delphinecormeir
you have a girlfriend, you giant gay
my girlfriend’s response to me freaking out over annie clark, and quite possibly my favorite thing anyone’s ever said to me (via delphinecormeir)

I love when people say “you have a girlfriend” whenever I profess my undying love for Annie Clark because I feel like they are saying that if I was single Annie Clark would be a real option.

uptightcitizensbrigade

Anonymous asked:

top 6 fave charecteristics about annie (personality and/or physical)

ifuckinglovestvincent answered:

6. her face is pretty good.

5. her eyes omfg.

4. rules the entire planet while brainwashing the masses into thinking she is a human being without a cult leader agenda, which i’m totally ok with and somewhat admire.

3. her music is pretty good.

2. her brain terrifies me.

1. plays guitar somewhat decently.

uptightcitizensbrigade:

ifuckinglovestvincent:

For the humor challenged: I thought by having a shrine like blog called “ifuckinglovestvincent” that is literally nothing but posts about St. Vincent and how and why she’s perfect, it would be obvious that I think her playing is slightly better than decent. Maybe mediocre.

ok, but you still failed to note the best thing about her… How she mounts men and forces them to carry her around under the threat of crushing their skulls with her thunder thighs.

severe jealousy blocked that one from my memory. good one though. good one.

To me [growing up], there was never a lexicon for ‘feminism’. I’m surrounded by strong women who are self-determining and rad. What becomes a murky, difficult territory is where people assume a victimhood. You know, I’ve had so many interviews with people looking at me with ‘Oh, you poor thing’ eyes. ‘Oh, you know, it must be so hard for you.’ I’m going, are you kidding me? I’m my own boss. I travel the world. ‘Oh, you poor thing’? I’m not a victim. It’s tricky territory, I think, because I was never raised to see myself in that regard. I was raised to be self-actualising.
Annie Clark / St. Vincent

Start Making Sense [ St. Vincent | The Sunday Times // 19 Oct 2014]

Meet Annie Clark, aka St Vincent, a female Bowie or Byrne for the digital age, who’s about to break into the mainstream

By: Louis Wise
Published: 19 October 2014

You can tell a lot about somebody from their couch. Annie Clark, who writes and performs as St Vincent, is no different. She did have a type of settee, but it was no ordinary one; it was something a friend had made for her, a “complete rip-off” of the artist Donald Judd’s day bed — a stylish and angular construction that you won’t find in the DFS sale. So far, so Clark; aesthete to the core. But it had its limitations.

“I loved looking at it. It was gorgeous,” Clark says wistfully. “But my friend isn’t a couch maker, he simply works with wood, and it was The. Most. Uncomfortable. Thing. Ever. So there’s not a proper cushion for it, and it’s hodgepodge, and you’re slipping around, and you can’t even sit upright on it.” She shrugs. “I loved looking at it, but I never sat on it. So I finally got a couch. I screwed that up, too. Story for another time.”

Trust Clark to slip and slide around on an avant-garde sofa; trust her to see sense, and try to normalise, and fail. Hopefully this doesn’t sound too facile, but you could compare her elegant, ambitious, textured rock to her home furnishings. St Vincent’s fourth solo opus, released earlier this year, really is a breakthrough for the Oklahoma-born, Texas-raised 32-year-old: that thrilling point when an avant-garde artist becomes fully accessible. But, endearingly, always on her terms. Sure, as earlier this year, she will perform on Later… with Jools Holland, but she will opt to spend a couple of precious minutes of airtime not singing, but rolling down a big staircase. She’s that kind of rock star.

Clark has always been a critics’ darling: when you can write, sing and dance, and you’re beautiful and stylish, and you can shred a guitar like nobody’s business (honestly, the things she does with a guitar), this is a given. But that’s the thing when you have so much at your disposal: what to choose? St Vincent, the album, is Clark’s clearest, most coherent proposition yet. It’s self-titled, in recognition of Miles Davis’s maxim that the hardest thing to do as a musician is to sound like yourself. (The St Vincent moniker itself, typically poetic and oblique, is a reference to both a Nick Cave song and an old family name.) But Clark has pulled it off.

“I have a lot of ideas,” she confirms. “There are a lot of ways that I could fill up 3½ minutes of music. But taking away things that didn’t feel like they served the heart of the song was a conscious decision.” In other words, she says, she wanted to be more — another long, considered pause — “focused. And it’s nice.”

Sitting in the restaurant at the Ace Hotel, in Shoreditch, Clark projects, as in her performances, a sense of attentive stillness, her engagement tempered by a light wariness, and jet lag. She is in transit, as she has been for much of the year, for much of the past decade, in fact, performing first with Polyphonic Spree, then Sufjan Stevens, and eventually solo. (Her first LP, Marry Me, came out in 2007.) She flew in from Dublin today; she’s off to America in two hours’ time. It’s 11am on a Monday morning, but the iced coffee she has started is soon complemented by a glass of sauvignon blanc. Throughout the interview, the wine goes down nicely, while the coffee sits untouched, ice cubes eventually dissolved.

Visually, she is typical St Vincent: subtly dramatic. She is dressed mostly in black — black biker jacket, black boots — but a hot pink bolero peeps through. Her hair, dyed a granny lilac for this campaign, is tied back beneath a red headscarf, and it’s all covered by a kind of veil, presumably to protect her from sunlight, and stares. She wears a selection of rings and a St Christopher necklace, a legacy of a rather fabulous-sounding “Pucci-clad, bored housewife” aunt.

Is she religious at all? “I’ve never needed to think there was something bigger that cared if I masturbated. I mean, when I was really young, I cared about that kind of thing. But I kind of worked through it.”

Clark’s fourth album, St Vincent, is self-titled in recognition of Miles Davis’s maxim that the hardest thing to do as a musician is to sound like yourself Clark’s fourth album, St Vincent, is self-titled in recognition of Miles Davis’s maxim that the hardest thing to do as a musician is to sound like yourself

Clark’s ever-growing success is cheering for anybody who despairs at the one-note nature of much rock and pop, the sheer obviousness of it all: heart on sleeve and tits on a platter. Of course, she isn’t fully mainstream, not in the corporate, sponsored sense, nor would she ever want to be. But she’s certainly established, enthroned as she is on her album cover: selling out the Roundhouse, adored by David Byrne and Dave Grohl and Bon Iver, shining at Glastonbury. This album is certainly her easiest to “get”. Was it as crude as just wanting finally to get some songs on radio? She shakes her head. “You can’t plan for that. The serpent starts eating its tail pretty quickly if you go down that road.”

What is true is that after producing an acclaimed album of duets, Love This Giant, with Byrne in 2012 — he’s a clear influence and antecedent — she was happier to straighten out the rhythms and the melodies; to relax, as much as she could relax, into a groove. Reminded of how she’s said as much in the past, she smiles patiently. “Right, right! ‘How St Vincent Got Her Groove Back!’”

Clark, as an artist and as a person, defies easy headlines. She will happily talk around notions of genre and politics and culture and sex, but only rarely will she alight on a conclusion. The same could be said of her music. This album’s standout, Prince Johnny, is the example she gives of a love song, but you enjoy the whole four minutes without ever knowing who it’s for and what exactly happened between the two. “It seems like the straight-up love song is a bit of a bankrupt artistic process, or product,” she ponders. “But the convoluted love song, you know? Those are still interesting to me.”

Art-rock? Art-pop? That kind of label is often a rabbit hole, or a death knell. Let’s just say it’s music that isn’t just looking for a heart — it wants a brain, and some courage, too. But don’t call it “cerebral”. Recently she was asked whether she was bothered if people saw her work was just that, and it irked her — “I was, like, no, are you implying that it’s negative to be thoughtful?” Never mind cerebral, then. What about impassive or arch? That glare is rather lovely, but you do wonder if she blinks.

“I have no problem with it, because the second you get up on stage, there is some artifice involved. I think it’s a little bit hypocritical to make the distinction that just because something is a little more structured, it’s somehow less authentic or heartfelt. I find a flannel shirt and a beard and a heart-on-sleeve song just as much of a construct — authenticity as a guise. I have no problem with either; all have their place. But I take exception to the idea that one is more ‘authentic’ than the other.”

The funny thing is, Clark’s roots are deep in flannel-and-beard culture; but a previous, perhaps more integral one, not the rebooted Mumford & Sons variant that now dominates our airwaves. She’s a huge Nirvana fan, and this year performed Lithium with the remaining band members for their induction into the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame. She also called Nirvana a “queer band”, which isn’t exactly how Kurt and co have been immortalised on the posters and T-shirts. Can she explain?

“It’s because Nirvana came up in the Olympia scene,” she says, “which was, you know, punk rock, feminist, riot-grrrl queer — it was almost hardcore in its ideology. Then they got massively popular because they just wrote great songs.” They never lost their roots, though, she says admiringly. “I think people forget about that side.”

It’s an intriguing one, since Clark the person and St Vincent the persona thrive on a similar liberalism. Trying to pin the butterfly a bit, I ask, could St Vincent be a queer album, too? “Sure. Yeah. I’m not one for gender or sexual absolutism, in the main,” she says softly. “I fully support and engage in the spectrum.” And is that how you’ve always felt, throughout your life? “Sure. Yeah.”

Clark has never considered herself normal; she has tried to be, intermittently, but it’s never quite worked out. After touring relentlessly with Byrne, she meant to go home, stop working and recharge, but she was writing her new record within days. What happened?

“But I’m not normal!” she laughs. “I’m not, and it’s been so liberating to embrace the fact that there’s not some parallel life I should be living.” She explains further. “Even though my whole heart is in doing this, I felt, like, ‘Oh, I should learn how to make a good cup of coffee…’” Coffee, cooking, a nice home, fun activities: all these things that we are meant to do to be better people, and that we’re then meant to broadcast online. As she phrases it in a recent single, Digital Witness: “If I can’t show it, if you can’t see me,/What’s the point of doing anything?”

Clark is deeply sceptical about today’s shiny, homogenised, Instagrammed existence. “Food pictures should be banned,” she says. “Take food pictures for yourself, if you want to. Just remember the moment, or rather, remember missing the moment — like, ‘Remember when I took this picture and missed the experience’. But don’t post them on Instagram.” She sighs. “I mean, if you follow that to its logical end, we’ll have shit pictures soon.”

Clark grew up in Dallas, but she doesn’t have the y’all accent. “I desperately tried not to get the accent. I don’t know why. I was maybe just a pretentious kid,” she mutters, which is probably an embarrassed way of admitting that, yes, she was a pretentious kid. Her parents split up when she was young, and she grew up mostly with her mother and sisters. She will talk about it, in a roundabout way. Ask her what it’s like being the youngest in the family and she replies by discussing the laws of primogeniture during the Crusades. Ask if she likes Dallas and she’ll level — “You know what’s interesting? Just recently, they did the Chanel show in the fairgrounds of Dallas.” It’s part evasion, part education. Straight answers don’t interest her.

As with many scrupulously polite people, she would never say anything to put anyone out, yet you’re somehow left with a clear sense of what is, or isn’t, right for her. Decorum is one of the nicer things she’s taken from home. “There’s a sense in Texas, which I really appreciate, that is distinctly not hifalutin. I don’t have a lot of patience for people being rude. Manners are kind of paramount.”

But there are limits. “I’ve realised, now I’m a grown woman, that calling another woman ‘ma’am’ is the worst thing. Never call a woman ‘ma’am’, never, unless she is clearly…” She searches for the right age — 60? “No, 80! I got ma’amed not that long ago, and I was horrified,” she laughs. Perhaps it’s the purple rinse? “I feel 16. Or, at least, not a grown-up.”

The current trend for grading each female artist according to her feminist credentials is a bit bemusing. Another benefit of her “matrifocal” childhood was a natural sense of equality. “To me [growing up], there was never a lexicon for ‘feminism’. I’m surrounded by strong women who are self-determining and rad.” Try to draw her out on her experiences of the music industry as a woman and it’s clear the topic bores her.

“What becomes a murky, difficult territory is where people assume a victimhood. You know, I’ve had so many interviews with people looking at me with ‘Oh, you poor thing’ eyes. ‘Oh, you know, it must be so hard for you.’ I’m going, are you kidding me? I’m my own boss. I travel the world. ‘Oh, you poor thing’? I’m not a victim. It’s tricky territory, I think, because I was never raised to see myself in that regard. I was raised to be self-actualising.”

And how actualised she is, fully devoted to the grind and occasional glamour of being a 21st-century rock star. The journey, in many ways, has only begun; she’s hardly planning an interval of classic domesticity.

“I can’t wait to be a kooky spinster aunt, and make children my inappropriate confidante. You know, say totally garish things they should not be hearing,” she chuckles gamely. As if! As if she’d ever be garish.


St Vincent tours the UK from Wed; the album is out now

Anonymous asked:

top 6 fave charecteristics about annie (personality and/or physical)

6. her face is pretty good.

5. her eyes omfg.

4. rules the entire planet while brainwashing the masses into thinking she is a human being without a cult leader agenda, which i’m totally ok with and somewhat admire.

3. her music is pretty good.

2. her brain terrifies me.

1. plays guitar somewhat decently.