A day after she thrilled a large crowd at the New Orleans Jazz Fest's Sheraton Fais Do-Do Stage, contemporary folk singer Ani DiFranco
- dressed once again in a gray tank top - gave fans a peek behind her
methods and motivations Friday at the Allison Miner Music Heritage
Stage.
Most seats in the grandstand stage area were full as DiFranco chatted
with Times-Picayune contributor Alison Fensterstock. DiFranco is an
outspoken advocate for various left-leaning causes and candidates. She
underscored the role musicians can, and should, play to rally the
troops.
"You have to be constantly uplifted and affirmed. Music uplifts. Music connects. It has a place in everything. There are things you can do through music that you can't do any other way."
As an example, she told a story about a trip to Burma, where she met with activists and exiles working against the ruling military junta. "I show up, all white and privileged: 'Hi. I'm from another planet!' The distance between us was real and huge."
But after several children in the group started singing, and DiFranco joined in, "we went from suspicious strangers to family. That's what music does."
When Fensterstock suggested DiFranco take a moment to play a song, onlookers shouted requests. DiFranco decided to play the first title she heard - until she couldn't recall the proper guitar tuning. "Maybe I'll play the second one I heard."
That turned out to be "Fire Door," from her self-titled 1990 debut album. She accompanied herself with a bout of nimble finger-picking on an acoustic guitar. Later in Friday's session, she also showcased "Swan Dive," from 1998's "Little Plastic Castle."
Those held up well, but not all the entries in her 200 songs-plus catalog do. She mocked her own, younger self's lyrical earnestness: "Somebody's got to be interested in how I feel, because I'm here, and real!" Such unchecked self-importance leads to "a song a 19-year-old would write."
One person she didn't necessarily want to share her feelings with was her mother. When she first started playing coffeehouses and clubs in Buffalo, N.Y., she would get embarrassed when her mother showed up: "Oh, my mom's here. Now I can't sing anything I've written."
Comedians are a major source of inspiration, DiFranco said, as they are often fearless about addressing personal and social issues in public. She has come to grips with sharing elements of her own life via her songs. "There's nothing personal. There's only universal." That said, she must grapple with the resultant "bizarre intimacy with strangers. It's a hard thing to negotiate ... The most adoring person will get the angriest when you draw the line."
Twenty years ago, she founded her own record label, Righteous Babe, which shielded her from the major music industry meltdowns of the past decade. Despite her prolific output, she views record-making as "peripheral to my perception of myself as a working musician."
Her output has slowed in recent years; her new "Which Side Are You On?" is her first studio album in four years. In part, the slow-down is due to the satisfaction she now derives from her home life. She lives in New Orleans with her husband, record producer Mike Napolitano, and their 5-year-old daughter, Petah.
"The fire in my belly was more blazing when I was younger," she admitted. "I needed to connect with people. Now that I have unconditional love in my family, I'm not that desperate. I can go home to it."
Like any job, "you have to find new ways of being thrilled. There are so many other places to make art from other than desperation."
Including New Orleans. Since moving here, she has immersed herself in the local music community. "New Orleans is a hotbed of happy music. I was really inspired when I first came down here. I've been challenging myself to write happy songs now that I'm happy."
In addition to a source of happiness, a toddler, it turns out, may also be the ultimate security guard. After shows, DiFranco joked that she is bombarded with requests for "hugs and autographs and a lock of hair and 'sign my boob' and 'kiss my girlfriend.'"
If Petah was present, however, she indicated it was time for Mommy to go home with a simple declaration: "Aaaah!" "Even before she could speak English, she was very clear," DiFranco said. "She's much more real than I am."
"You have to be constantly uplifted and affirmed. Music uplifts. Music connects. It has a place in everything. There are things you can do through music that you can't do any other way."
As an example, she told a story about a trip to Burma, where she met with activists and exiles working against the ruling military junta. "I show up, all white and privileged: 'Hi. I'm from another planet!' The distance between us was real and huge."
But after several children in the group started singing, and DiFranco joined in, "we went from suspicious strangers to family. That's what music does."
When Fensterstock suggested DiFranco take a moment to play a song, onlookers shouted requests. DiFranco decided to play the first title she heard - until she couldn't recall the proper guitar tuning. "Maybe I'll play the second one I heard."
That turned out to be "Fire Door," from her self-titled 1990 debut album. She accompanied herself with a bout of nimble finger-picking on an acoustic guitar. Later in Friday's session, she also showcased "Swan Dive," from 1998's "Little Plastic Castle."
Those held up well, but not all the entries in her 200 songs-plus catalog do. She mocked her own, younger self's lyrical earnestness: "Somebody's got to be interested in how I feel, because I'm here, and real!" Such unchecked self-importance leads to "a song a 19-year-old would write."
One person she didn't necessarily want to share her feelings with was her mother. When she first started playing coffeehouses and clubs in Buffalo, N.Y., she would get embarrassed when her mother showed up: "Oh, my mom's here. Now I can't sing anything I've written."
Comedians are a major source of inspiration, DiFranco said, as they are often fearless about addressing personal and social issues in public. She has come to grips with sharing elements of her own life via her songs. "There's nothing personal. There's only universal." That said, she must grapple with the resultant "bizarre intimacy with strangers. It's a hard thing to negotiate ... The most adoring person will get the angriest when you draw the line."
Twenty years ago, she founded her own record label, Righteous Babe, which shielded her from the major music industry meltdowns of the past decade. Despite her prolific output, she views record-making as "peripheral to my perception of myself as a working musician."
Her output has slowed in recent years; her new "Which Side Are You On?" is her first studio album in four years. In part, the slow-down is due to the satisfaction she now derives from her home life. She lives in New Orleans with her husband, record producer Mike Napolitano, and their 5-year-old daughter, Petah.
"The fire in my belly was more blazing when I was younger," she admitted. "I needed to connect with people. Now that I have unconditional love in my family, I'm not that desperate. I can go home to it."
Like any job, "you have to find new ways of being thrilled. There are so many other places to make art from other than desperation."
Including New Orleans. Since moving here, she has immersed herself in the local music community. "New Orleans is a hotbed of happy music. I was really inspired when I first came down here. I've been challenging myself to write happy songs now that I'm happy."
In addition to a source of happiness, a toddler, it turns out, may also be the ultimate security guard. After shows, DiFranco joked that she is bombarded with requests for "hugs and autographs and a lock of hair and 'sign my boob' and 'kiss my girlfriend.'"
If Petah was present, however, she indicated it was time for Mommy to go home with a simple declaration: "Aaaah!" "Even before she could speak English, she was very clear," DiFranco said. "She's much more real than I am."