On the business of being an aritst

Grace Ives is a NYC-based synth-pop and electronic singer, songwriter, and producer.

How or when did you realize you would become an artist?

It was never “my dream.” I went to college for something called New Media. I thought I would work at a magazine or a label, and then I just kind of was like, “Oh, I guess this is what I spend 90% of my time doing. And I guess it is who I am.”

So I think it was happening, but I didn’t really realize it because it’s so natural to me, you know what I mean?

I was reading that you grew up in New York. Were you around musicians at all or was there anything that made you resistant to being a part of the music industry? Because I think sometimes with creatives, if something is more ingrained in you growing up or it’s more natural to you, you are almost resistant to that path at first. Did you find that to be true?

Maybe. I didn’t even know what the music industry was. I had no idea of it. I mean, my mom worked in the creative department at Island Def Jam and Elektra in the ’90s or early 2000s. I went to work with her as a two-year-old. So I have vague childhood memories of what it looked like as a building, but I don’t think that I was reluctant to join in because I had no idea what it was.

I was more interested in becoming the people that I was seeing later in high school when Silent Barn was a thing, and it was like Porches, Frankie Cosmos, and Level Up. I was more interested in being like that, I think. But I didn’t realize that I could do that.

Thinking back to when I first heard your music, it was your song “Lullaby,” and it’s still one of my favorite songs from Janky Star. And I thought that there was nothing quite like it.

I love how it’s very dancey and synth, but also very introspective. And I know that other musicians are doing that, but I do think that there is something that feels very distinctly you. How did you figure out maybe your sound? Did you have an aha moment?

It was like I started out trying to sound like M.I.A. or Peaches, and that’s why I got a 505 synth or Roland Groovebox. But that doesn’t really work. And you hear it in music all the time when somebody’s trying to sound like somebody.

And for me as a listener, it doesn’t work on me. It’s not moving, and it’s not impressive. Not that I care about being impressed, but whatever. But I think that it was trying to sound like something else and then realizing that that’s not really possible because we’re all one of one.

More recently, I think I’ve gotten closer to what feels more authentically my sound, just in being able to play more instruments.

It was in Burbank at Ariel Rechtshaid’s studio, Heavy Duty studio. That’s where I was kind of like, “Oh, okay. My sound has been kind of just born out of circumstance of just what I was limited to because of the money I had in my pocket in the past.”

And so being able to be in somebody else’s room, where they have more than I do in my own room, let me craft something that felt next level.

That reminds me of one of the questions I was going to ask: has your creative process evolved given maybe access to more recognition and resources?

Totally. Yeah. I mean, I’ve also only ever done it alone. On Janky Star, I did it alone, but then my label was like, “You should let somebody else take it, beef this up a little bit.” And I was like, “No.” But then Justin Raisen, who is amazing, became involved, but it was COVID. So I wasn’t really with him. And so this last one is a different process where I’m actually sharing the process with other people, which is completely brand new. It still feels brand new to me.

Have you ever had to work any odd jobs?

The last “job job” that I’ve had was waiting tables while making Janky Star. I definitely had to spend a shit ton of money going to LA all the time, and basically just paying rent there to make this music. But I think I was just cosmically blessed in terms of keeping myself afloat making this. Things just would roll in to save me.

Without that, I would’ve been completely fucked. And I’m in a unique living situation in Brooklyn here where I live with my boyfriend in the house he grew up in. So I’m living a rent-free life.

That definitely helps.

Yeah. I had a Depop moment. I sell my clothes a lot.

I think it’s really interesting that your music has fallen under the category of bedroom pop. Do you have any advice to people who are just in their rooms making music, doing it alone, and wanting to break into the music industry? And then maybe the second question: what are your thoughts on the term “bedroom pop”?

I guess my advice is to keep making music and maybe find a community even if it’s just online, and try to play shows. And if you’re in college, play at your college. I think that’s good. But that term “bedroom pop” is so funny.

It kind of reminds me of, with books, when publishers will label something “Women’s Fiction.”

Well, it is kind of infantilizing, and a little bit little-girlying of people. I don’t really understand that term because I guess it is implying that it doesn’t sound professional. But then when I think of bedroom pop, I think of soft music, soft-spoken kind of little girl voice. So I think it might be a problematic term if we want to be really, really woke about it. Which I’m down to be.

Yeah, I agree. I feel like it is definitely an outdated term.

Right.

Do you feel like there is tension maybe between the business side and your artist side and having to merge those two for being who you are in the industry and having to have an LLC, but also be an artist? And do you find that those can work together okay, or is there tension?

I think you hear all the time, since forever, like, “Oh, it’s business, it’s not personal.” And I’ve kind of had to learn that in terms of what I’m saying about my merch, where it’s just like, okay, this run was kind of shitty. And I made too much of it, paid too much, didn’t find the right person, didn’t even put my fucking name on it because I don’t know what anyone was thinking, myself deeply, deeply included.

But I had a sad moment where I was like, “Oh, I’m such a fucking loser. Jesus, this sucks. I did this. This is me.” But then I was like, “Oh, actually, it’s just the business part of it.” Nobody is being like, “Oh, Grace, you as an artist, you messed up.” It’s just that these are numbers. You know what I mean? And the numbers are really hard to think about.

Being a smaller artist, it’s fucking hard out here, but it doesn’t have anything to do with my music being good or bad. I can rest assured that the art is good. And then if I just keep that separate from the machine of it, then I can make the machine better, and not be so emotional about business decisions.

Yeah. Feeling like you have to continually promote yourself—

It’s a different job.

… is this whole other job than just being an artist. And it seems like it’s the ultimate challenge these days, I think, for artists.

Yeah. I think I’m getting closer to being comfortable with it, given this kind of realization that it’s like all that shit is for the business. You see these artists who have Fortnite skins. You know what I mean? Their brand is so defined that they can be a video game outfit, just reduced to that. In a great way. And that’s the business. And that is what is the promotion machine that I can not be emotional about. It doesn’t have anything to do with the music being the music. You know what I mean?

Yeah, it’s its own brand.

It’s just a brand. But that’s hard. Literally, right now in my life, I’m like, “All right, I need to figure that out and then this shit will work. And it’s not personal.”

Is there anyone you look to as a north star, just someone who you look to for inspiration and how you want your creative career to go?

I mean, I want what Mitski has. You know what I mean? I want what Fiona Apple has. The respect in terms of the craft and the quality. But I’m looking at artists who figured out their aesthetic, and it just changed their trajectory in their lives. I went back in Zara Larsson’s Instagram, and she was in suits and wearing god knows what. And then all of a sudden there’s a post that’s a very summery vibe. And I’m like, “That is cool. That is inspiring. I’m inspired by that.”

I mean, even Slayyyter, who’s having a huge moment right now because she’s fantastic, but it doesn’t hurt that she figured that shit out—the aesthetic of it. Because people do need that to grab onto. They need to go to your page and be like, “Why would I be interested in this? Oh, because it’s this. I can attach myself to it because it’s a thing and I like the music. So this is a world I want to be a part of.” Slayyyter is totally an inspiration in that department because she did it. She became a thing, and the music is good. It’s cool.

I’ve never wanted to be like Taylor Swift or anything like that. I think the people I’m more inspired by are more like Mitski and Fiona Apple. Lana Del Rey would, I think, be the most mainstream-y artist I’d align myself with. But I’m less inspired by the mega-sensations. It’s a harder dream to have. It’s easier for me to just work around what I like and look for examples of people who are like me and who are figuring it out.