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Great American Songwriter interview



Joanna Newsom stunned everyone with her third album, Have One On Me, which is simultaneously her most accessible work, and, at two hours long, her most challenging. We chatted with one of rock music’s most creative minds to find out what makes her tick.

You’ve said there’s a loose theme to Have One On Me. If you could describe the story being told in a sentence, what would it be?

It would be the title of the record, in the imperative mood.

Most of the songs are over five minutes long, and the longest is 11 minutes. Do you worry that some fans might not have patience or time to make it through the whole thing?

Yeah, I do worry about that. I guess you have to be in the right mood to get into it. And certain folks never get in that mood.

What’s a song you’re particularly proud of on the album, and why?

“Does Not Suffice,” I think. And “On A Good Day.” Simplicity is sometimes hardest for me.

Which songs came first on the record? Were they all written post-Ys?

I started “Kingfisher” sometime between when I recorded “Ys” and when the album came out. And I remember writing the instrumental part to “Have One On Me” on a big old beautiful grand piano in the Sear Sound studio, in New York, while Jim O’Rourke was observing his monastic session of solitary “Ys” mixing, and I was waiting to be let back in the room.

Do you typically write songs on the harp?

For this album, for the first time ever, I decided to write the bulk of the songs on the piano. I’m not a very good piano player, and so I thought it would be an interesting exercise, to write songs on an instrument that absolved me of any obligation to do something interesting with my hands. I wanted to focus on the bones of the songs – the melodies and chords. Sometimes, with the harp, I can get carried away thinking about instrumental arrangements before the songs even know what they are, which ends up producing sort of frenetic, abstract work, with the fussiness of a premature infancy. I wanted these songs to be measured and solid, pitched low and heavy. Then, once they were sketched out, I switched back to the harp, to fill in the instrumental details.

When did you start writing songs? What were they like? Were they more “conventional,” less, or the same?

I was a little kid when I first started writing songs. So the songs were kid songs, in the beginning. I wrote a lot about weather patterns and animals. Then there was a long dry spell, between about age ten and age seventeen, when I didn’t write songs with words and singing anymore; I only wrote instrumental songs. On the back end of that period, in my late teens, the instrumentals sorta resembled my second record, “Ys,” except, as I said, that they didn’t have any singing at that point.

Are there any particular words you love, or hate?

I’ve always loved “derelict,” for its accidental diversity and poeticism of meaning, in adjectival and noun form.

You’ve said for Ys, you pored over every syllable before it was finished.

Well, I was in a mathematical frame of mind, I think. Not real math, but intuitive math – a kind of idle, self-soothing impulse, like making sure all three Dixie cups have the same number of dry pinto beans in them. That impulse didn’t govern the meanings of the songs, or the spirit of the record, but somehow I needed it – I needed that syntactic hyper-vigilance, to act as a mill through which all those songs had to pass in order for the record to find itself.

You prefer not to discuss your lyrics too much, instead letting your audience draw their own conclusions. Why is that? Wouldn’t it be interesting for them to know the stories behind the songs?

Maybe less interesting than you’d think.

Is your lyric and music writing style “automatic”?

I think it’s automatic, but not fixed. It changes over time, as I change. Like any creative impulse, it’s a product both of the essential self and of the changing environment.

Do you write the lyrics separately from the music?

These last few years, I’ve found that I write lyrics based on the music, prompted by it. But when I first started writing the songs for the first album, I would begin with lyrics, and then try to set them to music.

You’ve said you’re an insomniac. Do you write or make music a lot during those early morning hours?

I like to think I do. But the hours have a degrading effect on the mind as they roll along. I do better work early in the evening, before I get too loopy.

Have One On Me is two hours long and three sides. Did you have a clear picture that that’s how you wanted it to be before you started making it?

No, I didn’t. Not in the beginning. I think I was more than halfway done writing the material, before I started to see its natural form.

How long do you estimate you spent writing the songs for the album?

It’s got to have been at least three years. Going on four.

Were they easier to write than the songs on your previous albums?

I remember them as being the hardest, by far. But maybe I say that every time.

It’s fascinating how you went over the songs with the arrangers bar by bar in creating the tracks. Can you talk about what the arrangers brought to the table?

They contributed more than I’ll ever be able to repay them for, or convey in any interview. Ryan Francesconi is a brilliant musician and composer, and this record wouldn’t have happened without him. Same goes for Neal Morgan. It’s true that the arrangements on the album were the product of conversation—sustained, sometimes weeks-(or months)-long conversation—between us three.

On the other hand, as I think Ryan has mentioned in interviews before, the ideal scenario for all of us was when he or Neal would present an arrangement to me and I would have no comments whatsoever. There were a number of times that happened, when Ryan or Neal’s initial read on the song was so perceptive and sensitive, and so much a faithful product of our initial discussions of the theme and spirit of that song, that I would have nothing to amend, edit, add or subtract. In that sense, it is a bit misleading for me to have said that we went through all the songs “bar by bar”.

Certain songs were presented to me by Ryan in an almost identical form to how they appear on the album. It was thrilling to work with a dear friend who understood this record so well, and understands me so well. There were many, many things that didn’t need to be said. The same goes for Neal’s drum and vocal arrangements. Those dudes are both miraculous musicians and writers. Their commitment to helping me make the record I wanted to make was an immeasurable gift.

In the song “You And Me Bess”, you sing: “I hope Mother Nature has not overheard! Though she doles out hurt like a puking bird”. What a cool image. Do you remember coming up with it?

I don’t remember, no. I generally only ever remember coming up with the most belabored images, the ones I’m the least proud of. The rest tend to just shuck into existence along the way, as a natural byproduct of the story I’m trying to tell.

The album has received a lot of critical praise. Do you read your reviews?

Well, I tend to not. Sometimes my mom or dad sends me something that I read. I have moments of weakness, but generally I abide by the belief that it’s better to not read them.

Did the time when you lost your voice inspire you to make music at all?

Not directly, I’d say. But I was sure ready to get back to it. I was scared I might not ever be able to sing again. That fear was always on the edge of my mind during the months of not speaking or singing. So certainly I was grateful to get back to it, when I found that I physically could.

Who are some authors and poets you love? Are there any that have had a direct influence on your writing?

The type of writing that excites and inspires me does tend to change every year or two. These last few years I’ve read a lot of Hemingway, Walker Percy, John Updike, a little Doris Lessing, and some of the less famous books by William Faulkner.

Do you ever feel writers block?

Yes, and I don’t know how to beat it, either. Tough luck all around.

Random question: have you ever listened to Jethro Tull’s Thick As A Brick? Are you a fan?

Oh yes, I am a fan. Jim O’Rourke first played me that record, in a tiny bar in Japan. 75% of the best records I know were introduced to me by him.

You licensed “Sprout and the Bean” to Victoria’s Secret for use in a TV commercial. What is your stance on licensing music for commercials? Were you happy with its use?

Well, my stance is different than it used to be, that’s for sure. It’s starting to feel like I ought to say yes to the occasional commercial, in order to continue making music for a living. Maybe that’ll change, at some point, as our society figures out a new way to compensate musicians for work, to make up for the fact that folks aren’t buying many records anymore. But at the moment, I have to subsidize my income by doing odd stuff, like that commercial. I should say, though, I didn’t mind that particular one, too much, because they didn’t use my voice. For some reason the exclusion of vocals protected the song slightly, for me.

What singers have inspired your vocal style?

Well, I do think Roy Harper has!

Do you have any musical goals you haven’t explored yet?

There’s some music theory stuff that I wish I were better at. And, someday, I’d like to revisit the trickier classical repertoire that I’d begun amassing in my late teens and early twenties, which I then sort of dropped, along the way. I couldn’t concentrate on too many musical ideas at once. But I’d love to go back to it.