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By Monica Way
Ani DiFranco by Mark Dellas |
When you work for an industry website like JamBase, there are certain privileges that come with the territory. Privileges that, when brought up in conversation, deservedly earn adjectives like "fabulous" and nouns like "backstage electric massage chair." I knew I had it coming, after all, when I was hired at JamBase I was told it was a dream job for the music fan. And it's true. Over the years, I have been offered scores of free tickets, guest list passes, red glowing backstage wristbands with fancy matching laminate accessory necklaces, free airfare to festivals, and oodles of other fringe benefits (some of which should remain out of print). It really is quite amazing working on the inside of all this. By many standards I am what my Dad would refer to as "a lucky duck." But what I didn't know at the time of my hire is that a day would come that would send all of those privileges away to cower in the corner. A day that would outshine any VIP room. A day when I would pick up the phone from my desk in San Francisco and dial an upstate New York telephone number where Ani DiFranco would be waiting in the Buffalo offices of her Righteous Babe record label to answer my call and speak with me. Never in a million years did I suspect my hiring would lead me there. But with a deep breath, it did.
Like many young women, I always thought of myself as walking side-by-side with Ani DiFranco; a fellow warrior, a fellow visionary, a fellow something. Since I began listening to her music in the mid-nineties, her songwriting could illuminate ideas and emotions in me which I had felt but could not articulate. Her lyrics twinkled with the "underneath" qualities of this sometimes ridiculous, sometimes miraculous, sometimes horrendous human existence. She called out in me the fierce soldier, the humble servant, the roaring citizen who does more than sit back and watch the show. Admittedly, when I swing back to my very first Case Logic CD sleeve purchased my sophomore year of high school, I only have to glance at my scratched and scribbled copies of Imperfectly (1992), Out of Range (1994), and Not a Pretty Girl (1995) to remember what it felt like to be given my first permission not to swallow the bitter pill of mainstream America.
In her 17 years of professional songwriting, Ani has recorded 18 studio albums, 12 live albums, and a few EP's for good measure. Her songs continuously dip into topics such as racism, capitalism, sexism, patriarchy, homophobia, abortion rights, and war. And it all began with the humble hatching of Righteous Babe Records in 1989, where fifty bucks and a whole lot of desire proved to go pretty far. Today she's 35 years old, and it is with the release of her newest effort, Reprieve (August 8, 2006), that I was honored to get a chance to speak with her.
Being Quiet After The Storm
Ani DiFranco |
In the summer of 2005, the doctors told Ani that she had tendonitis and that she would have to ease off the guitar for a bit. "I had to stop playing for awhile, and I wouldn't have done it otherwise. It would have never occurred to me to stop doing what I love for a second. So, the fact that I was forced to, I think was good in the end because it really fed my little soul to be quiet for a while and just listen and just live. I've been living down in New Orleans mostly these days though, so it was actually very bizarre timing. Because all the shit hit the fan last August with Katrina, and it's been a really weird time to not be out and about, to not be active, to not be engaging people, to have been just there taking it all in. And it made me a little antsy."
Sudden silence for a woman who had released an album every year since 1990 (except 2000) and who had toured relentlessly throughout that time. But as they say, when a door closes, a window opens and this proved to be no exception. The time away from touring offered Ani a unique opportunity; she'd never afforded a record her undivided attention. What we meet in Reprieve, perhaps at a caliber set apart from her other works, is a taste of Ani as a producer. The songs are individual, but the experience is that of a full meal, with built-in segues between songs that serve as humble pathways on the album's journey - a journey which is intimately tied to New Orleans and Ani's political insights connected to the city.
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