Hey, before we dive in a quick note, the video from my new TEDx Boulder talk just went live on YouTube.
It's this love letter to making things with your hands in a world that's being eaten by screens, machines and AI.
And I share this story that I've never told publicly before.
It'd mean the world to me if you'd go and check it out.
You can watch it now on YouTube.
Just open up YouTube and search for Jonathan Fields and TEDx Boulder, or just click the link in the show notes.
So what happens when fierce conviction meets musical genius and revolutionary love?
When anger and activism transform into something more nuanced, more powerful?
When creative abundance meets community and impact?
For over three decades, my guest Ani DeFranco, has stood at the intersection of music and activism and independence, charting her own path while inspiring and touching the hearts and minds of millions.
And today's conversation explores how real impact, expression and transformation requires both fierce dedication and also tender compassion, and what it means to stay true to your values while building bridges across divides.
An industry icon and Grammy winner, Ani has been a fierce voice for feminism and equality and also the mother of the DIY music movement.
After founding Righteous Babe Records at 18 years old, She blazed the trail for independent artists, releasing 23 albums, including her latest Unprecedented Shit.
In this conversation, Ani shares vulnerable insights about her journey from a young revolutionary activist and solo artist to someone working to foster genuine dialogue and community at scale.
And she reveals how she approaches advocacy differently, leading with humanity, and even how her experiences of being canceled transformed her approach to activism.
And she also offers wisdom about maintaining independence while creating meaningful artistry and impact and connection.
And she shares the surprising story behind her latest album's innovative sound and what she now knows about creating lasting, positive change.
And by the way, we are now airing all episodes on video on YouTube as well.
And this one was really special.
We filmed in this sweet little indie studio right here in Boulder Colorado, just before Ani headed out on stage.
And the musical vibe, it just makes for a really special visual experience.
So we'll include a link to the video in the show notes if you're curious.
Go check it out.
So excited to share this conversation with you.
I'm Jonathan Fields, and this is Good Life Project.
Really good to be able to spend a little time with you.
It's not lost on me the fact that, as we sit here while this episode will air at some point in the future, we're recording on September 11th.
9-11, some 24 years after the events in New York.
And I, as we were just talking about.
I'm a recent Colorado person, but spent my entire adult life in New York.
Was there, living in Hell's Kitchen, when this happened.
I have very, very deep emotional memories from that day and from the time around it.
New friends that went to work that day and never came home.
Found myself working volunteering 10 feet from the pile the next day, handing out safety equipment to first responders, and not understanding how anyone could see or breathe there, because it was that toxic.
I'm wondering, and this day always affects me, 24 years removed, no longer 2000 miles from the city, but I wake up in the morning and I feel it and I have remembrances of it.
I'm wondering if you have any particular remembrances of that day.
Sure.
I was actually in Manhattan as well.
I was in Midtown conducting rehearsals for horn players because I wanted to add a horn section to my band.
Because I had been on tour with Maceo Parker, who was one of James Brown's.
You know he was the anchor JB horn for all those decades.
And then I just became addicted to the sound of a horn section.
So we're in New York and I guess what stands out for me are the sort of ash-covered, zombie-eyed people migrating uptown, just watching them, walking with their briefcases, you know, evacuating the scene on foot in the middle of the deserted avenues, you know, and all of the other people just standing staring at the cloud of smoke at the bottom of the avenue.
And we didn't know what to do, like everyone.
We didn't know, So we just went to the rehearsal space where all the auditions were supposed to be happening.
And lo and behold, some of these horn players showed up.
A musician needs a gig.
And even on a day like that, some people came.
So it was actually very, of course, surreal for everyone, but beautiful, because a handful of strangers made their way there.
Miraculously though, every subway and bus was shut down.
And we met them and processed with them and then played music.
I mean, music is so healing, you know.
So there we were in real time, just using it to, to process and try to stay connected with something life-affirming.
Yeah, I can't imagine being in that room and playing.
And the fact that people showed up in the first place.
It's like there was something inside of them that called
And I know you say a musician needs a gig.
And yet on that day you've got to imagine there was another reason they decided they had to still show up.
Yeah, I mean, I think us musicians are pretty subliminally invested in using music to get through.
So yeah, if anything makes sense, it's to just go play music while figuring out what else is to be done.
I know in the weeks and months after that, it sounds like you were there as well.
I remember wandering around the city.
And, you know, for anyone who knows New York, this is a place where everyone's head is down.
They're moving really fast.
If you try and have a conversation with a barista or someone at checkout, everyone behind you is giving you dirty looks.
Everything slowed down.
And there was a sense of compassion sisterhood, fellowship that I had never experienced in the city before.
It lasted around six months or so.
And I thought, what a sobering but also just really deeply beautiful experience it was.
And then, many years later, I had a conversation on the podcast with Valerie Korr, who I know, you know and her whole philosophy around revolutionary love.
And she opened my eyes to the fact that my experience during that window was not universal.
That there were people also wandering around New York City who didn't look like me, who were absolutely terrified for their lives every time they stepped outside their door.
And that was...
Kind of a revelation for me.
I never really thought about that.
Yeah, I went on tour immediately.
Obviously a scheduled tour, and everybody else had canceled their tours.
Everything was canceled, you know, nationwide.
People didn't want to leave their houses.
But I felt...
Like, it was my mission to not cancel.
And again, just go and process with people in real time.
The audiences were very light.
I guess traveling, I had a similar experience to you, you know.
It felt like, even like I had been a public enemy of sorts with my punk appearance, my sort of you know Ruffy and kid and you know security people eyeing me and luggage being gone.
You know, and do you have a joint in there?
You know, you delinquent.
And suddenly it did.
I felt that same palpable like we don't care about your joint anymore.
We don't.
You're you're now one of us.
I felt included almost for the first time in that.
That had to have been such a weird feeling.
Yeah, yeah.
Kind of, you know, I guess that, you know, the revolutionary love soldier in me resented it.
Like, oh, now I'm on the team because I'm not brown, you know.
Whereas yesterday, you would have given me heck, you know.
I mean, what do you do with that?
Just be aware of it and... not ignore it.
You know I always I used to joke.
I mean I wouldn't make this joke anymore because I don't want to be seen as conflating the pushback from society that a sort of a young white punk, anti-establishment punk gets with what people of color get.
But I, you know, back in the 90s, you know I had green hair or purple hair or you know piercings and you know tattoos or whatever, back when that was not everywhere.
And so I would be sitting in the row of chairs in the.
You know getting pulled over at every customs checkpoint along my journey.
So anyway, just yeah, to be aware of the, the hierarchies and the subliminal structures of society and the differences of experience, from whatever gifts of perspective your journey gives you.
Yeah.
I mean to be out on the road also.
At that point, like you, you make this choice that says I'm going to keep going out, when a lot of people, as you described, we're just like now we're tapping out.
Like we're.
We're shutting down plans for we don't know how long, but we just um, And your impulse was.
It's interesting to me that your impulse was the exact opposite.
And part of my curiosity is is that because you needed it or you felt like the people you wanted to be of service needed it?
Or maybe yes.
I think it was my will to be of service.
I think that's the larger part of what's kept me on the road for all these decades.
Especially as the years have worn on.
You know I mean it's.
Which is not to say that it doesn't also feed and inform and inspire me.
But it's hard to you know, it's hard to keep leaving whatever my home is and keep.
I mean, I was going to say packing and unpacking, but for many many, many years I never unpacked.
You know, it's just.
That was a waste of energy.
Even at home, you just keep sifting out of the suitcase because soon enough you're gone again.
We were talking before we were on mic about the dysregulating effect of constant movement.
You do acclimate to it, but it's my form of service, I guess, to show up for people, because I've been made aware since um, the very beginning, what it what it means, how it can help others to heal and grow and find themselves.
Let's talk a little bit about that very beginning ish area.
Um, you have a daughter who just recently was about the same age that you were when you went to new york, who just went to new york city as well.
Yeah, you know, like you, born and raised buffalo um, deeply in the music scene there and eventually make your way down to New York.
And you're getting a lot of really nice traction.
Um, not because it's being handed to you, but because you're working your ass off.
You know writing performing constantly all over the place.
Um, and as you said, from the very beginning for you, this was never just performing.
It was never just music.
There was a deeper mission.
There was a sense of service activism that always informed everything you did.
And I'm wondering where that comes from for you.
Like do you trace that back to parents or to the culture of your family or anything else when you were growing up?
I mean, my parents, definitely, obviously, for me.
They were both progressive people.
They were both immigrants, had an immigrant mentality.
I mean, which is to say that they really did not take this country for granted, and What is available to you?
What is all that this country has to offer?
You know.
So I recognize that now as a real specific and somewhat unique perspective in this country.
I think the native born are often not nearly as impressed with America.
You know, giving back was always the mentality in my house.
And you know, including you know it sounds funny to say, but it again, it feels very unique now that I've looked back on my family upbringing like paying taxes.
Paying taxes is universally accepted in this culture, seen as a burden, and to escape every dollar of paying your taxes is sort of the goal and it's not questioned um that, that mentality.
But my parents, you know I think I wrote it in a song once they were happy to pay taxes like they felt this is yeah, this is, this is how it works.
And it works.
It's amazing how you know that the government.
You know, of course there are many people that the system does not and has not worked for as well.
And there's a lot of legitimate perspectives.
But that immigrant gratitude was a gift to me.
I think you know, and just loving what America is is striving for, you know, and wanting to be a part of that, wanting to contribute to it.
That was definitely a goal I inherited.
You know, I didn't, I didn't devise it myself.
So I noticed you use the word what America is striving for, not what America is, which sounds intentional.
It's a process and it's very imperfect.
Um, But I think yeah, that early perspective has confirmed that giving up on it, opting out because it's messy and it's imperfect and it's infuriating and it's devastating at turns, is never going to get us out of here.
You know, I've been voting.
You know there's another.
You know these seem like You know my parents, especially my mom, was active on many levels.
She was an activist.
But even these simple things that don't necessarily fall into activist category but just fall into the category of citizen which again, I think a lot of Americans are so disillusioned and detached from the idea that the government is of and by and for the people, and exercising that incredible power of the vote that we are given, you know, is not something that most uh embrace, you know, but voting.
My mom took me to vote and she campaigned for candidates she believed in, you know, uh.
I can picture myself, you know, in a circle of women licking stamps, you know, or the sponge and the going door to door, you know, trying to inspire people to vote for some progressive woman who is trying to get in the game.
You know, or you know?
That's something that I've been working on ever since trying to convince especially young people that Because it's imperfect and because it's unfair, you know, doesn't mean that giving in to your disillusionment or performing your awareness of the unfairness by sitting it out is necessarily a viable solution.
I mean, it is interesting, that last part especially, performing your awareness.
I feel like we see so much of that these days.
It's sort of like I'm going to perform something in lieu of actually taking an action where my voice is going to be counted in a more meaningful way.
And not that any action I want to discount.
If you believe in something and you want to stand up for it and say it, yes, do it.
But I often wonder whether sometimes we're doing that In lieu of taking a more concerted action that's actually really going to move the needle more.
Not just to our own detriment, but to the world's.
To the world's.
I think we have a stark double standard for each other on the left than we do for our opponents on the right.
And we'll be right back after a word from our sponsors. this goes beyond politics.
This goes to pretty much so many different points of view across all people, across almost every and any aspect of life that matters to us.
Um, you know, it also touches into the earlier conversation around Valerie Carr's work.
You know, the whole notion of revolutionary love is like is is there a way that we can approach people that we see as opponents, having opposing points of view?
Um And in some way, shape or form, step into that conversation from a place of empathy and compassion.
And that's your album, really building on her work that she offered out to the world in her book.
It's an imitation that I think a lot of us nod along.
We're like, yeah, wouldn't the world be so much better if we could do that?
And yet it is so hard.
And again, political divide is one thing, but these are just divides across generations, almost anything where we could disagree these days.
I feel like we've learned how to have strong beliefs and hold them fiercely.
But we haven't learned how to look at another person who believes the exact opposite and say look, I can't imagine a world where I agree with your point of view or your beliefs.
But I can still see you as a human being Worthy of life, worthy of attention, worthy of being heard as much as I want to be heard, which is part of the invitation, but a brutally hard thing to actualize in day-to-day life.
Not only is it hard to stay curious and to stay compassionate with your opponents.
If you look around now, it seems like it's become almost too hard for us to do that with our allies, with our community members.
So how can you know?
Valerie brilliantly articulates, you know, this idea of revolutionary love in all her work.
And, you know, she talks, she sort of breaks it down into three stages of the work, right?
So first, you know, you have to achieve self-love, right?
You know, in order to give it, you have to give it to yourself first.
This is the really tricky and elusive wisdom.
Which may be the hardest.
Yeah, right, right.
Just at the end of the day, right?
But, you know, start, start.
Yeah.
I think that in my subconscious way, I've tried to follow that process, which is why, when I encountered Valerie and her words, it was like just this deep yes yes yes yes, yes.
This is...
What I'm trying to do, too.
Thank you for showing it to me so that I can understand it better myself.
You know, just in the writing of my song say you know, support yourself, because the world is not necessarily doing so.
Like, say you are OK as you are.
This is your story and your perspective and your place in the universe.
And it's as legit as the next guy.
And then find your community and learn how to love them and work with them and be with them and make each other stronger through community and through those bonds.
And then, when you've done that, when you're safe and you're in community and you have what you need, you can then go into the third phase of that really hard work of face your opponent And try to take everything you have and everything you've learned within yourself and within your community and apply it to your opponent.
But we need to back up.
We need to back the F up and learn how to even be in community.
It's like we're out there raging against the intolerance of the right and we're so intolerant towards each other's differences.
You know, community doesn't mean sameness.
You know, we are not a monolith.
We have differences.
And if we can't work those differences and still work with and see each other and embrace each other in those differences, how can we demand that of the other?
And how can we engage with our opponents in any useful way?
And it's almost like then how can we feel safe enough to be able to then show up to people that we perceive as being opponents to us and actually listen again, not necessarily with the intent of being persuaded, but just open our ears and listen?
If we don't feel safe In our own hearts and then if we don't have community where we feel safe also, we're never going to show up outside of those bounds and actually be genuinely present and curious to anyone who sees the world in any meaningfully way different than us.
Yeah, I mean, it's been so many years now for me that I have this acute awareness within me that Yeah, when I'm facing the opponent and trying to engage, who I'm afraid of is my people.
That in my efforts of trying to engage and trying to help grow or heal and do that for myself and hope that it's contagious somehow I'm going to make a mistake of language or approach in a moment.
That's where my people are going to come after me, because that has been the pattern for a long time.
And that's the deepest, most debilitating fear that a human being can have.
It is so, you know, fighting the patriarchy from the beginning and feeling all that pushback and all the you know whatever, just being called a man-hater and a this-er and a that-er and being pushed to the side and pushed down and called all sorts of things and having the sort of all the carrots snatched back and you know, and becoming a sort of public enemy number one sort of feeling amongst the broader culture, or that never hurt me.
I mean, in any meaningful way.
You know, of course it did, but not even approaching the way that it hurts when your own tribe kicks you to the curb.
That makes you want to kill yourself.
And these days we are as ready to kick our family and friends and community members off the planet as we are any of the greatest evils you could imagine.
And I find myself in this, the tightest spot I've ever inhabited, trying to be, just trying to be.
I am more self-censoring now than I've been in my whole life.
It's coming from inside the house.
It's coming from inside the house.
We all know that phone call is way scarier.
And I wonder part of what's going on also part of what you're feeling, I think so many people are feeling also is there's no tolerance for quote mistakes.
So if you want to try to say something that you believe in, or try and take an action that you feel is meaningful, even if it's to try and bridge a gap and you make a misstep, there's so little tolerance now for us to just try and realize oh, I actually did something wrong.
I caused harm.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
Like that's on me.
I was trying to do the right thing, but I caused harm.
It's almost like there's a one and done mentality.
It's like, no, no, no, no.
Like you are now in purgatory for life.
Like you're canceled.
And I feel like if there's no space for attempt in redemption, then we all just stop trying.
Yeah.
And I feel like that's where so many people are now.
And also, you know, I think our definition of harm has gotten a little broad.
You know, I heard somebody say recently, or read some can't remember where but people are conflating, being uncomfortable with being harmed.
You know, so, yes, we absolutely need to be able to make mistakes, and I've made so many.
And At this point, I feel grateful that some of them were made before the internet.
You know, when a mistake doesn't live forever and always everywhere.
But also, one person's mistake is another person's not mistake.
And there are legitimately differing perspectives about what's the right way to say this or what's the right action right here.
What's the right perspective on this?
It's just the idea that it's okay to have differences.
It really is actually essential, and that uncomfortableness of navigating those differences is also okay.
It's part of the process.
And being so sure of your way and so sure that the other's way is wrong, I think can be again maybe the biggest problem that we're facing here.
That's, of course, my perspective, you know, just trying to be an engaged person on the left.
I think a lot of us are feeling, I think no matter what your point of view is, or your political affiliation, your personal affiliation, whatever groups you feel like you're aligned with or not aligned with, it's almost like everybody is feeling that in some way. shape or form right now and it's it's you know it's it's we we're really having trouble seeing the human beneath the belief and acknowledging the fact like simply because you exist as a human being on the planet like you are worthy of some level of dignity you know even if you see the world completely differently for me and i vehemently disagree with you and you vehemently disagree with me it's like by the end of the day like we're part of like one larger fabric humanity um and there's like i just to me like dignity is a birthright and we've lost that thread in in a lot of ways and we'll be right back after a word from our sponsors i mean when you it's interesting to me when you're you know you've been touring for 35 years now something like that yeah plus or minus i would imagine the experience of touring And being in relation to audiences and communities has changed profoundly over that period of time.
So you sort of have like a front row seat to how people come together and how the vibe, the energy changes and shifts over time.
And you yourself have changed.
You can't be doing this from your late teens to your 50s and be locked into the same person.
I guess you could.
Yeah.
But it's not yeah, it wouldn't be saying much about you know, like your own personal, just evolution and growth.
When you think back to sort of like 18 19-year-old Ani and who you are and how you show up and what you care about now, do you see really meaningful differences or do you see it's like mostly?
Oh, yeah.
Yeah.
Oh, yeah.
You know, and I actually you know, I look back at you know, youthful the youths, The energy of youth is so valuable and so important in making change.
But it's also extremely arrogant, you know, extremely, you know.
And so, of course, that was true of me as any young person.
I had a lot more of what I was just talking about where I was quite sure that my way is the right way.
And I could see how everybody... who was doing it wrong, was doing it wrong.
And also, you know, just on a sort of deeper, sort of more energetic, before all the ideas and the philosophies and the stances and the tribes come into it, just even carrying ideas about hierarchy of people.
You know that I think I've done a lot of work to divest myself of its ongoing work, obviously to not put yourself above anybody ever.
But on this same flow of conversation, you know I was cancelled on the internet once in a big way and it was devastating to me, you know physically emotionally, every way, for years.
It was years of, And I never fully, you know I never recovered in that.
Oh, I can still do the things I used to do.
But one of the very, I think, valuable ways that it changed me is that, you know, I feel like I experience things in this way world and in my life, as sort of visceral, energetic.
I can almost picture the sort of energetic stamp of a moment.
And that moment for me was like having this huge huge, like many many, many people pushing down on me, pushing me down.
You're bad, you're bad.
And they pushed and pushed down and they're you know, I was beneath them.
I was far beneath.
And, you know, there was, you know, that shame, shaming.
And it was such a visceral experience and it was so potent.
And from that, I am much more hyper aware of when I'm interacting with somebody.
And I mean, you know, to just be vivid about it, like you know, a junkie on the street with no teeth, and you know and saying some, you know when I feel that thing in me where I'm putting myself above this person, or somehow in my mind or within myself I'm pushing this person down.
I feel it now.
I feel because I was on the other side of that equation in such a striking way.
When I put myself on, on, you know, above anybody else, I'm aware of it.
And I, you know, and I start working to shut it down to to get bigger in that moment, you know, like this person who's, you know, just jumped into my path and wants something, or wants to engage in some way, or whatever.
You know, it's like, turn that thing off.
That's a toxic thing.
Don't let that live in you.
I know one of the things and if you sort of follow your music, your presence over time, over a period of decades, you know there's always been this balance of I don't know if this language is going to be right but fierceness and sweetness.
You know, like there's a fierce conviction and there's also like an invitation to be included.
And almost from the outside, looking in, you know, it looks like in the very early days the fierceness was here and the sweetness, or the kindness, the joyfulness even, was here.
And it's like over a period of time, they're slowly rebalancing a bit.
Does that land at all?
Yeah, I mean, sure.
I think though, that if you don't have space to exist in the world, within society, there's a certain amount of fierceness that's appropriate.
A hundred percent.
You know.
So, even just in my experience of my personal, of oppression in terms of being female or maybe being queer,
You know, those were you know, and certainly you can just go on and on from there and fierceness is appropriate.
And I think, and the fact that it would outmatch your sweetness when you don't have what you need to be is just a rational, But again, I feel like following Valerie's path or the way she articulated her vision of how you do this revolutionary love stuff.
That's what I was doing.
I was fiercely trying to elbow out room for myself and my community.
And that work, that was the work to do.
At that time.
You know, each of us has a different role to play in this work of revolutionary love, and our role changes as we change.
So once I did become safe and, you know, to a degree where I had enough room to breathe, then I can bring in more of the tenderness, more of the humility, more of the that wasn't appropriate in an endangered situation.
Yeah, and maybe my analogy was off in that it's not a seesaw where it's sort of like one side goes up and the other.
Maybe so you can hold on to the fierceness and slowly, over time, let that other side rise up to meet it, where one doesn't have to go down.
Yeah, I like that.
Yeah, well said.
We're having this conversation also at the moment where...
So you started your own label, 88-ish from what I remember, 90-something.
Yeah, I guess 90 officially, but yeah.
And so it's always been just deeply important to you to have independence in this industry, like where you've really just carved out your own path and created a path for so many others.
Does the mission that led you in those early days to want to start Righteous Babe, your own label, largely in the early days for you?
And then, over time, bringing people in who oftentimes you know the larger industry.
It wasn't a voice they were interested in supporting.
And you're like, no, this voice needs to be heard.
Has there been evolution?
Just in?
Certainly, the way that you look at what you've created at Righteous Babe and what it's there to do.
It was always about community first and about sort of coming from the outside into culture and trying to, you know, poke some holes in the edifice, you know.
And so even before, back when I was the only Righteous Babe artist, the dream was the same that I not be the only and that it be a place of refuge for others like me who are trying to make a career in music.
But it's not, or it's not a saleable commodity, you know.
And so over the decades that has been realized, and I think more so now than ever, which really does my heart good.
Yeah, there's a real, real concerted effort at the label in community building.
And so that's not just me to every artist, like You know, of course, it's very helpful for me to bring an artist out on the road with me.
You know and share the stage and you know, stand in front of my audience and point at them and sort of use my networks or my team, but also each with each other.
You know that's sort of the new driving, sort of ethos at the label is you know, Can we make a community that I could even step out of or evaporate from, or that still you know where that still can be a supportive place for other artists?
So, yeah.
Yeah, I think there's been a lot of evolving and stretching at the mothership over the years.
And I mean, the whole industry has changed so much over that time also.
Mm-hmm.
You have some in great ways and some not so great ways.
But it's interesting to see you really sustain with this deep conviction to supporting voices your own in the early days, and now more, who don't check all the boxes that the mainstream industry would be like.
Oh hell yeah, we're all in on this.
And along the way, you're creating music, you're creating music, you're creating community.
Um, you're also creating art.
Like you're creating things that go into the world and move people in deep ways.
I was literally, um, before our conversation, I was like a couple, two days ago, hiking.
I'm, I'm on a trail in the front range of the Rocky mountains at 7,000 feet.
Um, I have some of your music in my ear and and normally don't listen to anything, but I was like I just want to kind of like catch up on your music.
Cause I'm sitting down with you.
Yeah.
And, um, Your song, 32 Flavors, comes in.
And so I'm listening to it.
My heart rate softens.
I feel my eyes just kind of like soften.
And like a minute later, I realize like there are tears rolling down my face.
These aren't tears of sadness.
These are tears of recognition, tears of awakening.
And it was interesting because I was wondering, I'm like, oh, this is really beautiful.
And I'm wondering- if you have a sense, like what it's like to be on the other side, of being able to create art that goes into the world and moves people like that?
Like, do you feel that, being the one who creates that for so many others?
I'm more and more aware that I am one of the others.
I'm, you know, on one level yeah, I'm standing there singing, but on another level, I'm standing there listening.
And that was the whole game, was to heal.
And it doesn't matter if you're the singer or the listener.
The music is the thing, right?
So yes, I know that experience myself and that transformation.
And I just feel like I finally arrived at this place where I thoroughly understand in myself that I mean even to hear you use the word creator.
Yeah, so maybe on one level I created this song, but as I get older I don't see it that way as clearly.
What is becoming more and more clear is that I, you know, the word gifted really, really connects with me now, because I feel like I was not a creator so much as a receiver.
I was given gifts.
I was giving gifts from somewhere else, from across the veil.
I was giving gifts from spirit.
My guides.
People were very generous with me and gave me things that I could use to help heal myself and lo and behold others.
But I feel like I'm as innocent a bystander in this process as anyone, you know.
I remember years ago sitting down with the author Steve Pressfield, and we were having a conversation about where the music exists.
Does it come from within us or does it exist out there and it comes through us?
And he's very much of the belief that it exists out there.
And our job is largely just to open to it to show up on a regular enough basis so that when it wants to pour into and through us, we're there for it.
And we're largely transcribing.
Yeah.
Well, yeah.
Again, these things don't need to be framed as mutually exclusive.
Within us is out there.
Out there is within us.
And going in is how you make the antenna go up.
Yet it is simultaneously going deep inside and ending up in the vastness.
You wrote a song, If You're Not.
2010-ish, I think.
Okay, yeah.
And there's a line in there, if you're not getting happier as you get older, you're fucking up.
Yeah.
Does that land with you now also?
Oh, yeah.
For sure.
Yeah.
I mean, even when I again, when I wrote it and when I sang it first sang it, it wasn't thoroughly of me.
And it's like, it's not something I want to hear any more than the next guy.
Yeah. because I don't always feel like I'm getting happier.
The process is not linear.
But I still deeply believe it, or this message that sort of I was given, you know, in that sense.
Like, yeah, actually, you know, I think just...
Always increasing your level of gratitude.
You know, that's, you know, happy is a funny word, but you know what I mean.
You know what I mean.
You know, it's inner peace.
Then content.
Yeah.
Your most recent album, Unprecedented Shit.
Isn't it a really interesting departure?
You know, for years, you know, it sounds like your process had been largely okay.
It's Ani in a room.
Yeah, guitar or whatever the instrument may be working on stuff, largely producing your own music and putting it out into the world, like sometimes collaborating, but often still like largely in charge, largely.
You made a really interesting decision to collaborate in a really substantial way and also invite some really different sounds than I've heard come out of your work in the past.
I'm curious what was behind that.
Well, Even you know, sort of out there on my own in my little tiny world trying to make records where I'm not just the singer and guitar player, I'm the recordist, the mixer, the producer.
Within myself, I was for years wanting more collaboration wanting, you know, and I can hear my often feeble attempts at bringing the sound of the modern world into my Luddite art, you know, because machines, for instance, are such a part of our daily life now.
And we live in this world of machines and devices and you know, it's almost like we're as like hybrid species, now sort of cyborgs.
And...
And this reality seemed to just like evaporate within my art or within my recordings.
You know, then it was.
I mean, I guess instruments are machines, an old form of music machine, but really drawing this, the modern world that I'm living in, in its presence, into music.
You know, my recordings was something I was attempting on my own.
But I don't know all these machines.
I don't know what they're called and I don't know where to get them and I don't know how to use them.
And I don't even... I tried for a lot of years to be that guy.
Even just learn how to use a compressor and an EQ and, you know, let alone all the effects.
But now the world has grown and diversified and you know, there's just all this insane stuff out there available to those who are living in that world.
So finally I was like, I'm done trying to get there on my own.
Let me draw in somebody who actually is young enough and able enough that they're living in this modern world and can bring machines to the party.
You know, I don't know.
And it's just an instinctual thing.
I certainly, it's just as legitimate to say, no, I'm going to keep it really old school.
But I think that this new record Unprecedented Shit is a study in contrasts, you know, because there's a lot of moments on the record where it just is a voice and guitar, sometimes maybe just a voice and a blurping sound, you know.
So it's, there's some really basic stuff happening and then there's some really expansive and modern stuff happening.
But so yeah,
Sometimes within the same song.
Yeah.
Right.
Yeah.
Yeah.
So that was the, that was the collaboration that I was hoping for.
So BJ really brought it.
I was so curious.
I've heard you say that the way that you develop this and tell me if this is right is you kind of did the music first and you laid it down on guitar and then your voice and send it to him to sort of like do his thing.
Um, I'm so curious what the difference was between those early tracks that you sent him and then what you got back from him and where you're kind of like whoa.
Yeah.
Some of it took some acclimating.
You know on my part, you know where.
You know the guitar, for instance, is de-emphasized on a lot of the moments on that record.
You know, and subliminally within myself, I consider that, you know, half my voice, you know, right?
So it's like, wait, what?
Yeah.
So sometimes I had to take a beat and just be like, okay, all right, why not?
Why not?
You know, and people were.
I knew from conversations I was having when the record came out.
They were, You know, sometimes the guitar was eliminated.
Sometimes it was turned into a whole other sound, you know, and people, So this sort of murky keyboard that starts the record.
No, that's my guitar.
It's actually all my guitar, all these sounds, which is the cool... Oh, that's wild.
You know, BJ lives in a spaceship.
You know I mean seriously, if I could show you a picture of his studio.
It's just like NASA or something, but more colorful, you know, like
What are all these?
So those are like all just manipulated guitar.
Yeah.
Yeah.
For the most part, like he really did take the raw materials I sent him and you know make, you know decoupage or whatever.
He was like, he just using them to create is like found sculpture.
Very different.
And I, I, I loved it.
I was like, this is really interesting and different and cool.
Yeah.
And it also kept the essence of you.
You were still front and center.
The last song on the album, I think it's the last song, The Knowing, which really landed for me.
And this is a song which basically says underneath this and this and this and this, there is a knowing that other people might not see, but you know.
This is true for you.
So if I were to turn that back on you and say, like underneath Ani the musician, underneath Ani the parent, the performer, the public personality, like what is the knowing?
Like, what is the deep truth in you?
What bubbles up?
I mean that you know we are, I am and we are one with Source and with each other, and And we're actually.
You know it's funny all this talking we did about opponents, because as I get older I'm more aware that there's actually no such thing as an opponent.
We're all actually on the same side.
That's the bummer.
That's the deep bummer.
Our lack of recognition that we actually all come here with the same purpose.
We're united.
We're on the same team.
And we're just trying to move the needle towards unconditional love and compassion.
And we're teaching each other about this goal, about this united purpose, in brutal ways, but we actually have the same purpose.
And some of us are doing better than others, and some days better than other days.
But yeah, in this age of identity, you know, I do worry about how much our investment in our individual identities and stories and labels are in the way of the recognition of that oneness and that united goal.
So that's yeah.
The Knowing is possibly my favorite song on the new record because it It sort of encompasses everything I've been working on internally and moving towards in this phase of my life which is just trying to stay in that awareness that even the most brutal people in my life are here to help me achieve that goal and I them.
Feels like a good place for us to come full circle as well.
So last question.
In this container of Good Life Project, if I offer up the phrase to live a good life, what comes up?
I think having something that you're really inspired to do and being free to do it.
And then having people and other beings that are not human being connected.
Just being in your purpose and being connected ends.
Thank you, hey.
Before you leave, if you love this episode, say.
But you'll also love the conversation we had with zoe bookbinder, joined by annie defranco and nathan brown, about the prison music project, a powerful collaboration born inside new folsom prison that became the album long time gone, produced by annie and featuring songs written with incarcerated and formerly incarcerated musicians.
You'll find a link for that episode in the show notes.
Do me a personal favor, a seven second favor share it with just one person.
I mean, if you want to share it with more, that's awesome too, but just one person even then invite them to talk with you about what you've both discovered, to reconnect and explore ideas that really matter, because that's how we all come alive together.
Until next time, I'm Jonathan Fields signing off for Good Life Project.
