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Sharon Van Etten on making her latest album: ‘We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could'

Sharon Van Etten on making her latest album: ‘We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could'

Irish Times15 hours ago
Last year
Sharon Van Etten
crossed the ocean searching for ghosts. Her destination was London and a recording studio that was once a church and had, in another life, belonged to Dave Stewart, of Eurythmics. The American indie superstar planned to soak up the funereal atmosphere and make an album as glamorously grey as England in the rain. There was only one problem.
'We actually had sunny weather in London,' she says, laughing as she adds that she made the best of these challenging circumstances as she set up shop at the
Church Studios
, in Crouch End, with all 'the light coming in. We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could.'
Van Etten reduces other songwriters to giddy superlatives. Her fans include The National, Fiona Apple and Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, all of whom have collaborated with her or covered her work. (She also has a side gig as an actor, appearing in the
cult Netflix show The OA
, as well as making a musical cameo in
David Lynch
's Twin Peaks: The Return.) Fans will be out in force when she tours Ireland this month with her new project, Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory.
As Van Etten dials in by video link, it's clear she has chosen the perfect setting for her conversation with The Irish Times: the basement of her parents' house, in suburban New Jersey, from where she talks about the bands she listened to as an angst-ridden adolescent: dandies of doom such as
The Cure
,
Joy Division
and Nine Inch Nails.
READ MORE
'I remember closing my door and upsetting my mother, being very introspective – in some ways gloomy for no reason,' she says.' I was definitely an angsty teenager.'
She has held on tightly to her love of those artists, but it has taken until now for her to directly reference them in her songwriting. Written and recorded with her touring bandmates, and steeped in the drizzle of the 1980s, the London-made LP – also called Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory – is a stately synth-pop odyssey that gives off a cool glow of mannered melancholia.
It's a brilliantly bleak ghost-train ride, ripe with secrets that reveal more of themselves with each repeated listen. There is also a wonderful tension between the textures of the album – those vintage synths and ever-collapsing Cure-style guitars – and lyrics that are very much rooted in Van Etten's experience as a millennial woman with a family and ageing parents.
It's the perfect blend of teenage nostalgia and the dull ache of growing older and realising the things you took for granted about life, and your place in it, won't be around forever. Your kids will grow up, your parents will get old and you, too, will finally reach the end of the line.
She gets right to the point on Live Forever, the album's
New Order
-playing-at-your-wake opening track, on which she wonders about immortality and if it would be worth the price. 'Who wants to live forever?' she howls. 'It doesn't matter.' The song is about having the courage to accept that all things will pass.
Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory. Photograph: Devin Oktar Yalkin
'I had read this article about a medical study being done in the UK where they were doing these experiments on mice. They were injecting them with the serum that reversed the ageing process by replicating the cells that normally die, causing ageing,' she says.
'And so we got into this philosophical conversation: if you could live forever, would you? And why? What would the world look like? It would be overpopulated with people. Why would you want to live that long? The whole purpose of life is death and coming to terms with that.'
Van Etten had to build her career the hard way. Born in New Jersey, she started writing songs in earnest while studying at college in Tennessee and working as a music booker on the side. Her boyfriend at the time disapproved: he would break her instruments and tell her she didn't have the talent to make it.
The trauma of the relationship and of the break-up fuelled her early albums. 'Never let myself love like that again,' she sang on her second LP, Epic, from 2010, a record that showcased both her darkly expressive voice and her ability to craft songs that build and build, like a dam forever threatening to burst.
Returning to New York, she then worked with
Aaron Dessner
of The National on Tramp, her widely lauded breakout album.
A decade later, music continues to be an outlet for Van Etten's hopes and fears. So much else has changed. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Zeke Hutchins – once her drummer, now her manager – and their eight-year-old son.
With its political tensions and apocalyptic wildfires, the city has its challenges, she acknowledges, but she wonders if it's all that different from anywhere else nowadays.
'It's spreading across the whole world. I feel we have these environmental catastrophes everywhere now – fires, tornadoes. When you think of the war that's going on, the famine that's going on. Even if you're living on the east coast [of the US] you have hurricanes, woods over-run with ticks. Nature is pissed off right now. And it's coming in at all sides.'
She tries to look at the positives. Life is hard, but in LA she has found a group of like-minded souls. 'Los Angeles has had a horrific year – couple of years. Especially now, in the political climate, it's pretty intense.
'What I've been seeing is communities showing up and being strong and resilient in the face of disaster. There is that to be hopeful about. I love LA. I have a beautiful community and support network of musicians and friends. There's this dark undertone, but it's such a beautiful place.'
Last November Van Etten and her fellow singer
Ezra Furman
covered a Sinéad O'Connor song, Feel So Different, the first track from the late artist's second album, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, as part of the
Transa
project celebrating the trans community.
It's largely faithful to O'Connor's original: Van Etten says her goal was to honour the song rather than to reinvent it. She also wanted to express her admiration for O'Connor, an artist who spoke up when others remained silent, whether about clerical abuse or misogyny in the music industry.
'People didn't know how to deal with mental health, and they also took advantage of her,' Van Etten says. 'She always spoke up and represented the underdog, and was always a political activist, from my understanding of her beliefs.
'And she suffered quite a lot as a child. She went through a lot, she lived through a lot, and was able to make beautiful music out of it, and also speak her mind about what she believed in.'
Van Etten, who is in her mid-40s, recently said she worried that Attachment Theory might be regarded as a middle-aged folly. But this isn't the first time she has had to grapple with her place in the music industry and whether it has room for her.
'I remember when I was first looking for a label. I was in my late 20s, early 30s. And [record companies] were, like, 'I don't know if anyone wants to sign a 30-year-old.' What year is this? You don't want to sign a 30-year-old? Because, I guess, the older you get the more thoughtful you get in your touring choices.'
The industry wants young artists not simply because they're fresh-faced and full of energy. They are also more malleable and prepared to work to the bone, unlike someone with more life experience. 'You say yes to everything in your 20s, which I did,' Van Etten says.
She adds that her label,
Jagjaguwar
, is artist-driven and artist-led. 'Also, my manager is my husband. We've all grown together in this industry that is constantly changing. It is harder, the industry, outside of who I work with. That is what I observe.
'I feel older. It doesn't affect what I want to make and how I want to work or how I want people to experience our music. It's just a fact of life. I'm a mom and I'm a musician, and I'm figuring out the balance of how I want to live my life.'
Sharon Van Etten & The Attachment Theory is released by Jagjaguwar. The band play
Cork Opera House
on Tuesday, August 19th;
Mandela Hall
, Belfast, on Wednesday, August 20th; and Collins Barracks, Dublin, on Thursday, August 21st, as part of the
Wider Than Pictures
series
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Polari prize: Nominees and judges withdraw over inclusion of John Boyne on longlist
Polari prize: Nominees and judges withdraw over inclusion of John Boyne on longlist

Irish Times

time9 hours ago

  • Irish Times

Polari prize: Nominees and judges withdraw over inclusion of John Boyne on longlist

Ten authors nominated for this year's Polari prizes, a set of UK awards celebrating LGBTQ+ literature, have withdrawn from the awards over the longlisting of John Boyne , who has described himself as a 'Terf' – the acronym for trans-exclusionary radical feminist. Two judges have also withdrawn from the prize process, and more than 800 writers and publishing industry workers have signed a statement calling on Polari to formally remove Boyne from the longlist. Boyne, who was longlisted for the main Polari book prize for his novella Earth , is best known for his 2006 novel The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas. Author Nicola Dinan, who won the Polari first book prize last year for her novel Bellies, resigned from this year's jury for the debut prize. Guardian journalist Jason Okundaye asked for his book Revolutionary Acts to be removed from this year's first book prize longlist, while Andrew McMillan withdrew his book Pity from the longlist for the overall Polari book prize for non-debuts. Heartstopper author Alice Oseman along with the writers Nikesh Shukla, Julia Armfield, Naoise Dolan , Seán Hewitt and Kirsty Logan are among the hundreds to have signed the statement. READ MORE 'We are profoundly disappointed by the Polari prize's decision to include John Boyne on the longlist for this year's Polari book prize,' the statement reads. Boyne 'has publicly and unequivocally associated himself with trans exclusionary sentiments', it continues, citing an Irish Independent article in which Boyne expresses support for JK Rowling and describes himself as a 'fellow Terf'. Boyne declined to comment. Boyne's 'public statements on trans rights and identity are incompatible with the LGBTQ+ community's most basic standards of inclusion', the statement continues. 'In any year, the decision to include Mr Boyne on the longlist would be, in our view, inappropriate and hurtful to the wider community of LGBTQ+ readers and writers. That the decision has been made this year – in the context of rising anti-trans hatred and systematic exclusion of trans people from public life in the UK and across the world – is inexcusable.' The statement was drafted in response to one made by the Polari prize on August 7th. 'It is inevitable given the challenges we face and the diversity of the lived experience we now represent under the LGBTQ+ Polari umbrella, that even within our community, we can at times hold radically different positions on substantive issues,' it says. 'This is one of those times.' In a statement to the Guardian on Monday, the Polari prize added that the 'past few weeks have been extremely difficult for the trans and non-binary writers and communities' associated with the award. 'The hurt and anger caused has been a matter of deep concern to everyone associated with the prize, for which we sincerely apologise. We accept and respect the decisions of those writers and judges who have chosen to withdraw,' the statement said. 'Despite these events, we are committed to going forward with the prize this year. However, we will be undertaking a full review of the prize processes, consulting representatives from across the community ahead of next year's awards, taking on board the learnings from this year.' The Polari prize was founded by journalist Paul Burston in 2011. The longlists for this year's prize were published on August 1st, with the shortlists due to be announced in late September and the winners on November 27th. The statement in response, which garnered 821 signatures, was organised by the writers Niamh Ní Mhaoileoin and Emma van Straaten. 'We want there to be a literary prize that recognises the vital importance of queer and trans stories,' it concludes. 'That's why we're calling on the Polari prize to formally remove Mr Boyne from the longlist, to restore the integrity of this prize as a safe, inclusive and celebratory space for the LGBTQ+ community.' Other signatories include the writers Nussaibah Younis, Poorna Bell, Daisy Buchanan, K Patrick and Lex Croucher. – Guardian

Sharon Van Etten on making her latest album: ‘We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could'
Sharon Van Etten on making her latest album: ‘We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could'

Irish Times

time15 hours ago

  • Irish Times

Sharon Van Etten on making her latest album: ‘We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could'

Last year Sharon Van Etten crossed the ocean searching for ghosts. Her destination was London and a recording studio that was once a church and had, in another life, belonged to Dave Stewart, of Eurythmics. The American indie superstar planned to soak up the funereal atmosphere and make an album as glamorously grey as England in the rain. There was only one problem. 'We actually had sunny weather in London,' she says, laughing as she adds that she made the best of these challenging circumstances as she set up shop at the Church Studios , in Crouch End, with all 'the light coming in. We were trying to conjure as many ghosts as we could.' Van Etten reduces other songwriters to giddy superlatives. Her fans include The National, Fiona Apple and Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, all of whom have collaborated with her or covered her work. (She also has a side gig as an actor, appearing in the cult Netflix show The OA , as well as making a musical cameo in David Lynch 's Twin Peaks: The Return.) Fans will be out in force when she tours Ireland this month with her new project, Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory. As Van Etten dials in by video link, it's clear she has chosen the perfect setting for her conversation with The Irish Times: the basement of her parents' house, in suburban New Jersey, from where she talks about the bands she listened to as an angst-ridden adolescent: dandies of doom such as The Cure , Joy Division and Nine Inch Nails. READ MORE 'I remember closing my door and upsetting my mother, being very introspective – in some ways gloomy for no reason,' she says.' I was definitely an angsty teenager.' She has held on tightly to her love of those artists, but it has taken until now for her to directly reference them in her songwriting. Written and recorded with her touring bandmates, and steeped in the drizzle of the 1980s, the London-made LP – also called Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory – is a stately synth-pop odyssey that gives off a cool glow of mannered melancholia. It's a brilliantly bleak ghost-train ride, ripe with secrets that reveal more of themselves with each repeated listen. There is also a wonderful tension between the textures of the album – those vintage synths and ever-collapsing Cure-style guitars – and lyrics that are very much rooted in Van Etten's experience as a millennial woman with a family and ageing parents. It's the perfect blend of teenage nostalgia and the dull ache of growing older and realising the things you took for granted about life, and your place in it, won't be around forever. Your kids will grow up, your parents will get old and you, too, will finally reach the end of the line. She gets right to the point on Live Forever, the album's New Order -playing-at-your-wake opening track, on which she wonders about immortality and if it would be worth the price. 'Who wants to live forever?' she howls. 'It doesn't matter.' The song is about having the courage to accept that all things will pass. Sharon Van Etten & the Attachment Theory. Photograph: Devin Oktar Yalkin 'I had read this article about a medical study being done in the UK where they were doing these experiments on mice. They were injecting them with the serum that reversed the ageing process by replicating the cells that normally die, causing ageing,' she says. 'And so we got into this philosophical conversation: if you could live forever, would you? And why? What would the world look like? It would be overpopulated with people. Why would you want to live that long? The whole purpose of life is death and coming to terms with that.' Van Etten had to build her career the hard way. Born in New Jersey, she started writing songs in earnest while studying at college in Tennessee and working as a music booker on the side. Her boyfriend at the time disapproved: he would break her instruments and tell her she didn't have the talent to make it. The trauma of the relationship and of the break-up fuelled her early albums. 'Never let myself love like that again,' she sang on her second LP, Epic, from 2010, a record that showcased both her darkly expressive voice and her ability to craft songs that build and build, like a dam forever threatening to burst. Returning to New York, she then worked with Aaron Dessner of The National on Tramp, her widely lauded breakout album. A decade later, music continues to be an outlet for Van Etten's hopes and fears. So much else has changed. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, Zeke Hutchins – once her drummer, now her manager – and their eight-year-old son. With its political tensions and apocalyptic wildfires, the city has its challenges, she acknowledges, but she wonders if it's all that different from anywhere else nowadays. 'It's spreading across the whole world. I feel we have these environmental catastrophes everywhere now – fires, tornadoes. When you think of the war that's going on, the famine that's going on. Even if you're living on the east coast [of the US] you have hurricanes, woods over-run with ticks. Nature is pissed off right now. And it's coming in at all sides.' She tries to look at the positives. Life is hard, but in LA she has found a group of like-minded souls. 'Los Angeles has had a horrific year – couple of years. Especially now, in the political climate, it's pretty intense. 'What I've been seeing is communities showing up and being strong and resilient in the face of disaster. There is that to be hopeful about. I love LA. I have a beautiful community and support network of musicians and friends. There's this dark undertone, but it's such a beautiful place.' Last November Van Etten and her fellow singer Ezra Furman covered a Sinéad O'Connor song, Feel So Different, the first track from the late artist's second album, I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, as part of the Transa project celebrating the trans community. It's largely faithful to O'Connor's original: Van Etten says her goal was to honour the song rather than to reinvent it. She also wanted to express her admiration for O'Connor, an artist who spoke up when others remained silent, whether about clerical abuse or misogyny in the music industry. 'People didn't know how to deal with mental health, and they also took advantage of her,' Van Etten says. 'She always spoke up and represented the underdog, and was always a political activist, from my understanding of her beliefs. 'And she suffered quite a lot as a child. She went through a lot, she lived through a lot, and was able to make beautiful music out of it, and also speak her mind about what she believed in.' Van Etten, who is in her mid-40s, recently said she worried that Attachment Theory might be regarded as a middle-aged folly. But this isn't the first time she has had to grapple with her place in the music industry and whether it has room for her. 'I remember when I was first looking for a label. I was in my late 20s, early 30s. And [record companies] were, like, 'I don't know if anyone wants to sign a 30-year-old.' What year is this? You don't want to sign a 30-year-old? Because, I guess, the older you get the more thoughtful you get in your touring choices.' The industry wants young artists not simply because they're fresh-faced and full of energy. They are also more malleable and prepared to work to the bone, unlike someone with more life experience. 'You say yes to everything in your 20s, which I did,' Van Etten says. She adds that her label, Jagjaguwar , is artist-driven and artist-led. 'Also, my manager is my husband. We've all grown together in this industry that is constantly changing. It is harder, the industry, outside of who I work with. That is what I observe. 'I feel older. It doesn't affect what I want to make and how I want to work or how I want people to experience our music. It's just a fact of life. I'm a mom and I'm a musician, and I'm figuring out the balance of how I want to live my life.' Sharon Van Etten & The Attachment Theory is released by Jagjaguwar. The band play Cork Opera House on Tuesday, August 19th; Mandela Hall , Belfast, on Wednesday, August 20th; and Collins Barracks, Dublin, on Thursday, August 21st, as part of the Wider Than Pictures series

Fiction in Translation: The prisons we inhabit
Fiction in Translation: The prisons we inhabit

Irish Times

timea day ago

  • Irish Times

Fiction in Translation: The prisons we inhabit

In Good and Evil and Other Stories , (Picador, 192pp, £16.99) Samanta Schweblin once again proves herself to be one the most unsettling and incisive voices in contemporary fiction. The collection, translated by her long-time collaborator Megan McDowell, offers six stories that move from the heartbreaking to the surreal, and are all marked by a claustrophobia that is at once spatial, emotional and existential. While Schweblin's stories are marbled with the dreamlike and the inexplicable, her characters are profoundly human, trapped by relationships, by expectations, by their own spiralling thoughts. Welcome to the Club, the bitterly ironic story about a failed suicide attempt, quivers with tension and fear – not of death, but of the hum and bustle of mundane family life, of the dread inspired by a child asking 'Mommy, are you happy?'. In A Fabulous Animal, Elena, who is dying, calls an old friend she has not seen since she left Argentina, but what might have been just another casual conversation is haunted by the vision of a dying horse, and an accident that shattered both their lives. In the most devastating story, An Eye in the Throat, two parents care for a bright two-year-old who suffered a serious injury when he swallowed a battery. But it's not the panic and the anxiety of illness that leads to the collapse of the family, but a seemingly anodyne incident in which the boy wanders off. Years later, the father's phone still rings in the dead of night, but when he answers there is only the dead air on the other end of the line. This simple supernatural trope offers a brilliant example of Schweblin's ability to make the uncanny feel inevitable, to weave abject horror out of silence and fear and the haunting nature of unresolved guilt. McDowell's translation is exceptional, effortlessly capturing the dark poetry of Schweblin's prose like a series of whispered confessions, and preserving the oppressive tone and the strange tenderness of the original. READ MORE [ Samanta Schweblin's Fever Dream review: extraordinary work full of eerie menace Opens in new window ] Annah, Infinite (Tilted Axis Press, 345pp, £19.99) is not a translation in the customary sense, but is subtitled 'translated from the painting Annah la Javanaise " . Through her writings, poetry and exhibitions, the Indonesian polymath Khairani Barokka has spent more than a decade exploring Paul Gauguin's unsettling and disturbingly sexual portrait of a child that is all-too-often hailed as a masterpiece, with little consideration for the sitter. Little is known about Annah (and, as Barokka points out, like all nouns in Indonesian the name can be singular or plural, so Annah may be multiple, or infinite). Gauguin's art dealer, Ambroise Vollard, claims to have 'gifted' the child to the artist when she was 'about 13', and Annah was widely assumed to be Gauguin's lover. But the painting (now in a private collection) and its digital versions offer no information about this child historically described as 'Javanese', 'mulatto', 'mixed-race', 'Ceylonese', 'half-Indian, half-Malayan'. What Barokka explores in this dazzling, endlessly imaginative piece of non-fiction is Annah, a child, perhaps multiple children, who may have been she/he/they or dia – the gender-neutral Indonesian pronoun used for everyone. Through essay, poetry and image, she tries to understand who Annah might have been, considers their pain, the abusive nature of their relationship, the unbridled license afforded to 'artistic genius', and in particular to men. Through this study of a single canvas and its subject, Barokka presents a brilliant book that defies classification, one that delves into linguistics, colonial history, queer theory and memoir, and is by turns lyrical, angry, tender and pained, harking back to the pioneering work of Linda Nochlin and John Berger, but blazing a new trail that is as unexpected as it is enthralling. A single image is also the inspiration for Capitalists Must Starve by Park Seolyeon translated by Anton Hur. The photograph, taken during the Japanese colonial occupation of Korea, shows Kang Juryong, a striking worker sitting on the roof of the Pyongwon rubber factory in Pyongyang in 1931. From the power of this image and the scant details known about the historical figure of a pioneering female activist, Seolyeon fashions a novel that is spare and stark, but shot through with joy, love and sensuality. Capitalists Must Starve begins at the end, in a cell, where Kang Juryong, an imprisoned union activist now on hunger strike, attempts to lift her bruised and beaten body so she can turn her back to the approaching footsteps in a last gesture of defiance. From here, Seolyeon takes us back to West Gando (the Korean name for Manchuria), to the day when, at the age of 20 (already considered too old to be a bride), she was married off to a man-boy of 15. In arranging the wedding, the Jeonbin's parents hoped to prevent their son running away to join the Liberation Army. In this, they failed: Seolyeon delicately and tenderly evokes the passionate conversations and the growing friendship between the mismatched bride and groom that gradually grows into love. Juryong has no wish to stop her husband achieving great things, and when he leaves to join the rebels, she goes with him. Though at first, Juryong is left to cook and tend for the men, she is befriended by Baek Gwangwoon and proves an audacious and ingenious comrade during dangerous missions. Humiliated by Juryong's successes, Jeonbin sends his wife away, though she briefly returns when a comrade comes to tell her that her husband is dying. Having been widowed at a young age, Juryong is horrified to discover that her parents plan to marry her off again, so they might own their house and land, Juryong leaves for Pyongyang. But her determination to be a 'modern girl' founders when poverty dictates that she take work in a rubber factory. Juryong's gradual politicisation and her innate sense of justice are simply and powerfully portrayed – and when the strike led by workers to protest against a decrease in pay is brutally crushed, her decision to climb on to the factory roof and stage a hunger strike seems as inevitable as it is courageous. Hur's taut, masterful translation wisely refuses to pander to what anglophone readers might not know, but maintains the brittle tension of Seolyeon's spare prose, and brilliantly succeeds in conjuring a time, a place and a movement and a pioneering activist who became a catalyst for change from within her cell. [ Translated fiction reviews: the best of China's incredibly deep storytelling tradition Opens in new window ] Imprisonment seems to be a theme in this month's choices. Later this year, Dubliners will have the opportunity to hear the Kurdish poet İlhan Sami Çomak, the first honorary member of the Dublin Book Festival. But when Words that Walk through Walls (Palewell Press, 121pp £12) was published recently, such an event was impossible, since İlhan was a prisoner before he became a poet. Arrested in 1993, at the age of 21, he spent 30 years as a political prisoner in Turkey. While in jail, he published eight volumes of what Ruth Padel describes as 'lyric poems of astonishing beauty, vitality and strength', which garnered numerous prizes. Led by his long-time editor Caroline Stockford, with Kelly Davis Words that Walk through Walls is a luminous, achingly poignant conversation. Writers from around the world (among them Theo Dorgan, Celia de Fréine and Leeanne Quinn) address poems to İlhan, who replies to some with poems of his own. It is a powerful, compelling, often uplifting collection that brings together a host of poets and translators, one that encapsulates, reflects upon and frames İlhan's shimmering work and his resilience as he asks: How much of flight is wind, how much the bird? How much the stubborn call of freedom? Branches follow the logic of light and the natural miracle of reaching. We must reach out.

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