“Summer of Love” by Throwing Muses
Photo via Throwing Muses - Facebook
Kristin Hersh - Throwing Muses
Kristin Hersh
Formed in the early ‘80s, Throwing Muses were at the artistic edge of alternative music. With a discography that numbers in the dozens, Kristin Hersh—solo and with Throwing Muses, has followed her own muse. These days her son Dylan has joined her on bass along with longtime collaborator Fred Abong and cellist Pete Harvey.
With the release of the new album Moonlight Confessions, the band hit the road. Hersh took time to offer insights into her determined, artistic life in advance of a rare noontime concert at Shank Hal on Saturday with Louie & The Flashbombs.
How does your songwriting happen today compared to the 4AD years?
I used to think songs were evil spirits, now I just think they’re spirits—the only evil music is uninspired product the industry just calls “music.”
Real songs want to breathe, so the energy I feel in the room before I give it a sound body—the thing that used to freak me out so much—I now just see as kind of a hover soul, wanting to hang out. A teammate.
My stuff has never been shallow, but at first, it kind of fell off an art cliff. I learned that my role is to sculpt and edit—to produce—while keeping my “self” out of the process. Tricky when all the work is autobiographical!
But I respect my songs like I respect my sons. Very similar, actually, raising children and writing songs. Both demand that you facilitate their idiosyncrasy, their fingerprints.
Do you have process or routine for writing and demo-ing new ideas? How has that evolved over the years?
Songs come of their own accord. Usually at 4 a.m., which is neither night nor day. Forcing the process leaves you with “ideas” that sound like mannequins as opposed to the living organism a real song is.
When you love music, it can be tempting to try and make it happen, but it’ll slip through your fingers if you start thinking it’s you in charge.
Should listeners think of Throwing Muses as a legacy act or something you will continue to focus on?
We haven’t earned any nostalgia because we never had any hits! We didn’t want any, to be honest.
Success was just bought and it wasn’t musical success. It was dumbed-down goofiness. They kept saying, “Just give us something to work with. Give us one stupid fashion moment and we’ll buy you fame.”
Radio payola, shelf space in record stores, press, etc., everything was bought in the hope of a return on the record company’s investment. Then they toss you out next year in favor a of a new fad.
I didn’t want to be “in” and I didn’t want attention. I wanted to be allowed to focus. I felt very strongly that “musician” could be a real job. One that rewarded substance—not ego, not marketing. With sustainability as the goal, so that we could study music and evolve as musicians.
People who want to be pop stars are in a different category. To me, vanity and soul are uniquely opposed and will not be in the room at the same time.
We were aware of the “suck to succeed” equation in the industry which is why I fought so hard to escape our corporate recording contract. Our goal was to work and that’s what we’ve done for decades now.
Knowing what you know today, what advice would you give a young Kristin just starting out as an artist?
I would have preferred to live a small life and keep music precious and private. It’s so personal to me; it’s sacred ...
I never belonged in the game that prefers exhibitionism to honesty, prefers fashion to humanity. The insult of their selling is heartbreaking.
Music has always been and always will be, but the music business is peopled by self-conscious performers, not focused artists. But real life? It is musical in and of itself. So, I’d tell Kristin to hold onto that, which is what I tell everybody.
Have you ever played a noon show at a rock club before? What is the reason for this early start?
No idea. I was gonna ask you. We figured it was a Milwaukee thing [laughter].
Last question. You are going to a desert island and can only take one work or art—album, book, film, painting, anything—what would it be and why?
I would love to go to a desert island. Is that even a thing? How could an island be a desert?
Anyway, I’d bring work my four sons have done. They know enough to keep their art sacred, and they’ve created so much music, writing, and animation that will never suffer the effects of selling or ego or greed.
They are my inspiration to keep going in a shallow industry because they were born keeping it real and they’ve never succumbed to the pressures that makes us forget how to do that.
