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Sleater-Kinney

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Sleater-Kinney Are Embracing Whatever Comes Next

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One week out from releasing their ninth studio album, 'The Center Won't Hold,' the punk torchbearers talk about their latest project, being in the studio with St. Vincent, losing drummer Janet Weiss and why we need to tell older women's stories
Bonnie Stiernberg
GRAMMYs
Aug 8, 2019 - 7:57 am

When Yeats famously wrote, "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold," he was specifically referring to the chaos of post-WWI Europe, but with daily mass shootings, white nationalism on the rise and a president who has been accused of sexual misconduct by at least 22 women, it's a sentiment that, sadly, feels particularly relevant to 2019.

It makes sense, then, that The Center Won't Hold, Sleater-Kinney's first album of the Trump presidency (out Aug. 16 via Mom + Pop)—their follow-up to their 2015 comeback, No Cities To Love—would be rooted in that tumultuousness. But to assume that it's all despair is an oversimplification.

"It's not really the job of the songwriter or the artist to make sweeping statements that are a summation of phenomena or moments but to grapple with opposing or contradictory truths or multiple ideas or multitudes, and I think that this record is an exploration of a time of chaos, a time of brokenness, fragility, and it acknowledges that within that sort of mode of despondency that there are glimmers that feel hopeful that I think we speak to—collaboration and community and friendship as the fulcrum for resistance," Carrie Brownstein tells the Recording Academy over the phone. "I think if anything it speaks to the idea that many people right now have to withstand various forms of trespass and discrimination and trauma, and it's kind of seeking like how do we do that, and what are the moments in that journey where there is an allowance for happiness. And so it veers into happiness and hopefulness at times, but I wouldn't say that overall it's a hopeful record.

"I think it's a contemplative record, it's a very personal record, and I think we always hope to connect to people and for people to feel seen and heard by our music, but I think we'd rather share all of the feelings than just 'here's one,' you know?" she continues. "I think we're not afraid to have there be moments of discomfort or anger or sadness, but the counter to that is there are instances of levity. So is it hopeful? Maybe not. But I think connection is a form of hope."

Those contradictory truths can be heard throughout the album, perhaps most obviously on the deceptively catchy "Can I Go On," which juxtaposes its danceable melody with grim lyrics from a narrator who admits that "maybe I'm not sure I wanna go on at all," and, as Brownstein puts it, is "kind of stunned by the ways people feel necessary to sort of perform outward modes of joy when really inside they feel awful." In addition to that variety of moods and feelings, The Center Won't Hold features an expanded sonic palette from the band, thanks in part to their decision to have St. Vincent (also known as Annie Clark) produce the record.

"I think that we originally had thought that we might work with more than one producer on the album to kind of break it up a little bit and do something really different, but we've all known Annie for a long time and are friends with her, and she offered to go into the studio with us and try producing, and so it was really on a kind of 'let's see how this goes' basis that we went into the studio with Annie," Corin Tucker says. "In the summer of 2018, we just had a few days and we were gonna get a few songs done, but she was so full of ideas and energy and so productive that we were kind of blown away with how it sounded, and we were definitely like, 'Oh, we should make the whole record with Annie.'"

"After No Cities, I think we felt a sense of accomplishment in setting out what we'd hoped to do, which was to return to playing music in a way that wasn't nostalgia-based or playing into any sort of sentimentality, but that we knew there was sort of this next chapter of the band and that we wanted to focus on new music and moving forward," Brownstein adds.

Of course, it's impossible to talk about next chapters for Sleater-Kinney without addressing the recent, unexpected departure of Janet Weiss. After 23 years with the band, the drummer took to social media on July 1 to announce that "the band is moving in a new direction and it is time for me to move on," shocking fans and leading to speculation over why she left. (Two days before we speak, Brownstein responds to a fan's joke about Weiss leaving on Instagram, writing, "What am I supposed to say? She left. We asked her to stay. We tried. It’s hard and sad. Most people would ask me, 'hey are you ok?' That’s the human response.")

"I think the conversation has shifted," she explains. "I think obviously people feel a real connection with this band, and I think originally [the fan response] was sort of the same way we felt, which was surprise and sadness and questions, but I think with time there's a more holistic response, which is to realize that a band is a relationship, and relationships change over time, and it's just as hard if not harder for Corin and I to lose a collaborator. It's just as hard for us as it is for the fans. And I think Corin and I feel very strongly that we have an obligation to our fans, and also it's a privilege to get to keep playing and keep going. I think all that stuff becomes part of a bigger conversation about change and transformation and art, and I like those bigger conversations. I think those are interesting. I think some of the more knee-jerk, very reactionary kind of comments are less useful, and I think with more time people start to realize like, 'Oh, almost nothing upon which we rely has been static, and change and evolution are kind of the only things that we can count on, and bands are no different.'"

"And even though this was not what we wanted, obviously we wanted Janet to stay, she didn't feel like it was something she wanted to do anymore," she adds. "So we have to respect that and we have to embrace whatever comes next. And also, her playing on this record is amazing and I'm really, really excited for people to hear it. We all worked really hard on it."

For all the changes, The Center Won't Hold is still very much a Sleater-Kinney record—bold and feminist and unrelenting. It ends with a gut-punch, the piano ballad "Broken," where Tucker sings, "Me, me too / My body cried out," inspired in part by the #MeToo movement and the testimony of Christine Blasey Ford. It's a bleak way to leave listeners, but it's an important one.

"Even though we're one of the first all-female bands to be at this precipice, I hope we're not the last."

"We wrestled with the sequencing of the album a lot," Tucker says. "And you know, I think we thought about that and I think we really gave ourselves permission to just be on this album and not have to be optimistic in every song or present like a solution to any of our problems. This album is much more about just noticing where we're at and speaking out and commenting on it and speaking our feelings without any kind of prescription of how we're going to make it better. I feel like that was a really freeing sensibility in terms of writing. We were just gonna write for ourselves, first and foremost...I think that in this cultural moment it's hard not to feel reduced by the kind of language around women and around people of color. It's hard not to feel constricted and reduced and silenced by that, and the band has always been a place of exploration of self and a place to expand identity and to explore that, and so I think that this album, the writing process was a really natural place to do that in."

Ultimately, that place to explore and expand and connect with listeners who may be experiencing similar things in their own lives is essential—and it's why, after 25 years, Brownstein and Tucker have no intentions of stopping.

"I think that it's so important to have a multitude of stories in the world, and I'm so grateful to hear younger women's stories and stories by young people in general. But I think in music, especially within more heavy rock vernacular, there's sort of less stories being told by older women," Brownstein says. "And I just want that spectrum to exist. So I also hope, you know, even though we're one of the first all-female bands to be at this precipice, I hope we're not the last. Because I feel like what's wonderful about music is that you get a sense of life from beginning to end, but you need those voices from the middle. You need those voices from the later years to really understand the whole human experience. So I'm glad that we're putting something out in the world that's a very honest assessment of bodies and life and growth in a slightly later stage."

Maren Morris, Natalie Hemby & Amanda Shires Of The Highwomen Are "Redesigning Women"

Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney

Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney

Photo: Scott Dudelson/WireImage/Getty Images

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Sleater-Kinney Confirm New Album In The Works

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The indie-rock trio will release their ninth studio album this year, following their reunion record, 2015's 'No Cities To Love'
Ana Monroy Yglesias
GRAMMYs
Jan 8, 2019 - 5:32 pm

Today Sleater-Kinney shared some big news with their fans—they're working on a new album, due out this year, produced by none other than GRAMMY winner St. Vincent.

Corin Tucker, Carrie Brownstein and Janet Weiss of Sleater-Kinney posed for a photo in the studio with Anne Clark, aka St. Vincent, sharing it to their Twitter earlier today. The post read: "Sleater-Kinney. Produced by @st_vincent. 2019." Clark, wearing a big grin, followed up with a similar photo.

Smiles or not, it's safe to say that this is a pretty exciting collab for all involved. Brownstein, who many may also recognize as half of the "Portlandia" comedy duo, recently spoke to NPR about the new project.

"We always planned on getting back in the studio — it was just a matter of when. If there is an overarching principle to this album, it's that the tools on which we were relying proved inadequate. So we sought new ones, both metaphorically and literally," Brownstein said.

While this is the first time (to our knowledge) that Sleater-Kinney and St. Vincent have worked in the studio together, as highlighted by NPR, Clark has appeared on episodes of "Portlandia" (most recently in 2014) and has shown Sleater-Kinney love with a cover. In January 2018 Clark posted a video of her playing "Modern Girl," from Sleater-Kinney's 2005 album, The Woods.

The currently unnamed 2019 album will be Sleater-Kinney's first album since 2015's No Cities To Love, which broke their decade-long hiatus since The Woods.

One of Clark's most recent projects, St. Vincent's MASSEDUCTION, is currently up for consideration at the 61st GRAMMY Awards. Tune in to CBS on Sunday, Feb. 10 to catch the show and all the GRAMMY excitement.

Primavera Sound 2019 Features A "New Normal" Equal-Gender Lineup

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Future Islands

Photo by Justin Flythe

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Future Islands Can't Quit You

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Ahead of their sixth studio album release, the Baltimore synth-pop favorites open up about creating 'As Long As You Are'—and coming to terms with the legacy of that "Letterman" performance
Rachel Brodsky
GRAMMYs
Sep 15, 2020 - 8:23 am

One of the most painful losses of the COVID-19 era has undoubtedly been the total and complete shutdown of live music—something synth-soul kingpins Future Islands, who are arguably best known for their hyper-vigorous, electrifying shows, mourn at their core. For years, since their 2006 inception, touring was practically all the Baltimore four-piece did—a cycle that only intensified after their 2014 network television debut on "The Late Show With David Letterman," where they made headlines with a stunning, viral performance of their breakout single, "Seasons (Waiting On You)." 

"I'll take all of that you got!!" exclaimed the talk show host after Future Islands' groundbreaking set, which featured frontman Samuel T. Herring's now-famous head-bobbing shuffle, chest thumps and Sam Cooke-meets-Tom Waits growl. And so would the rest of the world: Following their network television debut, the band embarked on 22 straight months of touring. They dove in so hard, Future Islands (a.k.a. Herring, keyboardist Gerrit Welters, guitarist William Cashion and drummer Michael Lowry) barely had time to asses the changes their group had undergone in such a short amount of time. On their follow-up to Singles, 2017's The Far Field, the band wrote and recorded quickly and aimed to stick to a peppy Singles formula they knew worked. "I had misgivings about the release of that record," Herring tells GRAMMY.com over Zoom. "Going into The Far Field, we tried to act like nothing had changed. We were like, 'Let's not think about how everything has changed and just try to be the same band.' But really what we should have done was be like, 'Everything has changed and this is weird and we should write about it.'"

Today, Future Islands are doing exactly that on their sixth studio album, As Long As You Are (out on Oct. 9 via 4AD), which finds them honestly processing their evolution as a band—and as individuals—in the way they might have liked to do on The Far Field. Synth-laden lead single "For Sure" breathes a sigh of relief at being able to truly lean on a partner ("When you say 'us' / You make me trust"), while opener "Glada" ponders new beginnings and whether or not Herring is worthy of love ("Who am I? / Do I deserve the sea again?"). 

Meanwhile, from an arrangements perspective, while The Far Field made a point of sticking to the pop-minded Singles blueprint, As Long As You Are frequently shifts to a more meditative, atmospheric mood, not unlike their third release, 2011's underrated On The Water.

Calling GRAMMY.com from Sweden, where his partner lives, Herring joined the rest of the group from their respective Baltimore homes to talk about the life-changing events leading up to As Long As You Are, being unable to perform in the Covid-19 era and the emotional catharsis Future Islands want to create in their music.

Sam, how long have you been in Sweden now?

Samuel T. Herring: I've just been here for four weeks on this trip. Me and my partner were separated for the first five months of the pandemic as far as the March lockdown because of borders closures and stuff. Then a loophole opened and I was able to get back here, but I have to travel back in a week to do the album release. So, I'm hoping that I can travel back without issue when it's time. It was hard to be apart for that long with everything happening in the world.

Of course. Putting aside the pandemic release timing, when did you start thinking about writing As Long As You Are?

Herring: We were already talking about this album when The Far Field came out and we were on tour. I had misgivings about the release of that record and definitely my contribution, I felt that I didn't work hard enough and I was a bit unhappy with that record. When we did Singles, the album before The Far Field, there was, we were on tour for 22 months. And then when we got off the road...we took ourselves off the road. We had offers that we left on the table because we're like, “We've been on the road 22 months for this record. If we don't get off, then we're just going to keep touring. And then we don't, how long will it be until we write the next record?”

But we never really had too many conversations about what happened to us in that 22 months with the exposure and the growth of the band. We hadn't adapted. We were still adapting to how big this thing had gotten for us. Something that was our baby, that we had slowly seen grow over time and worked so hard to get there... it just like exploded through Singles. The stages were bigger, the shows were bigger, the crowds were bigger. There were just more things, more responsibilities. And going into The Far Field, we tried to, I think, act like nothing had changed. We're just like, “Let's not think about how everything's changed and try to be the same band.” But really what we should have done was be like, “Everything has changed and this is weird and we should write about it.”

I think when we released [The Far Field], it was like, “Oh no, this is the wrong record or at this time.” Because I still think that record, in time, will be a classic part of our oeuvre. It's an important step for us and this album we had to make. Because sometimes you just have to release, you just have to put out what comes. But at the same time, I felt that we could have dug a little bit deeper and I, personally, could have dug a lot deeper.

So, we were already having this conversation in 2017. And then in 2018, still touring on The Far Field, we started to write on the road for the very first time. We would set up for sound checks and we were pretty streamlined at that point.

The thing is, when you're writing a record, it's the creative process. And when you're on tour, it's the business—a machine cycle, you know what I mean? Touring is the business: get to work, be on time, knock it out and then, do it again and do it again. So, you're constantly going from this tour cycle, which is machine work to then creative work and it's really difficult. And in the old days, we didn't have time to cut off between records. We couldn't afford to do that.

So, we would do two months of touring. We'd have two weeks off and we'd write a song or two, and then we'd take it out on the next two months’ [tour]. And if it survived, then it stayed in the set. And then once we had five or six songs after a year, a year and a half of touring constantly, then we would record an album and then keep touring, in between tours and then keep going.

We did that for five years, 2008 to 2012, until we wrote Singles. And what happens when you write songs like that, as we capture these tensions that are happening in [our] life at the moment. Not so much with Singles, but with The Far Field, I felt like we got off this turbulent tour, this long tour, we were just burnt out and we start writing. And the first three or four songs were just filled with so much emotion because of all of what we've just been through.

So really, As Long As You Are was... We just wanted to take our time and create a more balanced record.

Yeah, I can’t really begin to imagine the explosion of opportunities that must have hit you all after the "David Letterman" performance. And if you’re a band that hasn’t really seen that level of opportunity yet, maybe you just go has hard as you can, while you can. And you have to mindfully, intentionally make yourselves stop and reflect, or else you burn out. Do you remember if or when that moment came for you?

Herring: Definitely for me. But I felt that at the end of 2012—at the end of five years of touring—I felt burnout, and like, I don't know if I can keep doing this. And then we write our most accomplished record at the time after that, and then we do it again and then it's like, Oh, I don't know if I can do this. And then you do it again because the fact is you can't, I can't quit you.

It's a great love in a sense, this thing. Our friendship as a band that we've seen the world together and been through so many things in our lives together. Me and William and Gerrit have been playing since the beginning of 2003. So, it's like, 17 and a half years playing shows and being in vans and backstages. All of these cycles and becoming a part of people's lives, the audience, the people that have supported us. There's not a big difference between the people that have been there since 2006 and the people that have been there since 2016. The people that support what we do, they're a huge part of the equation that allows us to live our lives and to make this art.

And that's part of what the performance is about every time. Giving people what they came to see. That's what, that's a big thing about what Future Islands is about. It's about sweating for it.

Sometimes literally!

Herring: Yeah, very literally. But yeah, the burnout comes just because... I've said this in a few interviews, it's like you don't eat for a few years and then when you're in front of a buffet, you don't stop eating when you're full. You keep stuffing your mouth until you're sick and then you shove food in your pockets for later. And that's part of what you will always do. It's hard to go against that human instinct, but I think, we're getting older.

There's a maturing process, which I think is a big part of taking a step back and looking at what we've accomplished in a positive way. I used to worry that the “Letterman” performance put us into too much of a box, that it would make people think about us a certain way forever. But maybe its lasting legacy will be positive in that it makes people think about us at all.

"You don't find truth when you're writing that for someone else, you find truth when you're writing for yourself." — Samuel T. Herring

What would that box look like, you think?

Herring: Well, part of it is sound. I remember when we put out our third record, On The Water, I was like, “This record's going to be great because it's not going to allow anybody to generalize or think that they know what we sound like. Because In Evening Air, which is still such a great record to me, was a little bit more propulsive. And then On The Water was a reaction to that. It's like beautiful and ambient and swelling sounds and slow sounds. And so it was like, yeah, this will allow us to do whatever we want. I feel like The Far Field was us writing for the person that loves “Seasons,” like writing a record for them. Here's some other songs that are like “Seasons” that we wrote for you, unwittingly.

I just think we were writing great songs that were like, “Oh, people dig this vibe, we can do that.” You don't find truth when you're writing for someone else, you find truth when you're writing for yourself. That's the stuff that is going to resonate with people. When you're finding truth in yourself and sharing that truth in your art. That's what's going to resonate with people. And it may resonate with fewer people than if you're trying to reach a bunch of people, but if it resonates, but it's going to resonate very deeply with those fewer people. And that's more important than trying to reach a larger a crowd with something that could ring hollow in time.

To me, As Long As You Are kind of sounds like a nice mix of more ambient On The Water energy, and then also there are a few fast-paced Singles-esque songs. Was striking a career-overview balance something you were thinking about?

William Cashion: I think we just wanted to make the record have a more varied sound than The Far Field did. And then I go back to some of the ghost and the dust that we had on records like In Evening Air or On The Water. These little experimental, weird, distorting sounds. We wanted to experiment in the studio. Just kind of push the edges of what we do. And part of that is the approach to the songwriting. From The Far Field, every song on that record was written with me, Sam and Gerrit in a room jamming. And that was something I remember we talked about. “Seasons” was written like that.

That song really did something special. We [thought], that's a good formula. Let's not mess with that. But in doing that, we kind of ignored other aspects of our writing. So, we have songs on this record that were written with all of us in a room, like “The Painter” and “Hit the Coast” and “I Knew You.” But then there's a song like “Thrill.” That's a song that Gerrit brought forth to the band, and then “Born In A War,” that came from me, and Mike worked on an idea and brought it to the guys. And then there was a couple of old ideas that I brought to the band back in 2015, like “City's Face.” But the version that's on the album is nothing like the original demo of that song.

I’m sure you’re going to be asked many times, so I apologize in advance for the repetition. But as a band that has built such a huge following around your live performance, how is the prospect of not touring this record sitting with you—aside from the "A Stream Of You And Me" show in October?

Cashion: Well, we're trying to figure out new ways to get out there. Because that's really what we understand the best: touring. And so, if we can't do that, we're talking about starting to write the next record. After this record comes out, we've already got a couple of songs that were recorded for As Long As You Are, and at least one of them we think might be on the next record. But who knows what the next batch of songs will sound like. We keep talking about it, but we can't really focus on it, I don't think, until after October 9 when the record comes out. So once it's out, then we'll try to think about writing and performing again, because it's looking like it might be another year before we can tour again.

It would be nice if we had another release [by then]. I don't want to put pressure on ourselves by saying we're going to [release something else]. We don't want to pressure ourselves by forcing ourselves to do another record in a year. But that would be nice, or maybe an EP. But our records have this pattern, starting with In Evening Air, when we took all the time in the world. On The Water was made really quick, in like a year. And then we took our time with Singles and then The Far Field was really quick, like in a year. And so As Long As You Are, we're continuing the pattern. We took our time with this record, and I'm really hoping that we don't inadvertently continue the trend and make the next record really fast simply because we want to get the record out in time for whenever we tour next fall or whatever. If we tour then.

Herring: Do you guys, do Gerrit and Mike, do you want to talk on that? Being off the road?

Mike Lowry: It's a huge bummer. I'm all about being on the road and playing shows and I feel like I still hadn't really accepted the reality of our situation until a couple months ago. Still, every day is an exercise in accepting that it's just not going to happen and there's nothing I can do about it. And that's definitely been a challenge because, for me, performing live is a big part of how I, especially being a drummer, share my art with people. It's extremely disheartening. I'm kept up at night sometimes thinking about, “Maybe we could do this,” and there's just no way around. The whole world is going through this thing. It is just f**king driving me crazy, honestly. But I'm trying to use the time wisely and try to work out some things in some other areas, musically.

Do you guys remember Dan Deacon’s Baltimore Round Robin shows? Maybe it’s time to get a livestream going with every still-active Baltimore band.

Herring: At Le Poisson Rouge! I'll text Dan Deacon right now about it.

We only have time for one more question, so I’ll leave you with this: All of your records, in their own way, thoughtfully blend themes of internal pain and optimism. As Long As You Are is certainly no different. How do you all stay hopeful in 2020?

Herring: Well, I've been asked about optimism in the new album and then talking about optimism in our past songs, even in darkness. And I think as much as it's something that I personally, lyrically and emotionally, as a performer, want to share with an audience, it's also something I want for them, for the audience to be able to feel strength in vulnerability, to be able to be emotional and open with the people around them, the people that they know, their friends and family, but also the people they don't know. The way we lack empathy in our society at times, the way we misunderstand or mischaracterize one another... But I think some of the optimism that's inborn in Future Islands' music is my own hope for myself and my hope for the guys and their families and my own fears. My own fears of what my dark mind creates, like my own battles with depression and my own understanding that I also need to hear it.

I need to speak it because that gives me hope too. It's inborn of something that I need to hear, and that I need to tell myself to keep me going. Because I think it's really easy to forget about all the people who care about us in our lives, especially at a time like this, where we're so overcome. And I think even going through being away from my partner in this beginning of the pandemic, I didn't feel personally slighted because I knew the whole world is affected by this. So I'm like, well, at least I'm not alone in that. But, I have friends also say, "Yeah, but you can still feel that." I think it's just important to look out for one another.

Future Islands has always been about that catharsis. We've always wanted to create that in our music and in our live shows, which unfortunately we can't do right now. But we are about keeping people moving, whether their hearts or their feet.

Yeah. "Balance" in particular has always, well, balanced me out when I’m stressed.

Herring: It just takes time.

Dan Deacon Talks 'Mystic Familiar', Meditation & Befriending Val Kilmer

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Bill Callahan

Photo by Hanly Banks Callahan

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Bill Callahan Leads With Life's Little Moments On 'Gold Record'

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The onetime Smog singer speaks to GRAMMY.com about viewing songs as living things, looking back at his younger self, re-recording "Let's Move To The Country" and more
Emma Madden
GRAMMYs
Sep 4, 2020 - 8:51 am

If the songwriter’s job is to explain life as he sees and feels it, then understanding, and making peace with death, is an essential part of that task. Bill Callahan, who’s been releasing music for 30 plus years—first under the moniker of Smog, then with his own name—has achieved just that. While his earlier work may have been death-driven, more prone to chaos than clarity, more tormented than tender, when he emerged after a rare five-year hiatus in 2019 with his 17th album Shepherd In A Sheepskin Vest, he returned with a passion for humanity. Following the death of his mother and the birth of his son, on Shepherd he not only managed to reconcile that new life with death, but he did what only the very best songwriters and sages can do: he made his listener thankful for life, while giving them a newfound appreciation for death. "When we let go," he sang, "Our arms are open, and our hearts are exposed."

Callahan, once the drunken uncle at the wedding, has now become the world's godfather. His voice, stolid and baritone, immediately puts you at ease. He counsels you like a patriarch. He tells jokes. He recites your anxieties back to you so that they don’t sound so bad anymore. When he picks up the phone to this call, the clucking of his teeth and tongue blends into the sound of the rattlesnakes in his backyard, while birds sing above, uneaten and free.

On his new album Gold Record, Bill’s world grows smaller and smaller. It’s filled with acts of daily trivialities and grievances—getting work done, not getting work done. Seeing eye to eye with others, not seeing eye to eye. Motiveless domesticity. Everything exactly how it is. The sound of a man settled down. The sound of a man who’s moved to the country.

GRAMMY.com spoke to him about his change in focus, viewing songs as living things—and Harry Styles.

What did you have for breakfast this morning?

I had some gluten-free toast with almond butter and raspberry jam.

Do you have the same thing every morning?

I guess I go through phases of fixating on one thing, but it’s actually pretty varied.

Is your general routine as varied?

No, I have a kid and that kind of regulates my world. He comes into the bed around 6:30 in the morning and then we get up and make his lunch and his breakfast, get him dressed. Feed ourselves, take him to this little camp he goes to. And then at 9 a.m. I’m free to do as I please.

Does that mean music or do you have a routine outside your kid and outside music?

Yeah, now that my time is limited I’m more kind of disciplined about when I work. Usually mornings are the most creative and energetic time for me so I usually either start playing guitar or start looking at notebooks of words.

You said you look at notebooks, what do you mean by that?

I just have a notebook with unfinished songs in it.

So do you write songs that might go onto a record from those unfinished songs?

Yeah.

Have you kept up to date with other music released this year?

Yeah a little bit.

Has there been anything you enjoyed or anything that’s annoyed you?

There's always stuff that annoys me but I try not to talk about it just ‘cause what does it matter? I liked the Harry Styles record a lot, I was surprised by how much I liked it.

What did you like about the Harry Styles album?

It’s just real, powerful and absorbing songs, surprising arrangements. Seems to be off on his own path. There’s kind of a trend in music now of disaffection and really it seems like depression and heartbreak and not in the traditional girl-breaks-your-heart [way], but like, life has broken a lot of people's hearts right now. And that’s valid but it’s not all there is. It’s a very uplifting thing to listen to I think.

What do you intend to give to the world as an artist?

I’m not really sure. I guess the thing I do is try to do my best and to really consider the listener, which I think maybe a lot of people don’t really do somehow. That’s kind of my pledge to anyone who wants to listen, is that I care. Some people will make music just because they can, they have the skill. I don’t really have the skill, but I care.

Did you consider the listener as much when you were starting out?

I don’t think I did, I think I came to value it maybe about 10 years ago, or maybe less than that. Especially when I put the Shepherd record out because it’d been five or six years since I’d done anything except tour. When people still cared, it just kind of warmed my heart. I was able to take five to six years off releasing anything and people were still anxious to listen and critics were still willing to write about it and talk to me. That was a good jolt for me.

When you start off playing music and no one knows who you are, especially back then in the early '90s, there would be at least four bands on every bill, sometimes five or six. If you wanted to play a show, you’d have to be first on a bill of five bands and no one’s heard of you, which is fine, but coping with the fact that no one gives a shit... So to not give a shit about the audience is kind of the only way you can make sense of what you’re doing. And then that became the way that I related to the audience because that’s how it was from the beginning. At some point I realized, well, these people, now they’re listening and now it’s changed my attitude because people are actually caring.

You said that change happened eight years ago. Why?

I was talking to this journalist who had interviewed me pretty early on a couple times and wrote some nice articles about me and then I didn’t hear for a while, and then they kinda popped back up on my radar and said she wanted to talk to me about whatever new record I had out at the time. She was remarking on how I'd played a show the night before that she was at, how different it was to how people were listening, and she started to cry, which really struck me that someone would be that moved by my success or whatever you want to call it. I was telling her how my attitude was changing just from taking a step back.

Sometimes you’re in a situation and you don’t really see where you are because you have tunnel vision, 'cause it helped you get things done by blocking certain things out. I think for whatever reason around that time I took a step back and realized that there wasn’t a reason to be angry at the audience, but I don’t really know what triggered that.

Is it because you sensed that the audience were finally listening?

I don’t know, I think I just started to feel kind of ridiculous.

When you re-recorded "Let’s Move To The Country" did it feel like you were in conversation with a past self?

I guess so, because it has some unfinished sentences in it. It’s kind of an unfinished song, which was the beauty of it at the time, but then I thought it would be a good idea to finish the song. I finished the part that was unfinished but then added more unfinished chapters to it.

Do your other songs feel finished to you?

I think pretty much every song is either unfinished or proves to be inadequate or lacking in some way. And that’s the whole reason for me continuing to make music—because there’s always room for improvement. And then having a listener and/or critic really helps finish the song but they point out the holes that songs have on purpose. I think songs are probably supposed to be unfinished so that each listener can finish them in their own personal way and that’s why people are so passionate about the music that they like, 'cause something in their psyche has finished the song, so they feel like it’s a part of them.

How do you choose which moments to capture into song?

Anything that I hold in my mind, any exchange I had with a person or a physical space that I keep returning to in my head or a line I read in a book or a movie. I assume that everybody is like this but I have recurring things that keep coming back to me randomly—sometimes it’s just an intersection I was at on tour. Like, why have I  been thinking about that time let alone a stop light in Ohio when nothing happened? Something important must’ve happened then. But that's kind of a more abstract… Anything that sticks in my head, I think it must have some significance even if I don’t know what it is until I start writing about it. Like with the song "The MacKenzies." I bought my first car from this couple, and they invited me in and gave me a cocktail and chatted for a while, but that was like 30 years ago. I’ve thought about them ever since. So I was like, let me try to turn them into a song. I think the moments choose me and they keep showing themselves in my consciousness.

Most of these memories and encounters on the album seem to take place on the road, in cars.

I love cars, I love driving. I think a lot of my songs are about movement. With cars, there’s an inverse feeling of potentiality, so that’s probably why they appear often.

As a songwriter, you seem to have developed a more superficial appreciation for these things, whereas before it felt more existential.

I think with Shepherd I tried to cover all bases like the tangible and intangible parts of life and the physical and immaterial parts. But I think with Gold Record I’m more rooted in the everyday interactions of life.

So are you trying to narrow your focus?

I think I was trying to because Shepherd was kind of all about me and I wanted to make a record that was more about other people and other lives. I haven’t really had any complaints about it but I do wonder with a record like Shepherd, like what if you’re not married or don’t have a kid, are you gonna give a shit about this? People not in that situation still seemed to get something out of it.

Has your perspective changed since making that album?

I always feel like I’m expanding as a human which could just be a psychological trick our brains play on us as we get out of bed in the morning. I do think being married and having a kid pushes me into all sorts of places that I would never have gone if I was single. And also watching a kid develop and seeing all the levels of how complex humans are because every couple of weeks there’s another layer of onion skin that my kid has on him that he seems like a complete human but then he develops some other trait that’s part of being human. So seeing that and just having to counsel him and guide him with his newfound complexity, that’s always a lesson for myself. But probably my general perspective is pretty much the same. And I think the Covid thing is really gonna change things for a lot of people. What can we really think in the face of this type of death that’s just sweeping across the world. We have to realize that there’s a natural thing that the biological world brings on us every 100 years or so.

Now that you have such an interest in humanity, I wonder how you look back on your younger self?

It depends how far back I’m looking but if I look all the way back, I mostly feel like shame. If I look at the time as a whole, I’m proud of the fact that I was so prolific and adventurous, I tried to change the sound of each record or just to make a different feeling thing for people to listen to. In some ways I feel like I’ve wasted a lot of my time back then but on a generous day, I just look at it as if I’m grateful I had that time to just make music without very many other concerns at all. I think I spent that time fairly productively. Now that I have more going on in my personal life I realize that you can do both, but you might have to relearn how to do music.

Why don't you see yourself in the books you read anymore?

That was just a feeling that overcame me a while back. I think when you’re in your late teens, early 20s and you discover the books that complete you or speak for you, say the things that you want to say but just can’t say it. That feeling when you’re reading a book like I could’ve written this, I should’ve written this but really you couldn’t have written it. Those books kind of become your skeleton to form the body that you present to the world. After 10 or 15 years of seeking out all the books I should read there was a point where I kinda felt like I’d read all the books that were gonna affect me. I guess having bad luck, a string of trying five or six different books and them not speaking to me, but I think that’s kind of a signal that you’re ready to start writing your own.

Would you write another one?

Yeah… I love writing prose, I just need to get into some kind of groove with it, songwriting always kind of blows it away just because it’s something I know how to do a bit easier and quicker. I do wanna say that eventually I was able to find books again that are a very important thing to be reading, it just took a while.

I noticed there are fewer epiphanies and aphorisms on this album compared to your previous. When you do include them how do you know whether they’re "important advice or just preachy as hell?"

Yeah totally but usually if I’ve gotten to a point where I think that I have some advice that should go into a song, if I believe in it that strongly then I’m usually pretty confident that it might hold some value for somebody. At least for a year or two. I tend to revamp my world view every couple of years.

Have you always been that way?

I don’t think so, I don’t think I was that complex as a youth, as a 20-something, I didn’t have the complexity, the vision. You tend to be rather self-centered when you’re younger I think, maybe reactionary, you might see things with a very narrow vision. You see your parents from a childlike perspective only so when you grow up you can see things like your parents and other people from a more nuanced perspective.

Did you think about death from a young age?

I didn’t really get into reading novels until I was 17 or 18. I associate novels with thinking about death just because a book is like a little tomb, it’s got all these lives in there and they’re kind of trapped by a book or a story. Kind of like they’re dead but also like they have immortality at the same time. I’m not sure exactly when I started incorporating it, pretty early I guess in my songwriting.

And you view songs as living things?

I do, yeah. I mean you can listen to a song by anybody, someone dead, and the song is still alive.

Tame Impala Checks In From Hibernation

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Tame Impala Checks In From Hibernation

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Kevin Parker talks to GRAMMY.com about how he’s surviving without touring and finding comfort in disappointing those looking for "Psychedelic Jesus"
Laura Studarus
GRAMMYs
Sep 2, 2020 - 8:46 am

Kevin Parker is calling from under the covers. Given 2020's stay-home ethos, bed seem like a logical place to conduct business, even though the Tame Impala frontman swears it's only because it’s morning in his time zone, and he hasn’t quite summoned up the energy to start his day. 

His comfort with isolation makes sense—he is, after all the guy who named his sophomore album Lonerism. As the uncertain year stretches on, Parker says he’s enjoyed the extra time at home and in the studio, where he writes and records each part of a song from the ground up, a talent he recently demonstrated on "The Late Show With Stephen Colbert." And while Tame Impala’s back catalogue is laced with arena-worthy rock, it’s not a stretch to call this year’s The Slow Rush a more introspective release. Fitting, given that after his tour was cut short in early March, fans were relegated to dancing along in quarantine. ("People have been telling me that's weird how the lyrics of this album ended up being kind of relevant to now," says Parker. "Which obviously, I didn't anticipate.")

Calling from his home in Perth, Australia, Parker spoke to GRAMMY.com about how he’s surviving without touring, finding comfort in disappointing those looking for Psychedelic Jesus and the unsinkable Kanye West.

What's been your favorite souvenir during all your travels?

Sukajan Man in Harajuku, in Tokyo. I've been in that place a couple of times. And each time we've been back they've recognized us and we just kind of had a chat. I think I bought a jacket off him 10 years ago. Sometimes fans give us presents, just stuff they've made. I've got a box of stuff from over the years. It's full of weird bracelets and letters. Other than that, I try to pack light, so I'm not much of a collector.

I love that you save the greatest hits of fan gifts.

That's what it really is!  Everything ends up in my suitcase, that's not drugs. Sometimes it's like a little gift box and then on the way to the airport you lift the lid and there's like 50 bags of weed. It’s like, oh, shit!

How did you make peace with not touring behind what's obviously a very summery album?

I haven't yet! I believe we'll be able to at some point. If it was just me, missing out on touring and I knew the rest of the world was doing it, and going to festivals and stuff, then I think it would be more difficult to deal with. But the fact that everyone's in the same boat, it kind of just makes me think we'll get that chance. I was touring Currents for five years. The fans are obviously waiting for new music, but it just makes me think if we get out in a year or two, then it's like it'll still be fresh, and it'll still be good. People have been telling me that's weird how the lyrics of this album ended up being kind of relevant to now, which obviously I didn't anticipate. Obviously, I can't see the future. So, it's kind of it's a wild coincidence.

Did you have sort of any indications going into that last show that things were going to be shut down?

Yeah, it was kind of building up in intensity. The day after the second L.A. show was when it really became obvious that we shouldn't play another show. The last one was like, in hindsight, oh, maybe we shouldn't. But everyone was so naive then. I like to believe that no one that was there was spreading it at that point it.

You hit upon a really great point that none of us are dealing with FOMO right now. But on a personal level, have you felt pressure to make this year meaningful or productive when you know you can't do a large portion of your job?

There's always things to do. In fact, I've been kind of the busiest that I have been in a long time. In the last few months, doing non-music stuff. The internet exists, and I've got a studio. I'm shooting videos and doing live streams, like what I did for "Stephen Colbert." And you know, and people still listen to music. So, for that reason I'm extremely blessed I'm extremely privileged that my craft. While touring is a big part of it it's not the only part of it.

It also seems like your process is so insular compared to a lot of other artists that it's not a logical leap for you.

And for that reason, I kind of lucked out there. I kind of feel like my process was built for this time. It almost feels like I've spent the last 10 years doing something that was made for global pandemics.

How does the guy that makes escapist music find his own form of escapism?

By making it. That's kind of always what I've loved so much about making music since I was really young. As soon as I was making music, nothing else mattered. It was a weird kind of combination of escaping it and facing it at the same time. You know, like singing about something that was negative was simultaneously a way of escaping it and dealing with it.

Are you able to step back and distance yourself when you hear your music in the wild?

I'm getting better at that. I think in the last few years I've just been able to shake that kind of cringe that I feel when I hear my song in public. I'll be at a bar or something with friends, or like going to a restaurant, and I'm with people and a Tame Impala song comes on, a few years ago, I would have huddled into a ball and laid under the table. While everyone's looking at me laughing. Now I'm kind of more in the opposite. I'll try and alert everyone.

Any particularly memorable moments?

I was at a wedding many years ago, and someone put Tame Impala on just kind of as a prank. And I cleaned the floor out, which was pretty funny.

When you aren't clearing out dancefloors with your music, what kind of dancer are you?

Well I need to be drunk for starters. I'm not busting moves; I'm definitely just grooving. The only way I can actually dance is if I'm one hundred percent feeling the music and not actually thinking about what I'm doing. Again, I'm getting better at not being cringy on all fronts.

GRAMMYs

Tame Impala performing at Flow Festival 2019 in Helsinki
Photo credit: Laura Studarus

You're currently working a lot on your own, but it seems like there was a period of time there when you were the featured artist. And after so many collaborations, do you still have the ability to get professionally star struck when someone reaches out to you?

I'm a sucker for getting star struck, I don't know what it is. It takes a lot of mental coaching to remember be myself, which I'm eventually able to do. But whenever I met anyone I like, I just forget. I forget the golden rule that no one's larger than life, everyone is just human, which is something that I am instantly reminded of every time I meet someone famous, like two minutes into meeting them. I'm resigned to the fact that they'll be disappointed that I'm not Psychedelic Jesus.

Who would you love to meet and/or collaborate with?

If I answer that, I might jinx it. If anyone ever saw that I'd completely geeked out, then they might be hesitant to actually ask because they'll just think I'm gonna be a fanboy. We'll put it this way—a lot of those names have started to get crossed off. Kanye West was top of my list, easily. I mean, we didn't fully get to do something properly. But I'd love to do something to Daft Punk, that'd be really cool. They're one of those ones where it's like, I don't want to mention it too much.

So, what's your stance on blowing out birthday candles? Do you keep your wishes a secret as well?

Yeah, no way, that makes it not come true. That's if you believe in wishes.

Do you?

I don't know, what's the deal with wishes? Is there a wish God that's receiving all these, then sort of administers them? Who are you talking to when you're wishing?

I feel like a wish is more something you tell yourself and then [get] yourself in the headspace to take care of whatever it is. Where a prayer is something you're addressing to a higher power.

Well in that case, tell everyone, because then it puts the most pressure on you actually do it.

I was gonna follow it up and ask you how you felt about fate, but I'm worried we might be getting into Psychedelic Jesus territory.

I don't believe in fate as much as I realize that we are all atoms bumping into each other. We're all just lots of little balls, floating around in space, bumping into each other. And so, in a way, we have no control over what we do because our actions are just defined by chemicals.

How do you feel about Kanye West's supposed to run for president?

There might be some mental health issues. And then with that in mind, like, you can't really make assumptions on anything. Kanye, he's built his life, and career on being extremely ambitious. He's ambitious to a fault, probably, but that's always been the power of Kanye West—he's not been afraid to fail. I think like he has less fear of failure than most people. Which is one of the secrets to his success. When he tries to be president, and fails, he'll start a shoe company and make a zillion dollars. It's like you win some, you lose some. And I think on Kanye it's just a brand, it's on the grand scale. And same with being a being a legendary hip-hop artist.

I love the way you frame that because finding our way out of fear of failure is something a lot of us have to do.

I think everyone can take a slice of that. Because yes, I'm afraid of it. The fear of failure, probably like everyone else, is the thing that's held me back the most. Basically, my New Year's resolution every year is to not be afraid of failure. Being fearless with following my passion—music—got me where I am today. Every time I've thrown caution to the wind and done something [that] feels [good], it's paid off... and where I haven't done something because I've been afraid of failing, I've regretted it.

What's making you the happiest right now? 

Maybe that I don't hate that the whole album cycle has ground to a halt, because I don't want this album [The Slow Rush] to be the album that reminds everyone of this time. I'm kind of happy for the album to be in hibernation. If we start touring again after coronavirus, whenever that is, we'll play shows around then. For the rest of people's lives. It's the music that reminds them of the time when coronavirus ended, then that's all I can hope for. That's all I want. And so for that reason I'm kind of okay for it to be in hibernation. [Laughs.] My record label would be screaming if they heard me saying that right now.

Capturing Los Angeles' COVID-Closed Venues

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