Fresh Air - Maggie Rogers / Kathleen Hanna

Episode Date: December 28, 2024

In 2021, burnt out from the intensity of her early career, Maggie Rogers considered quitting music entirely. Instead, she took a detour — to Harvard Divinity School, where she earned a master's degree in religion and public life. Her 2024 album is Don't Forget Me. Kathleen Hanna's band Bikini Kill was the epicenter of the riot grrrl feminist punk movement of the '90s. Their song "Rebel Girl" was the anthem. Her memoir this year was about her time in the punk scene, her childhood, and finding joy in expressing anger in public.Learn more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

Support for this podcast and the following message come from Autograph Collection Hotels, with over 300 independent hotels around the world, each exactly like nothing else. Autograph Collection is part of the Marriott Bonvoy portfolio of hotel brands. Find the unforgettable at autographcollection.com. From WHYY in Philadelphia, this is Fresh Air Weekend. I'm Sam Brigger. Today we continue listening to some of our favorite interviews of 2024. First we'll hear from singer-songwriter Maggie Rogers.

In 2021, Rogers felt burnt out and took a break from music to go to Harvard Divinity School. I think at its core, music has always been the most sacred and most spiritual thing that I've ever been a part of. ["Walked Off You"] ["Walked Off and Knowed Me"] Also punk pioneer Kathleen Hanna. With her band Bikini Kill, she helped form a movement challenging the misogyny and punk in the 90s. You know, kind of B versions of the Sex Pistols, you know, straight white guys who are like,

I'm going to spit on you. And it just was like a lot of toxic masculinity disguised as radicalness. That's coming up on Fresh Air Weekend. Support for this podcast and the following message come from Autograph Collection Hotels, offering over 300 independent hotels around the world, each exactly like nothing else. Hands selected for their inherent craft, each hotel tells its own unique story through distinctive design and immersive experiences, from medieval falconry to volcanic wine tasting. Autograph Collection is part of the Marriott Bonvoy portfolio of over 30 hotel brands around

the world. Find the unforgettable at autographcollection.com. This message comes from Wyse, the app for doing things in other currencies. Send, spend, or receive money internationally and always get the real-time mid-market exchange rate with no hidden fees. Download the Wyze app today or visit Wyze.com, T's and C's apply. Support for this podcast and the following message come from Autograph Collection Hotels with over 300 independent hotels around the world, each exactly

like nothing else. Autograph Collection is part of the Marriott Bonvoy portfolio of hotel brands. Find the unforgettable at autografecollection.com. This message comes from Lady Mafia. This is the story of the glorified loan shark swimming in the murky waters of fast money and shady deals. Did she blow $10 million of other people's money? Lady Mafia is available for listening now on The Binge, wherever you get your podcasts. This is Fresh Air Weekend. I'm Sam Brigger in for Terry Gross. While in college at NYU,

getting a degree in music production, singer-songwriter Maggie Rogers met Pharrell Williams. During his visit to her class, Pharrell heard an early version of Maggie's song Alaska and was stunned by it. The interaction was captured in a video that went viral and propelled her to fame. In 2021, Burnout from the Road, Maggie Rogers took a break and got a master's degree from Harvard Divinity School, where she explored public gatherings and the ethics of power in pop culture. She's been trying to find a way to make the life of a touring musician more sustainable. Let's hear a track from Maggie Rogers' latest album, Don't Forget

Me. This is So Sick of Dreaming. You think you're on the right track Cruisin' on the bridge in your great Cadillac Yeah, think it's easy Walkin' on the water like they're steppin' Stones ballin' every little thing's up for takin' Oh, that makes me wanna sing My heart's breaking Oh, there ain't no diamond ring You can buy me, take me home

Oh, cause I'm so sick of dreaming I'm so sick of dreaming I'm all that I'm needing That's So Sick of Dreaming from Maggie Rogers' new album Don't Forget Me. Maggie Rogers, welcome to Fresh Air. Thanks for having me. So you've said that in this album, this is the first time where some of the material doesn't come from your own life, that you're

playing with a persona. And I was wondering if that's freeing, because I imagine if you're writing songs about your own life, there'd be this self-imposed pressure to get it right, to be precise with the details, to be authentic to the experience. Massively so. I mean, I think in being able to sort of inhabit a character, I was able to weave this tapestry

of all of these different memories throughout really my 20s, I just turned 30. And I was sort of able to tell maybe even a more real version of the truth in telling fiction. Over the course of writing this record, this character who's like a 25-ish year old girl who's leaving home and sort of going on this road trip through the American Southwest kind of appeared in my mind. And I was able to write the songs in sequence. The album is sequenced in the order that I wrote the songs in.

And I was sort of writing them like scenes in a movie, you know, that takes place over like 36 hours and has a very like Thelma and Louise-esque ride to it. And yeah, and it was just helpful structure. So without revealing, like, is it that there are certain songs that are more autobiographical than others or that this persona and your own life are sort of woven through each of the songs? They're definitely woven through. I have no problem revealing, you know, because I mean, yeah, I've been doing that for a long

time. I'm also just sort of like professionally vulnerable and just naturally very comfortable with that. But I think it's that the feelings in all of these songs are very real. – You've said that you write songs as a way of processing your life. Does that mean that like once you've written about something that it helps you come to a resolution, like you don't have to think about that part of your life as much? – I think that was really true when I started writing songs. I started writing songs kind of at the end of middle school and the beginning of high school.

And it was very much a like one-to-one diary entry directive where I would write songs as a form of like self-soothing therapy and sort of play the song until I felt a new way. And it was also at this time where I was experiencing so much in my life for the first time. And it was 15 years ago now. And I think now, I think about songwriting a lot as a form of archiving. I mean, obviously, I'm a nostalgic person

if my record is called Don't Forget Me. But there's so much beauty in life and so much detail and so much memory. And I do worry about forgetting it all or being able to like, get my arms so full of detail that I don't drop anything. And putting it into my art feels like one way of being able to just keep holding it. Well, you know, you mentioned nostalgia of being able to just keep holding it. Well, you know, you mentioned nostalgia. I wanted to ask you about that. When I first listened to the album, I was like, oh, this is, this is really nostalgic. This is interesting. But, you know, then I listened to so much of the last two weeks and you've been writing nostalgic

songs since you were like 16 or 17 years old. So, so I was wondering was wondering, do you think that that's just, you're inherently a nostalgic person or do you think it's like this process that you have of making sense of your life is inevitably going to have a nostalgic aspect to it? I think it's really a part of who I am. my dad always tells the story of the night I turned five, he found me sobbing, and I was just like completely overwhelmed at the fact that I would never be four again. Yeah. Well, you write about that and is it kids like us or? Yeah. Yeah, hey. Yeah, I do. I do write about that. And it is just, I think, this idea of time and the way that it slips through your fingers

and not being able to go back. I mean, I think, not to talk more about live performance and why I love it, but it kind of is because the thing about being on stage is the second it's awesome and you're like, something is really happening here, it's gone. And you can't hold it. You can just be present in it and hope that you remember it. And so anyway, yeah, I'm a nostalgic person. So Maggie, you're just one of

a handful of pop stars who've gotten their master's degree from Harvard Divinity School. What was it that you were hoping to get from this program? of pop stars who've gotten their master's degree from Harvard Divinity School. What was it that you were hoping to get from this program? I mean, it's not a theology school at this point. Yeah, that's important to sort of note, that I didn't go to any kind of seminary. I didn't train to be a priest. But clearly it has to do with some sort of element of spirituality, and that seems tethered

to your understanding of what music is like and performance. So what were you hoping to sort of figure out when you were writing your thesis? So my master's degree is in religion and public life. So this program that I went to was specifically for people who don't work in religion, who want a greater understanding of religion and the way it works in the world to be able to inform their sort of non-religious life. And I found as I was performing and on stage that people were asking me for answers to questions I felt really unqualified to answer.

Like I found myself in this unconventional ministerial position without undergoing any of the training. Like, people were asking me for my perspective on politics, suicide, people were asking me to perform marriages, depression. And I was like, I'm 24. Like I have no idea. I was in no way any more qualified than anybody else to have an answer on these things. The thing that I really spent time learning about and being an expert in was music.

But people didn't even really ask me about music much. And even that I was still early in learning and still am. And so the program, it was just really nice to have some quiet time to think about what I believed. And really thinking about, you know, in this time that is more divisive than it's ever been, how did people come together? And how do people create meaning? And I think at its core, music has always been the most sacred and most spiritual thing that I've ever been a part of. Whether it's being in the crowd at a show at an early age or being on stage with my band when we're all jamming or playing

music together and we just hit that right thing all at the same time, like something was telepathically communicated. That to me, it's just, it's the closest thing I've ever felt to something divine. And so, a lot of what I did was study religious theory and study the sort of like technical philosophical ways that people think about and talk about religion and the structure of religion. And then I applied it to music and to touring and to festivals, and used all of that to sort of create this system for myself to navigate some of these bigger questions I was having about ethics of having a public platform and sustainability within my career and how do I use the work that I love to do the most amount of good in the world? If you're just joining us, our guest is Maggie Rogers. Her new album is Don't Forget Me.

We'll hear more of our conversation after a break. I'm Sam Brigger and this is Fresh Air Weekend. Prime members have access to a catalog of news podcasts ad free breaking news without the brakes Available by downloading the Amazon music app or visiting Amazon.com slash ad free Every January millions of people take the pledge to cut down on alcohol in the new year If you're one of them count on life kit and PR self-help podcast For tips and tricks you can use to make the most out of your commitment. We'll help you draw up plans and have experts weigh in on how to stay motivated and kind to yourself throughout the month. Search life kits dry January wherever you get your podcasts for the tools you need

to pull it off from NPR. The indicator is a podcast where daily economic news is about what matters to you. Workers have been feeling the sting of inflation. So as a new administration promises action on the cost of living, taxes and home This is Fresh Air Weekend. I'm Sam Brigger. Let's get back to my interview with singer-songwriter Maggie Rogers. This interview was recorded in May, soon after the release of her album Don't Forget Me. Rogers took a break from the touring life of a musician in 2021 to attend Harvard Divinity School, where she graduated with a master's in religion and public life. She was interested in examining the spirituality of public gatherings

and the ethics of power in pop culture. So, Maggie, you know, the moment of your discovery was filmed and went viral. You were a student at NYU majoring in music production. Your class was visited by Pharrell Williams. He came to sort of listen and give you some notes about what you guys were doing. You played him an early version of your song, Alaska, and he was blown away by it. It's sweet because you both look kind of nervous and shy, and you're not sure whether you should be seeing what he's thinking about your music.

Right. Like, obviously, that's such an important moment in your career, and partly fomented your success. But is there a part of you that sometimes wishes that that video hadn't gone viral, that that was a moment that was more yours than everyone else's? I mean, it was really, really scary when it happened. Like, I was incredibly overwhelmed. But it was also, it was complicated, because I got the job that I had trained for

and that I'd always wanted. Exactly in the moment when I needed a job. And yet, it was so deeply and wildly out of my control. Like, it felt like something that was happening to me, even though it was something I had prepared for, for like a decade at that point. Right, because you've been performing for a long time, you've been writing music for a long time.

I've been making records, yeah, exactly. And then there was this moment where the door just opened. Part of me wishes that I got to upload that song and present my artistic statement. But also what's beautiful about the video is how unguarded it is. So if it happened any other way, it wouldn't be what it is. And I feel actually really lucky that the version of me that got introduced to the

world is and was the most authentic version of myself. Because that's the kind of art that I love and I've always been drawn towards making. And so, like, do I wish that I like brushed my hair and like put on a real outfit? Like- Would you still be wearing that necklace that's made of elk?

I mean, elk vertebrae. Yeah, I mean, I think that that's the thing that's sort of wild and funny about it is like when I suddenly overnight became a pop star, like I needed a lot of clothes and all of the clothes I had were for like, I lived in the studio, like I was a studio rat and suddenly I needed like colorful glittery outfits and I was like, what do you mean I can't wear like my jeans and boots? Let's hear a little bit of Alaska. Walking through icy streams that took my breath away

Moving slowly through westward water over glacial plains And walked off you And walked off and owned me And walked off and owned me Owned me, oh my I thought it was a dream So it seemed And now breathe deep, I'm inhaling You and others there in between That's Maggie Rogers on Alaska. You're in all this serenity

That's Maggie Rogers' song, Alaska. You know, Maggie, I'm not sure if it's because the song is called Alaska, but there's always something about the song that like, for me, feels like there's a coolness to it, like where there's cold winds blowing. And I don't know if it's related to this, but you've said that you have synesthesia and that music has a color to you. And so you often, when you're writing, you create these, like, color mood boards for your songs.

Could you describe that? Yeah, I mean, well, I think that the coldness that you're talking about in that song comes from the synthesizers and how smooth they are. And sparse, too, kind of. Exactly. There is space to it. But even in those background vocals

that sort of come to help transition from the pre-chorus to the chorus, there is a sort of, it's a plate reverb. You know, there's a lot of different kinds of reverb. But a plate reverb is quite metallic in the way that it's designed. And I think that some of that smoothness of the synth and the way that the sonic palette of that song is designed does sort of represent the landscape I was talking about. And that to me is like something I'm always trying to do. You know, make the music, try and echo or tell the story of the emotion

that it's soundtracking. And that comes from, you know, I grew up really loving classical music and playing the harp in orchestras. And I remember my mom really early telling me to listen to orchestral music because they were telling a story without words. And I was just so, so taken with that idea. As far as these color mood boards go, I think it goes back to how fast everything was because I've always had a very strong connection to color and sound. But also as I got sort of like thrown into the like big dogs of the music industry and was suddenly working with all of these different collaborators after really just working alone for a really long time.

Putting down my thoughts and feelings of the sonic palette or texture that I was trying to create into a couple of different one sheets, were really helpful to walk into a couple different one sheets were really helpful to walk into different people's studios with. Because I could show them in a couple different terms, whether it was just blocks of color on a page or images I had pulled off of the internet about how I wanted the record to feel. It was something that helped me communicate my artistic vision but also keep things really coherent even as I was sort of navigating all of these wonderful new people that were

coming into my life because of all of this new attention. Did that also help like in order to sort of assert yourself in those situations? Like if would people try to get you to record things in different ways, but you had like all these different ways of sort of showing that you were really in command of these songs and that these were your creations and you knew what was best for them? I mean, I think I was lucky to work with a lot

of really wonderful people who were true artists and really... And listened to you. Well, and the work of a co-producer is to serve the artist or to serve the art. I think that's also part of the reason that I was drawn to music production or to education in the first place, because in so many ways, knowledge is power. I got into music production because I was writing songs in high school and I couldn't get the guys to play my arrangements. So I learned how to program.

I learned how to play the songs by myself and create the arrangements for drums and bass and synth and all these things on the computer because it was like a gender problem. When I got to school and I could learn about engineering and software and production and microphones and drum technique, it became something that allowed me to protect my vision. They were just tools that allowed me to to get the thing that I heard in my head down onto paper.

05.00 Well, Maggie Rogers, thanks so much for coming on Fresh Air. 06.00 This has been such a dream. I have to just tell you, I'm a big, big Fresh Air MPR girl, and this has been really special. Thank you so much for having me. 07.00 Would you believe me now If I told you I got caught up in a wave Almost gave it away Would you hear me out If I told you I was terrified for days Thought I was gonna break Oh, I couldn't stop it, tried to slow it all down Crying in the bathroom had to figure it out With everyone around me saying you must be so happy now

If you keep reaching out and I keep coming back If you're gone for good then I'm okay with that That's Light On by Maggie Rogers from her album Heard It In A Past Life. Our next guest is the co-founder of the Riot Girl movement, musician, writer, and artist Kathleen Hannah. Her new memoir is called Rebel Girl, which is also the name of one of the best-known songs by her band Bikini Kill. Kathleen Hannah recently spoke about her life and work with Fresh Air's Anne-Marie Baldonado. Revolution! Girls don't know! Hey, girls, friends! I got a proposition, call something like this.

Tell you to do what you want. Tell you to be who you will. Tell you to cry right out loud. You got so emotional baby Kathleen Hanna has always been a force. She burst onto the music scene in the 90s as the front woman of Bikini Kill, a band that fearlessly confronted issues of sexism and sexual assault while encouraging female empowerment through their music.

Her raw vocals and unapologetic lyrics helped challenge punk rock norms and inspired others to do so as well. Bikini Kill along with other feminist punk bands encouraged their fans to come to shows, write zines, and form girl bands of their own as a way to fight the sexism that existed in punk and in wider society in general. Hannah created a space for young women to express themselves, fight against misogyny, and build community. Bikini Kill made an enormous impact in music and in the lives of their fans,

but as Hannah writes about in her new memoir, Rebel Girl, it took a toll. Helping fans deal with their experiences of sexual violence meant that she had to think about her own. In the book she writes about all that as well as her childhood, the building of her feminist art in college, starting and leaving bands, and becoming the face of a movement. She also writes about finding out that an undiagnosed case of Lyme disease was the reason she couldn't

physically perform anymore. She's performing again with her band Bikini Kill and her other bands La Tigra and the Julie Ruin. Kathleen Hanna, welcome back to Fresh Air. Thanks for having me. I'd like for you to start by reading a passage from the beginning of your book Rebel Girl. Sure, this is from the prologue. I want to tell you how I write songs and produce music. How singing makes me feel connected to a million miracles at once. How being on stage is the one place I feel the most me. But I can't untangle all of that from the background that is male violence. I wish I could forget the guy who stalked me while I was making my solo record, how he sat on the roof of

the building across from mine and looked into my windows with binoculars as I worked, how he told my neighbors he thought I was a prostitute who needed to be stopped. I wish I could slice him out of my story as a musician, but I can't. I also don't want this book to be a list of traumas, so I'm leaving a lot of that on the cutting room floor. It's more important to remember that I've seen ugly basement rooms transform into warm campfires. Dank rock bro clubs become bright parties where girls and gay kids and misfits dance together in a sea of freedom and joy. Art galleries that had only ever showcased white male mediocrity become sites of thrilling feminist collaborations. I also ate gelato on a street in Milan with my bandmates and cried because it tasted that good.

But yeah, there were also rapes and run-ins with jerks who threw water on my shine. I keep trying to make my rapes funny, but I have to stop doing that because they aren't. I want them to be stories because stories are made up of words and words can't hurt me. But the things I'm writing about aren't stories, they're my blood. They're the things that shaped me.

The things that keep me up at night rechecking the locks on the doors. The things that make me afraid and ashamed. The things that inspire me to keep going. So speaking of your memoir and the title of your memoir, Rebel Girl, I wanted to ask you about that song. It was released in 1993.

It ended up being produced by Joan Jett, who heard about Bikini Kill and wanted to work with you all. And this song kind of became an anthem for the feminist punk movement of that time. Can you talk about writing that song? Yeah, we wrote that one in the basement of this house called the Embassy. It was a punk house and punk houses a lot of times have names. And this one was called the Embassy because it was pretty close to Embassy Row in DC. And I'll always remember writing that song because it was one of those times where I was writing it as we were playing it. So they started coming up with the music and

as it became more full formed, I started hearing the first couple lines in my head and I just stepped to the mic and then they just kind of fell out. And I stepped back and started thinking, okay, what's the chorus gonna be? Or, you know, I was like looking through poems and stuff I had in my notebook. And then I was just like, no, what are you feeling in this moment? I'm gonna feel this moment.

Because in that moment, Riot Grrrl meetings had just started in DC. Our friends Bratmobile were playing shows and that we were just you know gobbling up like you know Manor from Heaven and and Joan Jetta just called me on the phone and said I like your band and I was just like I'm not gonna look at my notebook I'm gonna feel this feeling. And then I walked back to the mic and I just sang. And you know, Rebel Girl, Rebel Girl,

you are the queen of my world came out. Well, let's hear my guest, Kathleen Hanna on the song Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill. That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood She got the hottest drag in town That girl, she holds her head up so high I think I wanna take you home, I wanna try on your first one. That's the song Rebel Girl from 1993 by the band Bikini Kill. I think for a lot of people that song is about you. You know, like you, a lot of girls, a lot of your fans wanted to be. But so you were thinking,

who else were you thinking about when you wrote that song? I mean, I was thinking about my friend, Juliana Looking, who's a spoken word artist who really kind of mentored me. I was thinking about Toby, I was thinking about Cathy, I was thinking about- Your bikini kill- My bikini kill bandmates, you know? I was thinking about the girls in the Riot Grrrl meetings

who were saying stuff like, you know, just crying because it was the first time they'd been in an all female atmosphere. And they were just like, whoa, this feels really weird. I'm confused. And then like, wait, why have I never made this a priority before? And just that feeling of, you know, a room changing. Like, you know, just sitting at a crappy plastic office max table with a bunch of young women who have been relegated to the back of the room at punk shows for so long, finally saying, I've always wanted to start a band.

Or, hey, does anybody know how to play guitar? I'd like to learn. That's an amazing feeling that really kind of changes the room into this beautiful place of possibilities. We're listening to the interview Fresh Air's Anne-Marie Baldinato recorded with Kathleen Hanna, co-founder of the bands Bikini Kill and La Tigra. Her new memoir is called Rebel Girl. We'll hear more of their conversation after a break. I'm Sam Brigger and this is Fresh Air Weekend. This is Fresh Air Weekend. I'm Sam Brigger, back with more of our interview with Kathleen Hanna.

She's the front woman of the bands Bikini Kill and La Tigra. She helped form the Riot Girl movement, challenging the sexist punk scene in the 1990s. Her songs took on sexual assault, misogyny, and female empowerment. Her memoir is called Rebel Girl, My Life as a Feminist Punk. She spoke with Fresh Air's Anne Marie Baldonado. Now, you were born in Portland, Oregon, but you spent a lot of your childhood in Maryland. Can you describe where you grew up

and your family at that point? We moved a lot all around Maryland. We moved every three years. So I changed schools every three years. We lived in suburbs where not much was going on. And then we moved back to the Pacific Northwest. And I changed schools even then in high school, I went to two different high schools. So I really started seeing the game and how at every school, there was like, kind of the same group breakdown of people. You know, like the popular Rich Kid Click, the Stoners, the people who were into this kind of music,

the people who were into that kind of music, people who were into sports, like these kind of different groups and how a lot of the ways the interactions were so similar at every place that it just started to feel ridiculous to me and I didn't have very many friends. I just sort of experimented with like what would it be like if I was in this group of people? What would it be like? And

I think it gave me a chameleon like quality that definitely served me later when I had to grin and bear it through a lot of nonsense in the punk scene. But yeah, I think the moving a lot made me really turn to singing as my home. Well, one of the first times you performed as a kid was in a musical. It was Annie. Can you talk about what you liked about performing at that point?

I didn't think of myself as a good singer, but I sang all the time by myself because it was a place that I felt safe. And I knew no matter where we lived, I could walk in the woods and sing, or I could sing along to records in my room. Like I didn't want anybody to know, and I didn't think I was good or, you know, whatever. I just, it was something that was fun. And then a friend of mine

in, I guess it was fourth grade, Maureen Gaines convinced me to go with her to an audition for Annie for the school play and I got the part. And so in that moment, I was like, wait, other people think I can sing? Like it was this real shock. Like I was like, I didn't, I didn't realize that I actually had any kind of talent at it or that it sounded good to anybody beyond myself. So there was that kind of eureka moment. So I was like, practicing, practicing, practicing, practicing. And then once it came time to be on stage, I just felt like it was the first time where I really expressed, mainly sadness, in front of a bunch of people. You know? Like, even though, you know, I didn't write the lyrics myself,

they definitely spoke to my situation. And the just the quality of my voice and what I could do with my voice. I felt like I was saying, I'm having a really hard time at home to, you know, a whole auditorium full of kids and grownups. And that felt really like a relief. Well, you tell this story about what happened after the real performance, and that story is heartbreaking. Do you mind sharing it?

Yeah, I mean, I was feeling really proud of myself, and as we're getting to the car, my dad was saying, let's go get ice cream. And in my family, that really meant like, you did a great job. You know what I mean? Like, nobody said like, I love you or, you know, like, oh, I'm so proud of you kind of thing.

It was more like, we'll get ice cream. And that is code for, we're proud of you. So I was like, they're proud of me. My parents thought I did great. Like, you know, I read all this stuff into it. Like, they thought my singing was great. They, they thought, you know, blah, blah, in my head. And then as I sit down in the car, my dad says, anyone who can make such a fool of themselves in front of that many people deserves an ice cream. And I was just like, oh my God. Like, I just remember feeling like going from the top of the world to just like crashing,

you know, on like concrete. And that was something that on my dad's side of the family, I have to say, I got to give them credit. They were so good at giving a compliment and then ripping it away. Like it was almost a skill that they passed down from generation to generation. So while I think it's a hideous thing to say to a child,

that moment also inspired me to keep going. Because the fact that that didn't stop me meant I really wanted it. And also, I didn't like my dad. I thought he was a jerk. So, like, I learned really early, like, whose opinion matters to you? You know?

I came out the other end kind of being, like, more determined to get more involved in music at my school because I was like, this is what I want, despite you. Well, and there's this point in the book where you write about what your father went through, like he had siblings that passed away and his father passed away and he sort of never recovered from that and he carried this darkness, you say, into your house and he drank a lot. But I felt like that was not that that you gave that background not to give him an excuse, but to maybe try to explain why he was the way he was. Yeah. I mean, there's also great things about my dad. My dad always said, you need to go

to college. And he wanted me to go to college because he, I think, took like one or two semesters and had to drop out to get a job because, you know, my sister was born and he wanted that for me. And that was something beautiful that he gave me. I think it's complicated and I think it's important to acknowledge that we can get positive things out of really negative situations. And like the experience of being shot down by my dad and keeping going was something that I still hold in my heart to this day in a

way that is fuel. When did you decide that you wanted to be a punk performer? You said that when you were a kid you were always searching for a way to be heard. Was this that way? You know, I moved to Olympia, Washington to go to college and it had a really thriving music scene. And they really defined punk in that town in a different way than I'd ever seen. I'd gone to punk shows in high school and it was like, you know, kind of B versions

of the Sex Pistols, you know, straight white guys who were like, I'm gonna spit on you. And it just was like a lot of toxic masculinity disguised as radicalness. So it's kind of like the beginning of the edge lord. But yeah, when I moved to Olympia, there were all these kids who were making music and putting out records on small indie labels. And they sort of define punk not as a genre or a sound, a loud, angry, aggressive sound, but as an idea, as the idea that, you know, we don't have to wait for corporations to tell us what is good music or art or writing. We can make it ourselves. So it's like, hey, let's put on a spoken word event. Let's put on a punk show with the laundromat. It really was the town that gave me permission to do stuff.

And I'd always wanted to be in a band, but sort of thought it was off limits. And this was the place that I saw people in bands just like walking around on the street. And I was like, well, they can do it. I can do it. And at the same time, I was being really inspired by feminist performance artists like Karen Finley, who I saw live in Seattle and was just, what this woman is doing on stage, going into from different voices, you know, getting naked and dumping chocolate and sprinkles on herself, you know, making fun of herself while also being incredibly powerful.

And so a lot of times when I first started being in Bikini Kill, I thought of myself as a feminist performance artist who was in a punk band. You went to college in Olympia, Washington at Evergreen State, and you started out as a visual artist doing photography, and you also worked in sewing like fashion. You also did a feminist fashion show, and you were working on this big project. You were at school late at night,

so you weren't at your apartment, and your roommate, a close friend of yours, was attacked. She was assaulted in your apartment. It's a terrible story and it's assault that kind of propelled you to talk about violence against women even more in your work. And you also started volunteering with victims of violence. It seemed like it gave you like a framework

for your feminism or thinking about oppression. But it also gave you tools to help the people that you were going to be encountering. Like very soon, you know, you started playing in bands while you were in college. And at your shows, you started to talk about sexism and sexual assault between songs or in your songs. And that's when girls in your audiences started to come up to you and talk to you after shows about their experiences

with sexual violence and assault. Yeah, I mean, it was really pretty amazing because I was like, oh, this actually is a great way to continue the work that I'm doing at Safe Place when I'm not able to volunteer. So I felt like it was just working. I was still doing further work for Safe Place when I was doing counseling in an alleyway after a show. And that felt great to a certain extent.

After a while, it's a job that is a heavy burnout job, where you can just get burnout to the point where you feel like, you know, you've been vampired and you have no blood in your body. So, it is a lot to be in a band and to not... We had no crew, we had no management, we had no publicist, and we did everything ourselves. And then on top of it, I'm doing social work for free. So that was like having a lot of jobs

and then actually a real job and going to school. So at a certain point, and it wasn't until many, many, many, many, many years later that I said, I need to pull back on this like kind of one-to-one social work, which is what it was. of one-to-one social work, which is what it was. Now, Bikini Hill tried to make your shows a safe place for women, a safe space. Can you describe how and why you did that? Like, it's of a particular time.

Yeah, we did stuff like handed out lyric sheets that had the lyrics on them so that other girls and women would know these are the lyrics and what the subject matter was because a lot of times you couldn't understand what I was saying through the crappy PAs I was singing through and sometimes even talking in between songs you couldn't understand what I was saying. And so that was one way that give them a souvenir to take home, to read through and think about, and maybe disagree with so that they start their own bands or it encourages them to write their own poetry or write their own zines.

We also had zines that talked about a lot of different political issues of the day that we sold at our shows. And I also, we prioritized having girls and women come up to the front. Because a lot of the shows we were playing back then, it was, you know, straight cisgender white guys predominating and taking up all the space of the room.

And we really selfishly wanted to build community, so we had more girl bands to play with. And how is that gonna happen if they're all stuck in the back? And they can't see us play and they can't see, oh, that's how you do a drum fill or that's how you play three notes on the bass and make them sound really interesting.

And so I started saying, you know, inviting the girls to the front, hey, do you guys want to come to the front? And then it kind of became a thing. It's like something that's actually meant to be an experiment, you know? In punk, it was like, what if we just rearrange this room a little bit? What's gonna happen? And what happened were, you know, a lot of men were really mad and hated us. But it was also an interesting experiment. Now before your book, you'd never really talked publicly about being a parent. You're married to Adam Horowitz of Beastie Boys and you have a son.

And you've said you didn't want to talk about it because you didn't want to be asked those questions that people ask women artists about work-life balance and doing it all and I totally get what you mean there. But I did want to ask why you decided to write about it now. I asked my son, whose name is Julius, I said, Julius, you know, Mommy's writing a book. Do you want to be in it? And he's like, yeah, I better be. And so he's in it. And it was, it felt really good to be able to write about being a parent because it's a huge part of my life. You know,

you learn a lot about who you are in the world by being a parent. And I think also with the current political situation, how do we talk to our kids about this stuff? How do we educate, you know, fun, awesome, wild, but good citizens? So these are conversations I'm looking forward to having and not dreading. I just, I didn't want while I was actively promoting albums to have, you know, constantly like, you know, you and Ad Rock have a kid. That kid must be so cool. They must be so lucky.

They must listen to Kraftwerk every day. You know, like I just didn't- Kraftwerk. I didn't- my kid did listen to Kraftwerk actually for a while. And he told me in the kitchen one time, he's like, Mom, I know more about Kraftwerk than you. And you know what I replied? Go to your room.

And it felt so good. I was like, don't childsplain craft work to me, toddler. Now, recently you've been playing out again the last couple years. You've had reunion tours with Bikini Kill and La Tigra. And your shows, when you were young, were so, like, visceral. Do they still feel that way to you? Oh, yeah. But I feel like, like, there's so much more joy.

Mm. Like, there's still, the anger's still there, but it's, like, a joyous anger, because it's, like, you know, a lot of us are sitting at home yelling at the TV. And to get outside and like yell into a microphone and to have that release of like, it feels joyous to explore our anger in public. It feels joyous to be like,

look, it's normal that we're all really upset and sad and all these different emotions and they can all coexist together. And the songs really go from joy to sadness to rage very quickly. And I'm finding nuances in them that I didn't know were there. In the lyrics.

Yeah, and so I'm really enjoying the songs and they feel very fresh. Like it doesn't feel like, oh God. I felt more that way about, like, playing Rebel Girl for the 800th time back in the 90s. And now I feel, like, so excited when it comes on. Because, I mean, the song really has legs, because I can sing it about anybody in my head.

We played a show in, like, 2019, and I got up on stage and I sang it, and I thought about myself. And I sang it and I thought about myself. And I sang it to myself, I mean, and I felt like proud, you know, that I kept going and that I didn't give up and that I was still making music and that I really love what I do

and that I have such great friends. I felt grateful, I felt proud. And I sang that song directed at me. And I know that's probably really gross and embarrassing, but it felt amazing. Well, Kathleen and Hannah, it's been great talking with you. Thank you so much. Thank you. When she talks, are you the revolution? In her ears says revolution When she walks, the revolution's coming In her kiss, when you turn into a legend

Rebel girl, rebel girl Rebel girl, you are the queen of my world Rebel girl, rebel girl I know I wanna take you home, I wanna try on your clothes on Kathleen Hannah spoke with Fresh Air's Anne-Marie Baldonado. Her memoir is called Rebel Girl, My Life as a Feminist Punk. Fresh Air Weekend is produced by Teresa Madden. Fresh Air's executive producer is Danny Miller. For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm Sam Brigger.