On keeping the pressure off your creative process

Children of the Earth is coming out a decade after the last Christian Mistress album. And the band itself was on hiatus for a few years. What did it take for you, creatively speaking, to get back into Christian Mistress mode after being way from it for so long?

We got invited to play Hell’s Heroes Fest in Texas, and that just kind of sparked an interest in us to try to do the band again after COVID, because we had wanted to anyway. We never really broke up—we were just kind of trying to figure out what to do. After we got invited to the festival, we practiced to see if it’s still fun to play music and if we still want to do that together. So, we had a couple band practices, and it all was just muscle memory—super easy, super fun. It felt like no time had passed, honestly.

We have such a great musical chemistry. We love hanging out together. It was kind of a no-brainer for us to do it. And then writing songs again was easier than it’s ever been. Maybe we just all had a lot of ideas that have built up over time, but it feels really natural.

On past records Christian Mistress records, you’d write lyrics about personal things, but in much broader terms so it wasn’t specific or esoteric. Is that what you’ve done on the new album? And why is that process important to you?

I think you’re right about the past records. When I was writing for our demo and our first two albums—Agony & Opium and Possession—I was still trying to understand what my creative process was or what a creative process even is. I just imagined what it would be to turn my guts inside out—what would that look like lyrically? That’s how I envisioned things and made it happen. I know it sounds kind of weird, but it just helped me really identify what I wanted to sing about. It was really personal, but I also wanted it to be relatable.

For this record, I did that a little bit. I had some stories to tell about my childhood that are on this new record that I never have shared before. “Demon’s Night” is a song about the way I grew up, which was in a very religious household. I had a great family. They were loving and wonderful to me. But the religion that we were in, I knew when I was eight that I didn’t believe in it. So, I locked myself in my room and I did a dance to Satan. I was like, “If God makes people do crazy things, then Satan could, too—if he’s real.” So, my way to debunk God was trying to worship Satan and see if anything happened. Nothing happened, so I felt God wasn’t real either. Everyone was lying to me. The song is about me figuring that out. It was my first scientific experiment.

How would you describe your creative process these days?

My creative process is really informed by the guitar parts and the music itself. I don’t really write anything until I hear the musical ideas. And then I’ll go on a walk, listen to the riffs, and help the guys decide how to put the riffs together—sometimes based on what the vocals could be. But I really let the music inform what the song is going to sound like both lyrically and melodically. I try to do something that’s compatible with the music, but also different enough that it stands out. Then I just go on a walk and think about it. I don’t let writer’s block or not having ideas worry me. If I don’t get any ideas, even for weeks or a month, I don’t worry about it. I just trust that I will get ideas that I will love.

I’ll often write ideas down or record vocal parts, and then come back to them a week later, and be like, “No, that’s not good enough,” or “That doesn’t fit; I need to keep trying.” I trust the process. Then I’ll try things out at practice and expand on them from there. I’ll get feedback from my bandmates. Reuben [Storey], our drummer, is really a good sounding board for me. I call him my quality control. If ever I have a question about something, like, “Is this line cheesy?” or “What could I do better here?” he always has really good ideas. It’s definitely a process that I try to include everyone in once I have the basics down.

How did you establish that relationship with Reuben? It seems important to the band’s writing process.

It’s really important. He’s really picky, so I can trust him to tell me the truth. Not that I can’t trust the other guys, but he just has a lot of opinions—and I do, too. We’re the opinionated mom and dad of the band. Everyone in Christian Mistress is so uniquely talented and important, but the role that Reuben plays is super vital.

When you were a kid, you were in a traveling choir that toured behind the Iron Curtain. What did you learn from that experience?

It was called the International Peace Tour or something like that. We were an acapella choir that traveled to Romania, Ukraine and Russia in 1989. I was a little kid, and we were singing Eastern European folk songs in Latvian, Lithuanian, Ukrainian, Russian.

None of it was my idea. It was this choir my parents put me in because I liked to sing. As a little kid, I would roll around in the weeds in the field in our backyard and just sing to myself all day long. And my parents were like, “Well, it seems like she wants to sing,” so they put me in this weird choir that was super hippie. And they’re not hippies at all, so I’m still shocked and amazed that they did that. It was an incredible experience. I learned how to sight-read music. I learned how to listen to other voices. And I think that’s probably what taught me how to listen so well to my bandmates in Christian Mistress—and hear melodies and think of ways to build on them.

I’m guessing you had chaperones, but do you think that experience prepared you in any way for the touring life?

Yeah, probably. In Ukraine and Russia at the time, they had these specialty schools where you would learn a skill. They had music schools, and we were performing at these music schools—and sometimes monasteries. So, we were performing for other kids that were put in music programs, basically, and their families. It was really special. I got to meet a lot of kids whose only language was Russian or Romanian, so we couldn’t really communicate. But in a way, they were superfans immediately, because going to those places in 1989 was not common. It was in March of 1989, before the Iron Curtain fell, so it was still the Soviet Union. Just by being from the West, it was a huge deal. You couldn’t even really buy Levi’s in Russia at the time. Being just a kid, I don’t know if it prepared me for touring, but it helped me see a side of performance life that probably other people haven’t.

I imagine it prepared you for musical collaboration as well.

Yeah, I think so. I think of the guitars in Christian Mistress as voices, so maybe that’s where that comes from. I listen to the guitars as if they’re another singing voice, and I allow that participation and connection instead of making it feel really separate in my mind. So that’s part of the process. And then I sing with myself on recordings—I harmonize over my parts. When we play live, sometimes I have friends come and sing harmonies with us. It’s just kind of trial and error.

The fact that you work as a biologist is fascinating, given all the creative work you do. Most people wouldn’t think of those two things as compatible. You work in a rigid, scientific profession while creating music, which is literally making shit up. You can’t make shit up in biology. Are those two different modes for you, or do they serve each other in any way?

I do conservation biology, which I think is really creative. It requires a creative mind to think of creative solutions or creative questions that need to be answered. So, I 100 percent use my creative mind in my science work. Not to say that I’m making shit up, but you have to really think critically. In conservation, you think about: What would be the most important thing to protect for this area? What kind of plants or landscape do these animals need? And then you have to ask really creative questions to get meaningful answers. So, I think they really are connected.

It sounds like a full-time job. How do you make sure you set aside time for creative stuff?

Oh, good question. I just communicate really well with my partner and say, “Hey, this weekend you’re not going to see much of me. I need to focus on this project.” I have a home life, and I’m busy, and I want to respect other people’s expectations of me, too, but I just try to set really clear boundaries. I also try to do too much and I’m always multitasking and doing a million things.

I’m learning how to paint with watercolor now, so I got a big book that walks you through what you would do in art school to learn watercolor technique. And that’s really peaceful and fun. I’m trying to expand my art life. I think it’s really important to write, but I don’t write that much unless I’m writing lyrics for a band. And I’d like that to change. I’d love to have more time. I make sure my weekends have a lot of free time for art and creativity and slowing down. During the week is pretty much not available because I’m busy. But I make sure to let time slow down on the weekends, and that’s kind of how I deal with it now.

When I first met you in 2010, either all or most of the members of Christian Mistress were working at the same pizza parlor in Olympia. You were working with these guys all day for weeks and months on end, and then you would pile into a van with the same people to go on tour. What did you learn about managing different personalities in that situation?

Really crucial question. I learned really fast that it’s not a welcome move to buy socks for your bandmates if their socks stink. And it was really hard for our boss to let us go on tour. But he would actually give us gas money, even though he was so annoyed with us all. But I think after a couple of U.S. tours, we just kind of decided we don’t really want to be in the van together for 45 days at a time. It’s not really worth it to us to do that. Because we built up a small fan base, we could just focus on bigger shows in bigger cities, for the most part.

So, we just changed our strategy and how we played, and then we’d do shorter tours. We had a manager back then, and she kind of gave us a choice, like, “You guys can be on tour all the time and make a living off your band or not be on tour all the time and not make a living off the band.” And we all looked at each other, like, “Nah, we’re good. Let’s not be in the van together forever.” And I think that’s helped us have more longevity. But I don’t think touring constantly would’ve really been doable for us. I’d rather play music and stay friends with everybody.

Many folks might see a band like Christian Mistress releasing albums and touring internationally, and they don’t understand that it’s not what you do for a living. Not only do you have a day job—you want one.

I grew up in the punk scene, where there’s no expectations to make money. And I think that the music industry really benefits off that, unfortunately. But I think we are successful in that we get to record albums the way we want—in analog studios with this beautiful, warm sound—and that we get to have a creative project with our best friends. That’s success to me. Having a career that financially supports you and playing a bunch of shitty shows you don’t want to play just to make money—that doesn’t sound like success to me. And I think it’s true for all of us. I think we’re doing exactly what we should be doing, if that makes sense.

What kind of advice do you have for women traveling and just existing in the boys’ club that is metal and rock?

When I started touring with Christian Mistress, I had close friends tell me, “Oh, it’s going to be horrible. You’re going to get harassed. It’s going to be terrible.” And that was guys telling me that. It just felt like it discounted my experience as a woman. Obviously, I know that stuff. I’ve been dealing with it my whole life. It’s not exclusive to being in a band.

I have had stalkers. I’ve had weird interactions with people. That’s hard, but I just learned to always keep my bandmates with me—even in interviews with people I don’t know. Pretty much the only reason I’m doing this interview with you alone is because we’ve known each other for a long time.

But for women, I’d just say consider that men also need to find ways to emotionally connect with each other. And perhaps that’s why the music industry is so male dominated. It’s really hard for men, generally speaking—not always—to just hang out together and do something creative. But music is one of those ways that is socially acceptable to do that.

Right.

And I think it’s really important. I’m not saying it’s not important for women, but it’s so much easier for women to just say, “Oh, I’m hanging out with my girlfriends,” or whatever. But for men, it’s kind of this socially structured thing where they watch sports together or something, and playing in a band is one of the defined activities that men can do. I guess it’s kind of why I’ve not been as interested in the whole “women in metal” or “women in rock” thing. Because of my bandmates, I don’t feel especially different because of my gender, although I know that does play a role, obviously.

I guess my advice for women in music would just be: If it brings you joy, then do it without worrying about what other people think. And also consider that you don’t have to worry about the fact that there’s more men in music. Maybe there’s a reason for it. It doesn’t have to be this big thing, like, men dominate everything. I don’t think that’s what it is, honestly. I think they just need a way to connect.

Besides being a musician and painter, you’re also a photographer. Do you have a creative philosophy that ties all those disciplines together?

I’d say my main medium is photography. I do really focus on that. When I’m not taking photos, I’m looking at everything as if it’s a photograph. I have a dark room at home, and I print negatives there. But for music, I think a lot of it is universal truths and maybe the hero’s journey—myths that transcend time, space, and cultures. With photography, I think it’s somewhat different. I try not to put too much pressure on the outcome. And I do that really specifically, because there’s a lot of eyes on Christian Mistress. There’s a little bit of pressure to do something excellent, even though I enjoy doing it. My photography is something that I don’t feel will have any critique or response. I can just be totally free with it, so it’s more about exploring texture and image and what I enjoy.