It has been five long years since we’ve heard from Brody Dalle. In 2000 she crashed onto the scene fronting Aussie punk band The Distillers. A brief go-around with her second band, Spinerette, followed in the late 2000’s and that’s the last we heard. Until now.
In April of this year she broke the silence with her first solo album, Diploid Love.
G—What did you take from punk?
BD—The energy and intensity. It’s dirty, loud and it doesn’t give a fuck. There’s just something about it that got me from the start.
G—I think the “just don’t give a fuck” is what comes across most. As a woman in punk you almost have to give a little less of a fuck because you’re kind of marginalized and seen as something to look at rather than someone who contributes.
BD—Yeah, or you’re not given a chance. But honestly, I have not felt that way for so long. In the early days we’d get up and play, but I’d get off on people giving me that kind of look. It would fuel the fire. These days I don’t really experience that too much.
G—With you branching out solo on your own, do you find that people want to keep you in a place that’s convenient for them stylistically?
BD—Yeah, I think people get attached to a time period in their lives. It may be ten years later, but when they listen to me or see me they want to hear what got them through the hard times.
G—I can see how people who were into the Distillers or Spinnerette have maybe gone through similar things you have.
G—From what I’m hearing on Diploid Love, it sounds like you didn’t try to bring something back but allowed yourself to grow.
BD—I don’t think about what other people want. I just write songs and they turn out how they turn out. When you’re in the studio, you go down very many different avenues until you come to the right place. I just write songs and they become what they become.
G—You can hear that, especially on your first single on the album.
BD—“Meet the Foetus”?
G—Yeah. You’re just being yourself, with no outside influence. It didn’t chase after a particular sound. It felt fearless, which is a lot more interesting to me as a listener.
BD—It’s so fun.
G—I read one comment in an interview that said the influence of your husband (Josh Homme) could be heard in your record. But I didn’t hear that in your music.
BD—I’m not influenced by my husband. I’ve also heard that I sound like Trent Reznor or Garbage.
G—Guilty by association.
BD—It’s just stupid, lazy journalism. I could say that maybe the first Distillers’ record was influenced. I got sick of being compared all the time, so I started to forge my own way.
G—The path of every musician.
The new record feels punk. Saying, “Fuck what’s going on around me, I’m doing this for myself.” I’ve always seen you as kind of on the outside.
BD—Yeah, I’ve always felt that way.
G—Like Siouxsie and the Banshees. Siouxsie started off pretty much on the top of the scene. But when that scene dies, the real artist emerges.
BD—I love her. I had dinner with her once. It was the coolest dinner I ever had. She was just a ball of fire and also so sweet. I opened for her in Orange County, and she was so loving with me. I was about 20.
G—That’s amazing meeting her at 20.
BD—My daughter (who’s eight) just got into Siouxsie and the Banshees.
G—That’s awesome. I think punk rockers make the best parents. How do you feel about being a punk rock parent? I’m sorry to keep bringing up punk.
BD—No, I love punk. I would agree with that, but I don’t want to generalize. Most punk rockers I know have a pretty outward view of the world. A different perspective on life. There’s a lot of acceptance. That said, I’m sure there’s some punk rock parents out there who are shitty.
G—Let’s talk about your video with the baby. You stumble into the room with a child. The baby hops on a fucking dragon and flies around Japan…
BD—Well, the baby goes to a conference where he chooses all the foetuses being born in the future. He shows the babies of the future what the current state of the world is. Then they have a conference to figure out what they could do to make it better.
G—So the baby becomes the hero, and at the end you and Shirley are set free. You guys freak out, jumping around and singing.
BD—They’re not connected.
G—They’re not connected?
BD—No, that was a live-action thing. It was just tacked on the end because I couldn’t honestly afford another minute of animation.
G—So there it is, it comes down to money. Well, those are all the questions I had. Good luck on the rest of your tour.
The meaning of Jazz Cartier’s Fleurever is rooted in duality. In the two years since his sophomore mixtape, Hotel Paranoia, the artist has had to “[battle] the balances of love and money, risks and rewards, right and wrong, or living and dying”, alongside coming to terms with the throes of wealth and fame. Subsequently Fleurever—or, as he calls it, his “third project”—explores Cartier’s personal growth in the years following. With his newfound maturity in tow, Toronto’s rising rap star is on course to start a music revolution—well, that’s the idea anyway. Georgie caught up with Cartier to talk about gratitude, the rapper’s personal transformation, and the driving force behind Fleurever. G—Can you tell us a bit about your latest album Fleurever and the inspiration behind it? JC—Most of the inspiration came from growth, and a bit from my departure from Toronto. A lot of the record was made in my last days in Toronto, and just having that cloud over my head and knowing that I’d be leaving soon—it was more so showing my affection for the city that pretty much shaped my sound. G—Did you have a vision in mind when you started writing this album? JC—For the most part Fleurever is just myself and my
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Named for the Toronto area they grew up in, The Beaches are a far cry from a placid day on the lake. Led by singer/bassist Jordan Miller—with her sister and guitarist Kylie Miller, guitarist/keyboardist Leandra Earl and drummer Eliza Enman-McDaniel—the Canadian four-piece burst out of Toronto with their 2018 debut, Late Show, and have since built up an aura of dissident swagger. Taking home this year’s Juno for Breakthrough Group of the Year, the all-fem rock quartet is bringing grunge, gloss, and 70s glamour to a predominantly male genre. Georgie caught up with Leandra to talk about the band’s latest music video, taking charge of their music, and three simple ways to keep women in the industry. G—Did you grow up together in Toronto? LE—Yeah, I met the girls in high school. Jordan and Kylie are sisters, so they’ve known each other a bit longer, but they grew up with Eliza in Toronto’s Beaches area. G—What kind of music were you listening to at that time? LE—We grew up listening to all of the music our parents listened to. That definitely influenced us while writing our debut album since we drew from a lot of the 70’s music that our