Haim rocker Alana reveals how pre-gig ritual has changed in her 30s
The American rock band - comprised of sisters Alana Haim, Este Haim and Danielle Haim - have built a reputation as a ferocious live band and Alana, 33, has now revealed that her pre-gig ritual has had to change from when they started out as teenagers because she has to limber up to ensure she isn't in pain after coming off stage.
Discussing how Haim have no intention of slowing down in the wake of the release of their fourth album I Quit, she said: "It feels like we have so much more to accomplish, this doesn't feel like anything other than a beginning again.
'All of us still feel like we're 16, and nothing gets old. Actually, the only thing I have to do now is stretch before a show. That's new, I've got to give a little stretch, because, the joints…'
Haim played a secret set at the Glastonbury Festival last weekend which earned them rave reviews, and they are heading out on their I Quit Tour this September.
The If I Could Change Your Mind hitmakers believe their live shows are unparalleled because they still have the mentality of a support band who want to "win the crowd over".
In an interview with the July edition of Music Week, singer-and-guitarist Danielle said: "We started our band, playing in LA, opening up for our friends and for the first five years, we just played any gig we could.
"We continued to open up for some of our favourite bands and it kind of feels like we've opened up for everyone, but that's it, every time we go on stage, even when we're headlining, we have opener mentality. We always want to win the crowd over. We always want everyone leaving our show feeling, 'wow, you know, Haim gave it their all.' We take it very seriously. We go up on that stage to give our fans the best show ever.'
Guitarist-and-vocalist Alana won't let anyone hug her after a concert because she is always drenched in sweat due to the energy she expends playing.
She said: "With the I Quit tour, we want people to leave and just feel extremely energised.
"We really do give it our all. I mean, we are a puddle of sweat. If anyone tries to hug me after a show, I'm like, 'Please don't. I smell and this is not okay!'
'We're a live band. We love being in the studio, but from the very beginning, we've always considered ourselves a live band. That's where that's where the magic happens for us.'
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Sydney Morning Herald
an hour ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Love, loss and found family among America's lower working class
FICTION The Emperor of Gladness Ocean Vuong Jonathan Cape, $34.99 Ocean Vuong achieved fame as a poet before his acclaimed debut novel, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, andthere's creative continuity in follow-up The Emperor of Gladness. Previously examined motifs undergo complex transformations so that it reads like the literary equivalent of a musical variation. Autobiography is grist to the mill for Vuong. His mother fled Saigon for the US, via the Philippines, when he was an infant. He was raised in Connecticut among an extended family of Vietnamese refugees. He's also openly gay. These experiences inspire but do not define his creative fiction, and if the vaunted lyricism of a particular style of American dreaming marks the opening of The Emperor of Gladness – a flashy choric invocation of a dead-end Connecticut town, its ghosts inviting suicidal 19-year-old, Hai, to escape by jumping off a bridge – it isn't long before sublime cadence and melancholy grandeur yield to a different kind of song. An old woman spies the boy in the rain, and roundly tells him: 'You can't die in front of my house, okay?' This is Grazina – a force to be reckoned with, having survived Hitler and Stalin in Lithuania during WWII, and now in a battle to preserve her independence against the onset of dementia. Hai moves in as an unofficial carer, to keep her out of a nursing home. Grim doesn't begin to cover their living conditions; the house is decrepit and built on a toxic contamination site and Grazina can't afford to feed them. So Hai lands a job (courtesy of his cousin Sony, named after the television manufacturer) at a budget restaurant chain. As Hai's friendship with Grazina grows, he bathes her, comforts her when decades-old war trauma resurfaces, and engages in role-playing historical battles with her to manage her sundowning. He reads Slaughterhouse Five and The Brothers Karamazov from her dead husband's library and, alas, stumbles across an unused bottle of serious painkillers … dire news for someone recovering from opioid addiction. At work, Hai rocks up to every shift pinned to cope with the drudgery. Genuine camaraderie and unlikely dignity are found among the motley crew who work there, despite some extreme weirdness. Long-serving Maureen evades grief in conspiracist thinking – she believes lizard men control the world, she speaks like a drag queen, and she harbours a Star Wars obsession. Manager BJ conducts herself with an almost martial pride – giving inspirational speeches, slipping cake mix into the cornbread to make it more appealing, and training to achieve her dream of making it on the commercial wrestling stage. Dreams are thwarted in this place – except perhaps for Sony; his unaffected desires, whether in crafting origami penguins or in his encyclopedic knowledge of the American Civil War, throw into sharp relief the miseries inflicted on other characters by unattainable ones.
The Age
an hour ago
- The Age
Love, loss and found family among America's lower working class
FICTION The Emperor of Gladness Ocean Vuong Jonathan Cape, $34.99 Ocean Vuong achieved fame as a poet before his acclaimed debut novel, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, andthere's creative continuity in follow-up The Emperor of Gladness. Previously examined motifs undergo complex transformations so that it reads like the literary equivalent of a musical variation. Autobiography is grist to the mill for Vuong. His mother fled Saigon for the US, via the Philippines, when he was an infant. He was raised in Connecticut among an extended family of Vietnamese refugees. He's also openly gay. These experiences inspire but do not define his creative fiction, and if the vaunted lyricism of a particular style of American dreaming marks the opening of The Emperor of Gladness – a flashy choric invocation of a dead-end Connecticut town, its ghosts inviting suicidal 19-year-old, Hai, to escape by jumping off a bridge – it isn't long before sublime cadence and melancholy grandeur yield to a different kind of song. An old woman spies the boy in the rain, and roundly tells him: 'You can't die in front of my house, okay?' This is Grazina – a force to be reckoned with, having survived Hitler and Stalin in Lithuania during WWII, and now in a battle to preserve her independence against the onset of dementia. Hai moves in as an unofficial carer, to keep her out of a nursing home. Grim doesn't begin to cover their living conditions; the house is decrepit and built on a toxic contamination site and Grazina can't afford to feed them. So Hai lands a job (courtesy of his cousin Sony, named after the television manufacturer) at a budget restaurant chain. As Hai's friendship with Grazina grows, he bathes her, comforts her when decades-old war trauma resurfaces, and engages in role-playing historical battles with her to manage her sundowning. He reads Slaughterhouse Five and The Brothers Karamazov from her dead husband's library and, alas, stumbles across an unused bottle of serious painkillers … dire news for someone recovering from opioid addiction. At work, Hai rocks up to every shift pinned to cope with the drudgery. Genuine camaraderie and unlikely dignity are found among the motley crew who work there, despite some extreme weirdness. Long-serving Maureen evades grief in conspiracist thinking – she believes lizard men control the world, she speaks like a drag queen, and she harbours a Star Wars obsession. Manager BJ conducts herself with an almost martial pride – giving inspirational speeches, slipping cake mix into the cornbread to make it more appealing, and training to achieve her dream of making it on the commercial wrestling stage. Dreams are thwarted in this place – except perhaps for Sony; his unaffected desires, whether in crafting origami penguins or in his encyclopedic knowledge of the American Civil War, throw into sharp relief the miseries inflicted on other characters by unattainable ones.
Sky News AU
an hour ago
- Sky News AU
Reform UK leader says the BBC has questions to answer about it's decision to stream an English punk group live which shouted anti IDF chant
Reform UK leader Nigel Farage has said the BBC has questions to answer over its decision to air Bob Vylan's an anti-Israel chant from the Glastonbury Festival. British rapper Bobby Vylan - whose real name is Pascal Robinson-Foster - of punk duo Bob Vylan, led chants of 'death, death to the IDF' at the Glastonbury music festival over the weekend. Mr Farage said it was a disgrace that the set made it on air. 'This particular artist, the most extraordinary thing is that the BBC broadcast this live given that the BBC had 400 staff, can you believe it, 400 staff at Glastonbury, at no point, did anybody stop or pull this broadcast,' the Reform UK leader told Sky News host Paul Murray on Tuesday. Mr Farage linked the performance to the ongoing debate in the UK about the funding of the BBC, which in the UK, is paid for by a television license. 'There is always a debate in Britain, about how we fund the BBC, and whether people should go to jail for not paying a license fee,' he said. 'And frankly this row is going to run and run, and what happened, what was allowed to broadcast was disgraceful.' The license fee funds the BBC's domestic television channels, national and local radio stations and the BBC World Service which the SBS and ABC rebroadcast in Australia. The chants at the Glastonbury Festival have ignited an international and domestic row, with Bob Vylan, being banned from the United States, preventing him from attending a gig in New York. 'The State Department has revoked the US visas for the members of the Bob Vylan band in light of their hateful tirade at Glastonbury, including leading the crowd in death chants,' deputy Secretary of State, Christopher Landau said in a statement on X. The chants were also condemned by the UK Government, with UK Culture Secretary Lisa Nandy telling the parliament that the BBC had questions to answer. 'Avon and Somerset police have confirmed that video evidence is being assessed by officers to determine whether any offences may have been committed," she said. 'It just announced in the last few minutes that that is now taking the form of a criminal investigation,' she went on to say, confirming the UK government could not comment on the investigation. The opposition claimed the BBC had broken the law and should face charges. Shadow home secretary Chris Phelps said police should investigate and prosecute the BBC for broadcasting violence and hatred.
