You're a multi-instrumentalist, producer, singer, songwriter, and performer. Which of these roles feels the most natural to you?
I pretty fluidly oscillate between all of them. It's part of the way that being a solo artist in 2023 works. If you want to make a living as a musician you have to do everything, because that's the only way to do it. When I made my first album [SASAMI], I had so many production ideas – for other bands I was working with or playing in – that I didn't ever get to use because we had to go with whatever idea got voted in. So, my first album, before I even signed to a label or anything, was just me being able to be the executive in command of all the production ideas that I ever wanted to do – however stupid! [It] was very production-focused, and the songwriting came from a stream of consciousness style. I didn't really rewrite lyrics; I was obsessed with the arrangements. Then, with Squeeze, I knew I wanted to make a heavy album, and the songwriting and production followed. This grew from wanting the live show to be dynamic, energetic, and aggressive. The album that I'm working on now is still definitely about the live show, but I'm thinking a lot more about the songwriting, lyrics, and grooves – always synthesizing information from working on music, then touring it, then writing and going to the studio. Going between the three always gives me ideas for the next one, and all three parts are equally important. It's also part of being in my 30s: To think a lot more about how my art is fitting into society and my community, as well as a greater dialogue of culture than necessarily my very small scene or personal expression. I feel lucky to have been able to traverse so many different realms of these worlds.
You mentioned the spirit of your live shows, and the focus on performance that led to Squeeze. The vibe at your shows is electrifying, and I didn't know what I was getting into when I went. I'd heard some of your music, but I wasn't expecting what I got. I found myself laughing; just this giddy energy.
The show is so theatrical and playful. It's basically taking the piss and machismo out of metal. Metal is this intense culture of people. Metalists take even the label of their type of metal very seriously, but then metalists are the dorkiest, sweetest, nerdy people, too. I feel like they're also the first people to admit that the world of metal is a little bit ridiculous from the very beginning. Cannibal Corpse is this gnarly metal band, and all their lyrics are about murder and cutting skin – the most gruesome, gory lyrics – but the lead guy is always posting on the internet about winning plush animals from claw machines and then donating them to people. Super sweet and dorky. I'm pretty into this element of duality that's in metal. A lot of the most famous heavy-rock-world people are wearing hilarious costumes, wear makeup, and are so theatrical and dramatic. To me, it's giving more "drama teenager" than anything. I wanted to tap into the drama and the fantasy. Fantasy is a big part of metal, which I find to be awesome. There are a lot of different metal genres where nature is a big theme. It was pretty clear from the beginning of putting Squeeze out that I wasn't trying to make a metal album. I wasn't trying to become a metal artist, but I wanted to bring these sonic elements of metal – like double kick drum, drop-tuned guitars, and slap bass – those kinds of sounds that feel like soundtracking a scene of violence, anger, frustration, and darkness. That's what I wanted to bring to my indie rock music world, because that's the kind of cinematic soundscape that I wanted to create. It was appropriating those sounds. I come from a world where my community is made up of a lot of POC, women of color, and queer people who are very aware of identity politics and how that plays into appropriation in the entertainment industry. I feel metal is such a white dude genre that [appropriating it] is like foraging from a forest that's overflowing with produce. The metal guys who were in my band, they're stoked to change people's mind about the fact that metal could be for everyone. I love hearing that [the live show] made you giggle, because I do think that there's a fine line between joy and ecstasy, and fear and danger. I liked riding that line, and I'm lucky that my audience is made up of cool, respectful, conscious, and diverse people. Even if there was moshing happening and there was a lot of movement, aggression, and catharsis, it was still pretty safe. I was probably the one that got injured the most. I was definitely sacrificing my own body more than anyone.
The interesting thing about moshing is that it's very consent-driven, assuming no idiot's dragging you into the pit. Everyone who's there wants to be there and have that experience.
Totally. I learned a lot on this tour cycle, because I realized that a lot of the time pits are something that the band opens. There's this conversation that happens between the artists on stage and the people in the crowd, especially for an indie rock crowd not used to moshing. It was more like conjuring the space with the permission of everyone in the room. I felt lucky to have conceived of this vision during the pandemic; of having cute, queer people dressed in leather coming to my shows and moshing safely. It was the best thing ever.
You picked a great moment, because even with people that you wouldn't necessarily expect to have that dark side, there's a lot of embracing of witchiness and stuff like that.
No, totally. I came from a scene in L.A. that was very self-serious and very "cool guy." And – you saw my band – they have longer hair than most of the women that I know. I feel so bad for all the hotels that we stayed at, because the amount of hair that we left in the showers every night, between the four of us. It was probably irresponsible. [laughter] But seeing Jon [Kelley], the bassist, flip his hair; everyone's head banging. And Dylan [Blake] is pointing up to the crowd, being super dramatic – fuck, yeah! This is my kind of energy. Not the self-serious "staring at your shoes." It was refreshing. I feel the goal was for us to put ourselves out there so much that everyone in the crowd was like, "Okay, I'm going to open up a little bit more tonight."
I get that. You've said, "One of the worst parts of this job is having to be perceived all the time." How do you hope to be seen?
Yeah, it's funny, because I feel metal is probably the genre where there's the greatest potential for unconventionally attractive people to be commercially successful. But, because I'm still in the indie rock world, I still get viewed in this indie music lens of beauty standards. I'm currently in a femme-fronted band, so there's always going to be that kind of thing. Luckily, because I was playing into the theatrics and costumes, it was fun for me to dress up. It was fun for me to interact with the fashion of it, and for people at my shows to feel like they have an excuse to also put on a costume, I liked that part of it. There was an era where artists had a winter season, where they retreated from the public eye, worked on music, and disappeared. And now artists have to be around all the time and are expected to constantly feed the social media algorithms to stay relevant. Those kinds of things are demoralizing, but I also feel grateful that I even get attention from anyone, that I dreamed up such a bizarre idea for the Squeeze album, and that it actually happened.
Yeah. It seems like the most bizarre ideas are the ones that inspire people for generations.
If something can saturate your mind and your heart in the most DIY way, then, when you actually have a huge production budget behind it, it's going to be so insanely potent. I feel grateful that we got to perform it, on so many different levels. We had smaller shows, then we were opening for HAIM at stadiums and able to perform where we had proper lights. It's definitely a show that is best in a dark room with lots of scary, haunted house lights, for sure. I learned a lot about the importance of lighting on this cycle.
That's cool.
I grew up in a scene that was very purist, and I'm grateful for it. I got my background working on tape machines and learning about gear – not comping, just punching in and doing it the real old-fashioned "by the book" way. "Don't use tracks on stage." "Live shows are only live performers." That was good, in some ways, because it made me not cut any corners and develop all my skills, my ears, and my understanding. However, it's also a little bit short-sighted because not everyone at a show, and not everyone listening to an album, is a professional musician. Now, my goal is less to impress the five percent of people in the room that know what's happening, and more just trying to create an emotional experience for everyone. If I'm only thinking about the logistics being impressive or legit, then I'm not zooming out and thinking, "Is this creating the most effective experience?" That's the thing with the lights, or using backing tracks. I started thinking more about creating a world for a non-musician, for someone who's just coming to a show. It's not like the older and more experienced I get, the more that I want to get more and more legit. I want it to have the most impact emotionally, which actually makes you not give a shit about the legitimacy of the gear. It's not a shortcut to use a MIDI tone on your iPad to get a sound that feels like fairy dust if that sound feels like fairy dust more than using an analog synth. It doesn't matter. I have seen how even the best ears can be tricked. At the end of the day, it's just physics, right? They're just waveforms, and you can get to a certain shape in many different ways.
That's such a great point. You've mentioned in previous interviews that you're inspired by nature, and lately I've noticed a whole lot of fungi popping up on your Instagram. Will this fascination intersect with your art?
