was in English, so it was pretty automatic. And suddenly when we were getting that question so many times, it was like, "Whoa, is this a big deal?" We didn't know it was going to be a big deal.

But now that you're singing more in Spanish, did those lyrics hit harder when you were recording?

One hundred percent. When we write in English, it requires more attention from us because it's not our first language. We think kind of in Spanglish I guess, and we talk to each other in Spanish. And then suddenly when you're translating it into poetry, onto the paper, it's in English. That process is natural for us now. Sometimes I think I speak my feelings better in English than I do in Spanish—but then I realize that's not actually true. When we're singing in Spanish, I have a million possibilities because I think I know all the words in the dictionary. [Laughs.]

Sometimes limiting yourself allows you to explore the meaning of the word even more. So because you don't know "all the words" in the English language—but also, no one does—it limits you to find the words that mean the most to you.

Exactly! This is a super silly comparison, but do you remember season one of Stranger Things? The little girl doesn't know how to speak and she just learned little sentences, like "Friends don't lie." Those are the only things she knows and are the reasons why she does certain things. When you don't have all of the instruments, you're constantly finding the way to express and to communicate. Every kind of art in the end is communication between human beings. I really don't care if I'm speaking another language. I just think we should get rid of those barriers, of accents, of lack of knowledge, and of feeling embarrassed.

And your instruments become their own language. There's a real density to that language on the record. It's just so meaty. The production sounds full and warm, and the harmonies and shout-along passages feel really passionate. Why did these specific songs need that fullness and that warmth?

Sometimes it just flows. For example, during the summer, I was listening to Manu Chao's Clandestino. Throughout the album, a lot of radio sounds come in and out, other sounds are repeated in each song. There's a motif through the whole album. I was also listening to Bestia Bebé's self-titled album, and that one is surrounded by soccer, basically. I was thinking, "This album has to have a concept, something that holds the songs together. It has to be meaningful." And that's how we came to the idea of explaining reality to kids and how this magical world is nowhere and everywhere for us at the same time. The cover of the album is a house, a venue, and backstage. It's nowhere. It's a strange place. We all wanted to sound clearer and not too distorted. It's just evolution.

There's also this youthfulness to the vocals. I'm thinking particularly of the half-buried shouting on "Boy."

Yeah. Another album I was listening to a lot during the recording was Molotov's ¿Dónde Jugarán las Niñas?. There are five or six men in that band, and they're super aggressive, and they shout. Hearing that in a feminine voice, I didn't know if it was going to be cool enough. And then I thought, "What the hell? Am I being sexist against myself?" [Laughs.] "So let's have girls screaming. Hell yeah!" When we were listening to the demos that we had, we felt like they couldn't go lo-fi. It really had to be bold and fat and big and round, or else it would sound weak or broken.

I want to thank you for "Just Like Kids", which is such a powerful anthem for women in the music industry—and really any industry, honestly. Often artists will speak out against sexism, but it's an extra step to bring it into your art. Have you gotten mail from other women who've shared that experience?

Those lyrics, no doubt, are the ones that we're most proud of on the whole album. We've been meeting with people and speaking about the industry, like in panels in New York and Madrid, and we've gone on the radio to speak about this stuff. It's still important to give visibility to the reality of being a girl in a job full of men. I like the way we chose to take it because sometimes I get tired of complaining. That can be exhausting. Taking it in a funny way, of already being over it—like, "Alright, tell me ... tell me your f**king advice. Tell me what I'm not good enough to do. Tell me that I'm not pretty enough or that I am too pretty or that I am sucking dicks everywhere. Whatever, all right." [Laughs.] We just don't care anymore.

What do you feel needs to change first? Obviously the first step is what you guys have just done, putting a song out like that. Facing misogyny head on. How did you get to a point that you can write a song like this, and you're not just sitting in a closed-off corner overwhelmed by how awful the industry can be?

It really depends on the day. It sucks sometimes, but sometimes you feel strong enough. Even right now, I play this song to myself. I had to meet with someone the other day and I put it on in my headphones before going into the room to feel stronger, to feel good about myself.

It's not easy to expose yourself constantly. It's not easy to feel great about yourself constantly. Everybody has a f**king opinion of you, and more if you're a woman. But at the same time, I agree a lot with the English writer Caitlin Moran and her book How To Be A Woman. She says that actually what we need is time. We need time to feel this freedom, to feel free to jam with guitars, to feel free to sing good or bad, to feel free to do interviews, to feel free to appear on TV, to do anything. They haven't let us have our time before, so it's impossible to achieve a level of greatness in only 30 years.

Ana and me, we met through our ex-boyfriends because they both were in a band. We never took up guitar at the time we were with them, and both of them were guitar players. We never had the idea of taking up guitar because we thought we were going to be a waste of time. You don't want to be last in the class. We're very hard workers. So we started when Ana and I were alone together in a room, where we weren't going to judge each other or criticize each other. We really didn't care whether we were good or bad. When you feel happy and free, you can actually create something. If you feel stressed or pressured, you're not gonna come out with something genuine. So to the haters, leave us alone. [Laughs.] Leave us alone for a while, and we'll start to feel chill and create amazing stuff. We need time and we need to relax. People need to stop telling us what to do or what not to do. We need time.

Why did you choose music as your expression?

Because it's the best one! [Laughs.] I used to be an actress. I also write sometimes. But music is the best one because I'm a very social person. I believe in people, and I think people supporting people is one of the best things you can have in this world. Music, or at least rock and roll, you can't do it on your own. You need to coordinate four little brains and make them agree. And that is one of the biggest things you can ever imagine. Making these four little girls agree on something sometimes is hard. [Laughs.] Group coordination and group support, I just love it. If it could be a representation of the whole world, it would be amazing because you build up your empathy and you stop thinking just about yourself.

Naeem Talks New Album 'Startisha,' Creativity In Quarantine And The Need For Change In America

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