MW: Oh, wow, oh, I’m sorry. I’m throwing you under, not under the bus, but I’m with my kid, but he’s all right in the other room, so go ahead.
ND: I mean, life is life. I have kids, too; I get it completely. So I saw you in San Francisco (Great American Music Hall, April 2nd), and you’re taking a break before you finish your homecoming tour?
MW: Playing in Montreal? Yeah. I like to break up my tour so that I can be home with the kids, so I do them in blocks. So yes, in about 10 days, I’ll do a Montreal show, but then I go back out on the road for another three weeks, then home again for two weeks, and then back out for three weeks.
ND: So you’ve had a chance on the first leg to sit with this very formative album that introduced young you, and as you said, “It’s a lifestyle that needs to be honored.” Looking back and spending so much time with it, do you feel like there’s a continuity of that person with yourself, or do you feel like you’re interacting with another person?
MW: Oh, that’s an interesting and good question. I guess it’s a bit of both, but I think the first one. I think without the 28-year-old me, there’s no 48-year-old me, and so I do recognize myself and my music in these songs. There’s always been a continuity of sound. Obviously, my voice is the main continuity through my work; it’s identifiable, but I would also say subject matter somewhat. I mean, I wrote a lot of this material when I was in my late teens, early 20s into my mid-20s, so obviously my reality is not the same, but there are still similar themes: love, men, unrequited love, maybe an anger, a little bit of anger at society or being misunderstood, maybe feeling like not quite fitting in. And then I would also say that I find that the songs kind of outlive the artist in many ways in that the poetry and the music that I wrote as a 23-year-old, that poetry now, when I sing it as a 48-year-old, it takes on a new meaning, but it still has pertinence. I find my way. I find a way to attach myself to it, so that’s kind of cool, yeah.
ND: I’ve been doing a deep dive into your oeuvre for the last week. I came late to you, discovered you during COVID, really, and I was like, what the hell? Where have you been?
MW: Yeah.
ND: So in seeing all those songs, listening to all those, I have to tell you, it was not hard, but it was emotionally challenging. It’s a lot. You’re very raw, and your songs are full of indictments and exonerations. And yeah, it’s very compelling. Definitely brought tears a few times.
MW: Oh, good.
ND: You sitting in this first album, which is kind of like, you know, this first declaiming of self, and also this like engagement with kind of this ramshackle hedonism of l being in your early 20s and nightlife and everything. You know, performing that every night, how is that emotionally for you?
MW: You know, it’s interesting you ask that. I didn’t sort of prepare in any way other than to try and remember how to write the songs, you know? And I will say, I’m more tired than I used to be because I’m older. So the road is more tiring, and we’re putting in a lot of dates. And playing in the States has always been a bit of a steep climb as well because I, when my career started, I really spent much more time playing in the UK, Canada, Australia, and Europe. And so, it’s always—not a harder sell—but the rooms are smaller, so it’s kind of more of a job, and in a good way. I still have work to do in that market. And so I found myself working a lot. I mean, I hope it doesn’t appear that way, but on stage connecting, trying to connect to the lyrics again.
This is really kind of intense material. The first record, like all first records, is material that is generally built up over many years. Young people, this is their first set of songs, but for me, it was not only my first set of songs, but there was also a whole 10 years of career almost beforehand, trying to get signed, singing with my brother, writing songs. And so it seemed like even more of a kind of almost avalanche, I would say. The material has a feeling where it’s kind of over-intense. The record took a long time to make, and it’s a very rich record. There are a lot of sounds and kinds of turns, twists, and styles. And so, yes, I have found it to be kind of a lot, but I get the sense that the audience has been really grateful for that too. I’m getting a lot back from the audience.
This is not bubble gum pop, you know, and we’re not having like a fun show like la, la, la, la, la. Hopefully, there are some funny moments, and I try to be funny on stage and keep it light, but there is kind of an intensity. And I would also say, obviously, in America right now it’s very intense too. I would remark on that as well.
ND: Is that something you’re experiencing as you move around America?
MW: Absolutely, absolutely, because I’m a van full of Canadians and I’m a dual citizen. There’s just a lot of uncertainty. There’s always a certain amount of that, but you know, there’s a little bit of an intensity. I think there’s — I don’t wanna say call to arms — but a call to, you know, try and represent better things, and to speak truths. Hopefully, this music or this kind of music or this kind of being an artist falls in that category, and the importance of that right now seems very strong.
ND: One of the songs that you sang with Louden at the Troubadour was ‘Pretty Good Day’, which seemed pertinent to now. Probably the meaning’s changed a lot, and become a little ironic.
(Actually, a LW III song Martha covers on the extended ST re-release.
example lyrics: It’s a pretty good day so far
No snipers in windows, taking a peek
No people panic, running scared through the streets
I didn’t see any bodies without arms, legs, or feet
It’s a pretty good day)
MW: Yeah, yeah, exactly.
ND: You actually moved into the next place I was going which is why do you think you haven’t really gotten recognition in the States, even though you’ve definitely been appreciated by critics and music aficionados, but from public at large? And I was thinking about your peers, maybe like Nico Case or Joanna Newsom or Jenny Lewis, and as I look at it, your first album just had like a lot more maturity than those. And I don’t intend that disparagingly of them at all.
MW: Maybe the mistake was not just putting out an album quickly as a first record, because by the time the first record came out, there was kind of, it almost sounded like it was from somebody from the past, who was like dead or something, you know, like in a really weird way, you know, somebody like kind of a more of an archetypal, mother figure rather than, you know, a young female artist getting her butt kicked, starting on her career. You know, there was a depth to it that maybe is a thing that scared record companies or whatever.
ND: Yeah, we don’t do depth very well down here, Martha. When I was going to do the review of your show, I was setting myself to be like, I’m gonna try to disambiguate you from all the family stuff, and then you were like…
MW: Mhmm. Good luck. That’s impossible.
ND: Yeah, you were like ‘no, you can’t do that,’ immediately, which is honestly to your credit, because it’s not something that overwhelms. It really is something that you have power over. It seems like you hold yourself to the same criticism and grace as you do everyone else. Where was I going with that? I guess I lost the thread on that one, I’m sorry.
MW: That’s okay.
ND: Did I hear you call your children on stage Archangel?
MW: Arcangelo and Francis.
ND: Powerful names. So they’re a little older, moving out of childhood into early adolescence, like little Apollonians.
MW: Exactly. Right now, I’m working with my youngest son, and he wanted to track a hip-hop song, and he thought it would be a fun experience. And now I’ve destroyed his love of music by showing him how difficult it is. So like, okay, first we gotta build the track, and then we’re gonna do this, and we’re gonna do that. And they’re like, meh? So, you know, I’m trying to dampen their hopes and their dreams of ever becoming artists.
ND: Is it possible that’s subconsciously a little true?
MW: Well, no, I actually was hoping to get him interested. So we’re gonna keep working on that. My other son, Arcangelo, loves playing music and plays all the time. It’s an interesting balance to parent and also be on the road. And, you know, it’s a tough life.
ND: I can imagine. How do you feel you would respond if they did go into the business and had the same kind of raw honesty as you do, and your brother and your parents???
MW: Well, I think they would come by it honestly, you know, but I would encourage them to also try and find the key to writing a pop song, you know, something that’s gonna make them some money in music too. But I don’t know, that’s up to them, you know what I mean? And that’s always something that’s kind of elusive, or else it’s something that’s hard fought, to know how to do it, and you work towards that. But I would not be a good example for them to follow in that regard.
ND: The business side of things. So as you’re parenting, do you feel like you’ve moved on completely from your earlier life or do you still, you know, have a bit of, you know, you own a nightclub (Wainwright co-owns and operates Ursa, a café, concert-hall, bar, and recording space in Montreal), do you still feel a little bit drawn to that kind of lifestyle?
MW: Well, it’s definitely a part of the job, and it’s something that you can’t fall back into completely. That being said, when I’m on the road, you can’t totally separate these things, you know what I mean? And so, at least in my case. It’s funny, like, you know, older people on the road, we’re trying to keep up, you know? Let’s go have some drinks afterwards. And then you get down to the lobby and you’re like, I’m tired. I’m going to the room. And who’s left to have a gin and tonic? And so maybe there’s one or two gin and tonics instead of, you know, four or five, which is probably for the best for everyone. Yeah.
ND: I had a four or five gin and tonic night recently and it was not for the best!
MW: Yeah. Exactly.
ND: So, having written basically music that is pretty defining and clearly identifiable as connected to stages of your life and attached it to musicality, not just lyrics, and gotten access to that kind of expression, what is different about writing a memoir? Honestly, as a writer, I’m a little jealous of musicians.
MW: Well, it’s a lot, it’s a lot harder. I’ll give you that. And so it definitely took a lot more time for me, and also I had to be more careful because I can’t really couch what I’m saying in poetry or emotions. And I can’t sort of pretend that if I sing, sometimes I can sort of play a little bit of a character, although I don’t very much, but certainly not in a memoir.
It’s pretty honest. It’s pretty exposed.
ND: So what did you get out of that, personally?
MW: The joy of having it be done. That was a good feeling. Yeah, no, but I mean it wasn’t a fun process. I don’t know if everyone who’s mentioned in the memoir loves the memoir, but I would definitely say that people seem to appreciate it. And I think there were some things that I brought up and talked about that I think are important to bring up and talk about, so it’s really for the reader rather than for the subject in my case. I have time for one more question.
ND: Yes, yes. I was just gonna ask about your relationship with your audience, as you’re performing, broadly, you seem really like, well, obviously, your emotions are on your sleeve forever. Do you feel like you’re singing to people? Do you feel like you’re singing with your eyes closed?
MW: I think I do both, you know, because in the span of an hour and a half, I am so dependent on the audience. Sometimes I’m really singing to them, and I’m looking in sections, and I’m really trying to draw that in. And then other times, if I feel like maybe they are distant or something or I’m not getting much back from them, I might just close my eyes and just try and sing to the song, you know, and just be as, have it be as good as I can make it and then hope that they are appreciating just that.
