On questioning your path and forging new ones

You had a huge shift in perspective around your 28th birthday. What did that look and feel like?

I’m so glad that you wanted to chat about that. It’s like a 10-year cycle completing because I’m 38. I’ve been looking back at that moment strongly and feel like I’ve had a way of speaking about it that was true to my understanding, but now I’m understanding it differently, which is that my story of being a late bloomer is, in fact, not true.

I had this whole musical partnership with my ex-husband. I was learning how to tour, to be a collaborative musician, and I was not allowed to develop my ideas within this group. So, my ideas were not blooming. I would get little ideas, but they weren’t being nurtured or nourished by me or anyone that I was creative with. So, when it came to my Saturn return, 28, I had to oust myself out of the relationship and I did so because I felt like the promise of the music, the three songs that I had, were enough. I’m like, “I need to investigate this and it’s worth everything in my life.” In a lot of ways, it was really clear to me. I didn’t give myself a plan B. It was like I am now on this path and having complete creative control for the first time, incredible.

Do you relate to the person you hear on those early recordings?

I think I do more than ever because for a while, I needed to just write and write and figure it out. But now looking back, the three songs that I had in my back pocket are my most listened to songs on Spotify. It makes me so fucking happy and validated that I placed that bet because it worked. There’s a lot of wondering, Why did my friends take me on tour? I was figuring it out on guitar. But it’s impossible to understand reframing those circumstances, it doesn’t work that way. It’s like your essence, who you are is always who you are and continues to be.

What did the music of Hank Williams unlock or demystify for you?

The thing with Hank Williams might be he’s a great American composer and writer, and a lot of the people that I knew and was surrounded with at the time in New Orleans were obsessed with and playing Black American roots music. I didn’t want to be another impersonator or appropriator. So, to me, Hank Williams, although I know that he was listening to the blues and picked up his licks and everything like that, it signified a clear voice of how to find your own voice and make your own sound that wasn’t totally, completely derivative. That was my impression coming from the scene in New Orleans.

How did you develop your guitar technique?

I came up listening to so much punk music and going to punk shows that I’m like, “I’m going to come through. I’m going to connect and my F chord will take shape when it does.” I just spent all of my time getting my chords… but performing, I was an anxious mess performing forever, and I’m just now starting to feel comfortable on stage.

What changed?

I think a lot of it has to do with the participation from the audience. On this last tour, for the first time ever, and I’ve been doing this for a long time, the rooms were full. The people were exploding and singing and dancing. Even in towns like Boston or New York where you’re like, they’re going to be cool, they’re going to be reserved. They were not. They were huge dorks. They were right up front doing whatever the fuck. Singing along with Want in particular, the songs from that album, I’m like, “Okay, everyone’s here for a release and I want that too and letting go of the perfection.” I’m going to tune my guitar awkwardly for two minutes if I have to, and I’m not going to plan my banter. I’m just going to wing it. I’m going to be present. That stuff allows me to enjoy it.

The in-between moments can be so challenging, but also an opportunity for connection.

Right. I’m really interested in that. One time, it was two winters ago when I was writing the songs that became Want, I wanted to share them in an intimate setting. I hosted a songwriter night, in this little hotel, and I presented the songs. Before I did, I was like, “These are fresh. I don’t want to talk about them because I don’t know what they are yet.” I told them I wasn’t going to talk to them in between, and I didn’t want them to clap either. It was so intense and sweaty and crazy, and I fucking loved it.

You’ve hosted a number of songwriting circles. What led to that and what were your big takeaways?

It’s that nourishment. I learned that I needed to have a drop or two of water on my ideas. It’s not much. It’s such a tiny bit of feedback that an artist might need to then finish a song and then share it out loud. I learned that from The Deslondes and the campfire scene in Holy Cross that was on Deslonde Street. Being amongst these musicians and our amazing scene in New Orleans, it gave me the confidence to play guitar, but it also gave me incentive because everyone was sharing these songs that they wrote.

I went home thinking, “Man, maybe next time I go to the campfire, I’ll have a song and share it.” The next time I went back, everybody knew it and sang it with me. It was cherishing the creative process. Songs are sacred and important and fun and connective. That’s what I try to do in Santa Fe. All you need is a room where people are going to listen and I have been pushing people to share more and everybody’s super shy and that’s great. I was too. So much is possible when you just begin.

Beginning is often the hardest part. What works for you?

I think that the depth of that question is, What do you want someone to hear from you? For me, I want someone to hear something that I’m thinking about, and that’s it. It’s less like the words or the music happen first and it’s more like this thing has been keeping me up and I’m going to get into it. Usually there’s one person in mind who I want to hear it, or maybe that person’s the fucking president, maybe it’s not someone in my life.

Did you ever receive feedback on a song that was hard to hear, but also helpful?

Those early days of feedback, you just know if you didn’t make an impact if it’s like it’s onto the next. You can hear so much in the silence. Some of that is what I’ve learned about presenting new works in that way is delivery. It won’t hit if I am not confident and I don’t know or understand my material yet.

What have you learned about being a band leader?

I was a side player for a long time before I began my solo career. I know what it feels like to be supporting somebody, a band. I understand the dynamic from that angle. I think what I have really tried to cultivate for years and years and years is this feeling of value, sincere value for folks who join me and risk their lives out there and folks that join me in the studio. Creating this open door feeling that feels like I value you and I don’t own you and I’m not trying to. Everyone that comes and works with me knows if they need to go ever, I love them and they can. I want this feeling of support and care.

You’ve been stretching out songs both live and on record a bit. How has that felt?

When you make an album, a vinyl record is 45 minutes. I was not thinking about that when I was recording the songs, but I guess I had this feeling going in where man, all of my records, I’m like two and a half minutes, two and a half, let’s wrap it up. We’re getting out of here. I’m just always working against the last thing I’ve done. I love that you asked about jamming because I’ve been experimenting. When I was rehearsing with the guys before we went on tour, I knew there were a few songs I really wanted to jam out on, my two chord jammers, and I’m like, “Tell me, how do you think about jamming? What’s the existential thing that’s being gained?” My drummer, Ray, from Video Age, he said, “Esther, very little people know this. Find one note and stick to it.” So I would find a note up on the neck and stick to it and then it was so fun. I mean, we bring these incredible people on the road. Let’s just have them talk to each other musically.

“Tailspin” was your first official co-write. Did you enjoy the process?

It got me thinking to the point where everything I’m doing right now is a co-write, because I loved it so much. I love when I’m working with an artist that’s all fired up, the immediacy of the thought. I’m very much a voice memo artist, and so I like to work remotely. I like to get sweaty in my own studio. I don’t know about being in a room together. I tried that in LA. It was a little too awkward for me. There’s beauty in just catching someone at the right time when their gears are turning and then completing a project together. With Ross (Farbe), I can’t believe we hadn’t done it until this album because we’ve made two other albums together and he’s an incredible writer. We have such a rapport with music and trust. Every time I work with him, we go to a new place.

Was there pressure that came with working in a more traditional studio environment?

I’ve done everything on a shoestring for real so I was all in my head. The way I was able to deal with that pressure, I was like, “I just need to be present to experience this musically. This is such a cool opportunity. How do I be present?” The trick for me was doing ketamine every other night at the Airbnb after our session. I got into a very interesting state of mind of just complete presence and music for 7 days, 10 days. I already have my therapeutic ketamine process. I have a prescription, so that it would be every six weeks or two months. It was very staggered, but for the album, I was like, “Actually, I need to bring in every trick that I have right now of how to stay present and utilize it so that I can do this.”

How do you carve out alone time on the road?

Alone time is a state of mind because I am sharing space. I rarely get my own room. So, I can’t count on it. This is why this crew that I’m traveling with now is incredible. They know me, they know I need this, they respect it. For me, I have to trust that I don’t have to make every punchline. I don’t have to have a beer with the boys. I get to go to my zone, go have van time, whatever it is, headphones in. I’m doing my thing, I’m writing, and really trust the people around me to not think I’m weird or crazy and love it and be fine. That trusting other people is key.