‘Stardom has never really been part of the narrative': Sharon Van Etten

Sydney Morning Herald

3 days ago

Shaz. Some nervous impulse makes me read the name aloud when it appears on my computer screen. Only her best friends call her that, Sharon Van Etten tells me when her smiling face appears seconds later. 'You can call me Shaz,' she adds in the next breath.
It's a throwaway moment that says a lot. 'I try to connect on the deepest level every single show. I try to make eye contact with as many people as I can,' she'll tell me later. 'I want people to feel heard and seen.'
To her fans, the New Jersey singer-songwriter's unheard years carry almost as much weight as her subsequent 15 on record. Her sobering origin story is a quiet act of defiance: five years in an abusive relationship — 'horrific; an assault situation' — where songwriting had to happen in secret.
Her 2010 debut, Because I Was In Love, was a fragile act of self-reclamation that launched a long, escalating howl of recovery. Her seventh, Sharon Van Etten & The Attachment Theory, is another leap of faith, surrendering that once-closeted voice to a shared band writing process.
'Bands become siblings on the road, and we become each other's support systems through the ups and downs of life and travel and work,' she says. 'We really depend on each other. We all have our own shit, but we are more like family every year we do this.'
Today she's in her home studio in Los Angeles, relishing summer break with her husband/ manager and their 10-year-old son before another few months on the bus. 'Touring can get pretty intense. We were pretty much gone February [to] May. So I'm glad to be present, in the moment.'
As a band name, the Attachment Theory is 'a bit of a joke', she says. It refers to a psychological concept of how early bonds shape our patterns of connection and trust. When she's not playing mum or music, Van Etten studies psychology — a lifeline through several troubled chapters.
'When I was at high school, my mum couldn't really reach me,' she says. 'She convinced me to take a psychology class ... I was a teenager and hated everything — but I thrived in it. That class helped me realise I'm a good listener, and that people feel comfortable around me. It gave me confidence.'
Van Etten has never identified the musician who did so much to erode that confidence in her late teens and early 20s, as she dropped in and out of college in Tennessee. She eventually fled in the night to her sister's house. Her parents took her back in, 'as long as I got a job, went back to school and went to see a therapist'.
The latter was a profound turning point. 'She taught me ways to not need medication to handle my panic attacks and talk myself through triggers and to take notice of when I'm finding joy. And she was the one who encouraged me into music.'
Terrifying as they were, the open mic nights of Brooklyn and the Lower East Side were only a bus and train ride away. A few acoustic guitar songs at a time, some burned onto CDs for friends, became the process for addressing her anxiety, 'a way of learning how to put myself out there again'.
'The other thing that changed my life was when I started to play shows and connecting with fans. They would reach out and talk to me about my music, and I would often get very personal stories in connection with the songs.
'I've always had this guilt about that because I feel like they're looking for advice, and I just don't know how to give that.'
After this album tour winds up in Auckland in November, she aims to get back to school to become a certified therapist. Since the recent decline of several family members, she's considering grief counselling. 'I'm really interested in people and how we connect; why we need connections so badly.'
Outside of her band, Van Etten's catalogue is a remarkable demonstration of the art of connection. Like I Used To, a 2021 duet with Angel Olsen, is among her best-known tracks. Featured vocals on albums by The National, Danger Mouse, Superchunk, Margo Price and more weave through a raft of tribute albums and screen soundtracks.
She acts, too, most notably in the Netflix sci-fi drama The OA. In a slightly chilling echo of real life she played Rachel, survivor of a near-death experience who discovers a glorious singing voice.
What's more remarkable in a world where popular success is so often confused with redemption is this artist's apparent resistance to glory, whether in deference to her band, her fans or those longer-term plans of service in counselling.
The NME made an astute observation of this year's sideways step from solo spotlight to lead singer of the Attachment Theory: 'She's turned her back on ego and individualism at exactly the point that others would lean into their stardom.'
The word makes her laugh. 'Stardom has never really been part of the narrative, for me,' she says. She admits that her husband 'will make jokes about how every time things seem to be growing, I like to pivot. But it's not on purpose.
'My first record was in 2010, so I was nearly 30, just getting into the industry — because I wanted to, not because I had a plan. Now people start with a business model. They have one recording before they've even gone on tour.
'In some ways I think I started at the perfect time because I got to hone what it means to write music and find my bearings. I started solo. I didn't even have a band until 2012. And now in my 40s I'm finally having my first real band. I understand now more than ever what connection and chemistry mean.
TAKE 7: THE ANSWERS ACCORDING TO SHARON VAN ETTEN
Worst habit? Being on my phone.
Greatest fear? Losing the people I care about the most.
The line that has stayed with you? My mum always told me the golden rule is to do unto others as you'd have them do unto you.
Biggest regret? Not finishing college when I was young.
Favourite book? At the moment it's The Beauty of What Remains [How Our Greatest Fear Becomes Our Greatest Gift] by Rabbi Steve Leader.
The artwork or song you wish was yours? Mazzy Star's Fade Into You.
If you could time travel. Where would you go? New York City in the '70s: the height of the CBGBs era.
'It's made music mean more to me. It means everything that people connect with my music and I try to be able to be an ear in return because I think that is what we need now more than anything. I feel a deeper sense of community than I've had in a long time as we're playing this record. Especially right now.'
Right now? She sighs.
'When we were writing this record, dare I say it wasn't as bad? We started writing it at the end of '22 and it was the first time we were able to be in a room together, and we were all just catching up on where we were in our lives. So it was a combination of family members ageing, ourselves ageing in this industry …
'But then also, I'm an older mother, and there's all of this darkness surrounding us in our world, and I'm supposed to be protecting him … I have friends that feel like in the country that we live in, they don't even have the right to exist. I have friends whose partners have green cards and they don't know if they'll be able to stay.'
Loading
It's a lot to pin on a band, a concert, a handful of songs. But music isn't nothing. 'People have connected with my music and when they reach out, I try to respond,' Van Etten says.
'I get to tell them they're not alone. It's a wild, surreal position to be in. I'm grateful for that.'