| The Decision That Almost Derailed Her Career |
| By Jonathan Widran Music Connection magazine March 3-16, 2003, Issue #5 |
| Don't feel bad if Dar Williams hasn't blipped on your musical radar screen
just yet. After all, folk-rock isn't the cross-over force it was during the
last era when we were protesting war, and maybe you were tuned to Top 40
radio in 1997 when Williams' third Razor & Tie release, End of the Summer,
made her the highest charting independent artist on Triple-A radio. You probably weren't in London, either, when the native New Englander filled Queen Elizabeth Hall, and maybe there were just too many bigger names to pay attention to at Lilith Fair. But there's good news for Dar Williams and all up-and-coming singer/songwriters committed to going the distance via the indie route. If you're good, respected artists will sing your praises. Richard Thompson and Bruce Cockburn, who toured with Williams as Real Life Songs, are among her fans. Joan Baez, who has recorded three of Williams' songs and toured the U.S. and Europe with her, invited the politically active songstress to help support the broadcast freedom of public radio's KPFA in Berkeley. Ani DiFranco toured Australia with Williams in 1998; folk music's patron saint, Pete Seeger, performed on Conan O'Brien with her, and the Indigo Girls joined her at a benefit show on Alcatraz Island. The list continues with Alison Krauss (who Williams once opened for in Ireland), John Medeski, Stefan Lessard from the Dave Matthews Band, John Popper, and contemporary jazz greats Bela Fleck and Chris Botti--who make cameos on Williams' just-released sixth solo album, The Beauty of the Rain. Most importantly, Dar Williams has hundreds of devoted fans (one critic calls them "Darheads," some have called them "the DARmy"), many of whom follow her from show to show and create Web sites in her honor. Fact is, it's kind of hard to truly ignore a female artist who writes and sings songs with titles like "When I Was A Boy," and "I Won't Be Your Yoko Ono." Raised in Chappaqua, NY, Dar Williams attended Wesleyan University in Connecticut then moved to Boston in 1990 to explore a career in theatre. Three years later, she left for the artsy atmosphere of Northampton, MA, where she recorded her first indie CD, The Honesty Room. The disc was picked up by Waterbug Records and later re-released, with two new tracks by NY indie Razor & Tie (home to Graham Parker and Marshall Crenshaw). The Honesty Room sold close to 100,000 copies and Williams' follow-up, Mortal City, not only outsold it, but introduced her to a whole sea of critical acclaim. (To date, she has sold upwards of 600,000 albums.) Released in 2000, The Green World--an ode to the differences between country and city life as once defined by Shakespeare--was produced by Stewart Lerman and recorded in Woodstock, NY. The brand new The Beauty of the Rain, also helmed by Lerman (with Rob Hyman) is inspired by this unique woman's own experiences as she made the recent transition from Massachusetts to New York City. Music Connection: Many of the songs on The Beauty of the Rain seem to capture people in a state of flux. Did this arise from an overall concept? Dar Williams: My albums are usually a collection of songs which reflect a chapter of my life. Later, I may look back and see that a theme has developed, but there's no one catalyst that gets me started. I think I'm less adolescent on this album than I've ever been, in that I'm just more understanding about people and life. I have more of a worldly wisdom about the reality that sometimes they can be awful and very poor communicators. But there's nothing in the songs about blaming them for this. I see now that we're capable of a dynamic range of communication, and I see things in a simpler light. The Green World was about looking at things on a big cosmic level, but this project was more about life, one conversation at a time. MC: You mean New York conversations, now? Williams: Yes. It's very different from the college town where I lived in Massachusetts. Kids there would be asking these big important questions all the time, but in Manhattan, you just get up, do things and then do more things as your day progresses. I like that a lot. Just living your life and maybe stopping on occasion to think about it as it's in progress. There's less master planning, less obeying your caution. MC: In the months since you finished the album, the drumbeats of war with Iraq have been pounding. How have world events impacted you as an artist? Williams: After 9/11, someone sent me a heavy e-mail equating the fact that I didn't write a song about the tragedy with the idea that I had no reaction. I did have a strong grieving reaction, and I was surprised how much I grieved for those lost and for my adopted hometown. (Evolutionary biologist) Stephen Jay Gould once said that civilization takes an immeasurable number of small acts of kindness to build and only one small group of sociopaths to destroy it. Artists have to make sense of ourselves and the world and how we respond to it. In the struggle to be popular and make a living doing this, it's been easy at times for me to lose sight of the fact that I'm contributing to building a civilization. ... So I hate what the government has done here, the paranoia which prevails. Paranoia, brinksmanship and blame so easily tear all that hard work down. MC: People really respond to your between-song monologues. Do you script all that out? Williams: I always plan what I'm going to say, but it's sort of a loose fit rather than a whole plot summary giving away the song. I love trying out new anecdotes, and there's a hit and miss quality to that process. I know I've said things that are practically untranslatable, and which I wish I could take back. If a new intro is effective, I'll repeat it, but not word for word. My husband Michael was once an actor, and so he's good at providing some objectivity. As for other artists, I've noticed that those who don't talk between songs tend to lose the audience. The folk-rock audience likes that open window into the performer. You've got to grab them with a theatrical performance or some spark between tunes. MC: What's your take on Los Angeles? Have you done much performing there? Williams: I've played at The Troubadour numerous times, and the Gene Autry and Henry Ford theatres. The funny thing is that there are so many transplanted New Yorkers in L.A., and they have the same gripes as they have in New York. Always bitching about mass transit and the need for more. I've had a great time in L.A. People know what they've got--beautiful beaches, great food and weather. They glow not just with plastic surgery, but good health. But I have to be careful what I say when I perform. I made one comment to the audience about sincerity in L.A. being an import, and they laughed politely, but didn't want to hear any more digs. MC: You have a devoted Internet fan base, and those fans have contributed to your success. But when you have such devotees, do you ever worry that either as a performer or political activist, you might let them down. Williams: There have been unofficial fan sites up for a few years, but Razor & Tie launched an official online community just a few months ago and 600 people signed up on the first day. The site has called these folks the "DARmy," but with all the war talk, I have suggested a changed to my "E-team." When you're a subculture artist and you make your indiehood part of your sociopolitical statement, naturally people out there are going to identify with you and take it upon themselves to be your representatives. My mom even does that at the Borders in the town where I grew up! [Laughs] MC: What is it like to be something of a cult artist? Williams: I think I'm a strange person to build a cult following around. I'm very passionate about making music and about the many environmental causes I support and raise funds for (among them, solar power, environmental land protection, The Nature Conservancy, the electricity conservation group Clearwater and the movement to legalize industrial hemp), but I'm really not extreme. And, I'm very much a work in progress. I've been so many people myself--humorless intolerant feminist, Christian, Buddhist, really bad girl. All of these are parts of my life. No one prescription for a certain way of life comes across onstage. MC: Do you ever worry that your fans are not exactly getting your true message? Williams: I do hope they're gravitating to my belief that music is cultural and culture is important. In the beginning, I wondered what I would have to do to be successful, and I realized that the power was in the songs. My fans seem to be able to relate to the folks I'm singing about in tunes like "When I Was A Boy," which women liked because it helped them understand they still need to look out for men. Others said they had babysitters like the one I sang about in "My Hippy Babysitter." MC: They obviously like the various ways you help to build civilization. Williams: I'm totally for building civilization, and we can do that first through education, which is why I support a program that has an arts outreach for kids. Then there's the clean environment. I want to create a harmonious little beehive around myself. It's exciting when an artist can get people excited about these things. They give a voice to the more anonymous people working for these causes behind the scenes. MC: What's your impression of public radio station KCRW, which has had an impact on the national music market? Williams: On its own level, it's very profound and it succeeds in getting a great deal of interesting lower profile music to fascinating places. You might get some crazy divorced lesbian creating some kick-ass women's show that will suddenly electrify people in small towns in Montana or something. Or, more practically, those listeners might become huge Celtic music freaks. Something very foreign then has a foothold. Stations like KCRW have been a reassuringly strong presence. MC: In a recent interview with MC, Tom Petty said his management deal is basically on a handshake basis. What is your arrangement with your manager, Ron Fierstein Entertainment? Williams: I have both an excellent real-life contract and that sort of trust you're talking about. I remember when my lawyer was negotiating it and he called and said he got the perfect deal, very fair and generous. It's much more of a formal business arrangement than the one I had with my first managers, Young/Hunter, who I was with for five years. That manager broke his back for me, but I also dated him for a while in between the strictly work eras. We were on a total crusade to break me and let things develop organically. The focus was hard work and holding onto those youthful ideals. Ron was the best choice for me once I became more established. He makes everything I want to do both politically and creatively not only a possibility, but an eventual success. He has enormous insight about me and respect for how I get things done. He also has a great instinct for people. Ron literally met my producer Stewart Lerman in the street one day, and the two got to talking. They hit it off and Ron knew he'd be the right guy for my projects, knew he'd bring the right synergy. MC: What's the nature of your deal with Razor & Tie? Do you own your publishing? Williams: I own all my publishing and always have. It made sense to keep it in light of the contract I signed with the label, which characterizes me as a developing artist amid more established names like Graham Parker and Marshall Crenshaw. The freedom I have has really helped me foster this full-scale career I am now enjoying. It's a revolutionary contract, really, because they don't own my albums; I do. There's a business concept called "cross-collateralization," which means that if your one album hasn't recouped its expenses, the company doesn't have to pay your royalties on the other. We have avoided this, so that I get royalties from my work either way. Ron works closely with them. It really helps to have a great manager. MC: Do you ever get writer's block? And if so, are there any special techniques you use to spark new creativity? Williams: Of course, we all do. It's funny because if your life is running smoothly, you spend your time very much distracted from the creative endeavors which were once the only thing you worried about. You're making dinner, making phone calls, doing dishes, paying bills, taking care of business. You're more focused on the business of living than creating. So I make time from all that to focus on getting to a space which will mess with all that. Doing idiosyncratic things that will make creative association happen. Going to a museum, or the incredible St. John The Divine cathedral which is in the neighborhood. Keeping my nose to the grindstone. There are sacrifices, though. One friend seemed upset that I hadn't spent time with him lately, but I said that when I have an extra 15 minutes, I need to be writing or going for a walk, absorbing life out there, entertaining whimsy. MC: What is the biggest mistake you've made in your career? Williams: For the most part, everything's been great. But one time early in my career, I was the opening act for a major artist, and hanging backstage, when her A&R guy started up a conversation with me. Or rather, he was spewing numbers at me and scoffing, basically implying that his artist was a big shot with bigger Soundscan and attendance figures because she was on a major. And who did I think I was being this indie, compared to that? I sold well in that city after the show, but I was so susceptible in those days, I just lost all my confidence in that moment. I got a call when I got home, asking me if I wanted to do a major tour with that artist, that they needed my go-ahead. And I said no. Later, of course, I got to a place of acceptance about who I was, what I was all about, and I realized I had my own special place in all this. I could deal with everything now. I probably could have gotten to this point in my career much quicker if I'd not had that crisis and had not made that bad snap decision. MC: And the best decision you've made? Williams: Touring with Joan Baez, which helped launch my career to a bigger level. That and the fact that I just kept doing what I've always wanted to do. -30- |