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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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Duluth’s Haley Bonar is headed for the big time
Thursday 18 September @ 13:55:53 |
 by Rob van Alstyne
...The Size of Planets, is the kind of fully realized artistic triumph that usually takes musicians at least a few records and years to reach, the end result of relentlessly refining one’s artistic approach and finally clicking on all cylinders. It’s a subtle stunner of a record, effortlessly mixing bluesy Fender Rhodes-led vamps (“Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy”) with acoustic folk (“Am I Allowed) and gently rollickin’ country-tinged pop (“Drinking Again”)—and that’s just the first three tracks. Now for the shocker. Bonar, she of the versatile song-writing style and lived-in soulful cowgirl voice, isn’t some grizzled vet made good—she’s 20 years old. And Size of Planets, an album that most artists would feel comfortable with as their career defining achievement, is just her first proper record and second release overall.
Born and raised in Rapid City, S.D., Bonar pursued a fledgling folk music career in the city (self-releasing her first album and playing the heck out of local Borders shops) before heading to college at the University of Minnesota’s Duluth branch. Once there she juggled the demands of pursuing a degree in English with near constant coffeehouse/open mic gigging and occasional recording. The precarious balancing act finally came to an end at the beginning of Bonar’s sophomore year, when she decided to withdraw from school and give in to her musical ambitions. I’m not one to advocate the widespread dropping out of America’s college age youth—but in the case of Bonar one spin of … The Size of Planets makes it clear that she made the only decision her burgeoning talent would allow.
Over the course of its 55-minute running time, …The Size of Planets shows Bonar capable of artfully approximating some of the more celebrated female songwriters of the last decade (the ode to a rugged girl gone bad “Bless this Mess” could pass for Lucinda Williams, and the solo piano ballad “Sun Don’t Shine” would have fit snuggly onto Tori Amos’ Little Earthquakes). What’s most impressive though, particularly for an artist so young, is that Bonar mostly sounds like herself. At different points during the album one can’t help but feel that unmistakable prickling of the ears that signifies the arrival of a new and important musical voice. Particularly on the darker organ driven numbers such as the spare Rhodes and drums tune “The Water,” in which Bonar breathily coos over a military funeral processional melody before belting out passionately during the chorus.
Bonar’s narratives vary widely, and she manages to be believable whether placing herself as an aging small town waitress longing for the return of her former lover now that she’s ready to settle down (“Am I Allowed”) or relaying the last thoughts of a drunk driver thrown from their car and dying on the side of the road (“Car Wreck”). All the tunes are wrapped in an austere poetic lyrical style that manages to balance provocative imagery with more straightforward storytelling as evidenced in the compelling rejection of religious upbringing anthem “Bless this Mess” (“I looked straight into the face of Jesus/I lifted up my hands and grabbed another man/Oh what was a little girl like me to do?/Fall in love again/ Teach myself the blues.”)
Within months of Bonar’s watershed decision to leave school she had met up with Duluth musical impresario and all-around nice guy Alan Sparhawk (the frontman for long time sleepy-rock champs and indie darlings Low) who was so enamored with her music that he not only contributed to the record (that’s Sparhawk providing the trippy guitar loop sound texture on “Car Wreck”), but decided to give it national release (on his Chairkickers music label which also includes Minneapolis acts Kid Dakota and the Winter Blanket amongst others), as well. Bonar got the rare treat of exiting her teenage years and experiencing her national album release on the same day in late April, turning 20 just as her album was hitting stores. The time since has been filled mostly with touring (she’s logged three nationwide jaunts so far—with her first European gigs slated for later this fall) and working up new material. With rumors of major labels already lining up to court Bonar in the hopes of getting in on the ground floor of her career it seems likely that her days as Minnesota’s best kept musical secret are numbered.
Bonar recently met up with me for pizza and conversation. I was half expecting a reticent chain smoker, perhaps dressed in black and undoubtedly at least a little bit intimidating. The opposite turned out to be the case, as Bonar revealed herself to be a bubbly, easy-going young woman who seemed altogether too normal to have been the driving force behind the voice and songs of her emotionally tortured album. We chatted about life on the road and her whirlwind past year while simultaneously dodging bees on a crowded patio dining area.
Pulse: Is the age thing frustrating? You must get tired of people writing, “Oh my god she’s only this many years old” as opposed to actually discussing the music that you’re producing.
Bonar: At this point I’ve kind of gotten over it, the whole “oh my god you’re 19 or 20, gee” thing. I mean I am 20, that’s right. Critics expect you to explain yourself or something, and I don’t know, I’m just writing songs like anybody else I guess. I don’t really get annoyed by it now, though.
Pulse: I think the reason critics might react that way is probably wondering where you have the life experience to write the kind of songs you do. For instance, a song like “Billy” (in which a wronged housewife longs to return to her hometown) is fairly different from your own life. What influences are shaping your songs if not direct life experience? Is it literature? Or taking other people’s direct experiences and working with that…?
Bonar: Well, I feel like songwriting is sort of like writing a book, obviously fictional novels are not directly from the author’s life. You use bits and pieces from everywhere no matter how old you are. A lot of people write about things they experienced in their childhood or dreams that they’ve had and just kind of connect everything and compile it into one thing that they can express in writing. I understand why people would be like, “What experience do you have that you could possibly write interesting songs?” I kind of feel that way about other artists—I mean if you’re 16 or 17 years old—what could you possibly have to say about life. But you know, it’s the same kind of biases against me.
Pulse: Were you a music obsessive child? I sort of picture you growing up listening to headphones all the time and playing instruments constantly. There are those wunderkind type people—but from the little I’ve read about you in the past it doesn’t seem like that was your story.
Bonar: Not really, I wasn’t some prodigal sort of aggh kid (mimes pounding away at piano keys in the air manically), I was actually a big slacker with my lessons and playing—I got in trouble a lot because I wouldn’t practice. I hated trying to read music. There was music in my house growing up, though. I grew up around a lot of oldies radio, there was a lot of Beatles around the house, I kind of got fanatical about the Beatles around age 11 or 12, and pretty much stayed that way for a long time and didn’t really, like, move on to other music. I guess I’m still a little bit like that, I get latched onto bands and listen to them exclusively. My parents were always encouraging about playing music but it wasn’t like they were, like (affects stern Russian accent), “You must study and learn Beethoven’s 5th!”
Pulse: What is Rapid City, South Dakota, like. Industrial? A cow town? Not being from the Midwest originally I don’t really have any idea. Whenever I think of South Dakota I just picture a lot of empty space.
Bonar: South Dakota is basically 400 miles of a lot of nothing, a lot of billboards, the economy is pretty bad; but Rapid City is a really beautiful town, it’s like 60,000 people—not very big, right in the Black Hills, so it’s kind of got the nature aspect of things going on, kind of like Duluth. It’s by no means a metropolis, there’s not a lot going on there especially when it comes to music. Rapid City’s always had a struggling arts and music scene.
Pulse: Do you think people who’ve grown up near or around rural areas have a more genuine approach to “Americana” music? There are a lot of people sort of dabbling in the genre today and it seems like there’s a certain kind of authenticity with someone from your background as opposed to someone who maybe grew up in Brooklyn and decided to buy a cowboy hat and cool pants. Do you think that there’s something to pursuing that sort of music and maybe having more direct ….
Bonar: I don’t know, Rapid City is not the country by any means—I didn’t grow up wearing shitkickers and listening to Hank Williams.
That’s a good question though because there are a lot of people who are writing songs that seem really honest—I mean like Gillian Welch. She grew up in freaking California in the city and her parents were wealthy, but she writes songs like she was living in the 1800s in the Appalachians.
So you can’t really say, like, “Well, I’d never listen to this because it’s not authentic unless she actually grew up in the country,” but on the other hand I think that there is some amount of—you put a little more soul in it if you’ve actually grown up in an environment that’s near nature. I mean, I went to public school and I grew up in a neighborhood, but I was still “out” a lot.
Pulse: It seems like there’s been a really serendipitous turn of events for you in Duluth. How did it all come about? How did you get linked up with Alan [Sparhawk of Low] and Chairkickers?
Bonar: I was playing around for a year and a half, just doing little gigs or whatever. I got the album kind of in the works at Sacred Heart [a studio in Duluth] last fall and then I decided to play at “Experimental Tuesday” one night at the NorShor Theater and I had just bought a Farfisa organ so I brought that with me and an acoustic guitar and just did a few songs.
Alan was there and I was kind of freaked out and he was just, like, “Hey you want to open for Low on a bunch of dates?” and I was basically (says in shaky voice) “uh… cool.” And then after the record came out he approached me and said, “I want to put out your record, I like it and think it should go further than Minnesota.” I was just, like, “OK” and that’s sort of how it happened.
Pulse: Are you even able to really have perspective on how far things have come along in the last year, or is it all just happening too fast to really process it?
Bonar: This past year has been insane. At this time last year the album was on the tip of my tongue and I was dropping out of school. I was really struggling with deciding whether I should stay in school or really buckle down and pursue music—I had no idea how it was going to turn out at all, I had no expectations. There was just a real strong gravitational pull towards following the music and I think in retrospect that was obviously for a reason. But, yeah, it’s been crazy I look back at it a lot and just think—oh my god, this is nuts.
Pulse: I think with all emotive singer/songwriters and the issue of live performance today there’s kind of that whole wounded-artist-scared-to-get-on-stage-ala-Nick-Drake mythology. How do you feel about live performance? Do you dread getting on stage?
Bonar: I love performing and think it’s great. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it. I don’t understand why people make it a big deal every time they play. People are coming to your shows—maybe you should at least make it seem like you’re a little bit happy to have an audience (laughs). Sometimes, though, at certain gigs which will remain nameless in Duluth—regular gigs that are at bars and really loud that I just do because I need money—it can be pretty depressing because basically you know no one is listening to you. Then on tour there were a few times where we drove twelve hours and showed up at a crummy little joint in the middle of nowhere and there’s no one at the show. There’s obviously some amount of animosity towards performing at that point. On the other hand, though, after you drive 12 hours when you walk up to the gig you’re so damn happy just to play your instrument and be able to get out of the car. There are two sides to it, but overall I love performing. It is nerve-wracking but I think that’s kind of good. I’ve always had trouble I guess—quote unquote trouble—with looking up and speaking to my audience. I’ve just never been able to do it, I tend to get up there and do my songs, say a few things and then get off stage.
Pulse: Was life on the road what you expected? It seems like a very odd lifestyle.
Bonar: I like it because I love traveling. I like playing to different people and being in different cities every day. It’s a good way to see the country and meet all kinds of weird people. But it’s strange because the Low tour was my first tour and there was something like 500 people at most of the shows. Then I did the Chairkickers tour and it was less people—but still some people there. Then I did the West Coast tour with the Rivulets, for about three and a half weeks and it was like … oh my god, there’s nobody here! So for me the whole thing’s kind of gone backwards in terms of having an audience to play to—I expect that though, it’s not like you can start out and say, (in mock chipper voice) “Hey, I’m Haley Bonar, everyone’s going to come to my shows!” Growing up in Rapid I used to see a lot of the indie-rock type shows and there wouldn’t ever really be anybody there and they didn’t make any money so I’m kind of familiar with that and know that that’s how it’s going to be for a while. When I did get to make it back to some of the cities I had played before on tour there were a lot more people in the crowd, so that was encouraging—there’s hope and there is a point to touring. It’s mentally and physically straining as hell—but it’s good!
Pulse: There are definitely a fair amount of religious images and themes floating around on the record. What made you decide to bring those issues to the table when writing the record? Did you come from a particularly religious background?
Bonar: My family was not religious, we were spiritual in our own way but my family never made me go to church. I went on my own out of curiosity as a kid and went to all the different churches and sort of figured out what I thought about religion at a really young age—I don’t know, it’s so huge you can’t possibly ever really understand it. To me spirituality is the most affluent and important thing in everything.
Regardless of if you’re worshipping something—to me music is spiritual, anything you’re passionate about is spiritual. I write about God and religion as a face—so many people’s lives are consumed by it, either that or alcoholism. So when it comes to my songs, a) I’m not religious and b) I’m not an alcoholic, but I write about those things as faces because they are such a huge part of other people’s lives, including members of my family.
A lot of people have sort of asked me though, like, “What’s up—are you religious? Were you brought up that way? Is ‘Bless this Mess’ autobiographical?” And no, it’s not … but it could be (giggles).
Pulse: … The Size of Planets manages to cover a lot of ground in between mixing up the primary forms of instrumentation and pursuing really varied moods, basically making the most dynamic record possible while still having a minimalist low-key kind of album. When you went in to make this record did you have a template in mind of all the sounds and moods you wanted to make sure were present on the album?
Bonar: Well, there was obviously a lot of piano and Rhodes involved and those songs were really different, and then there was only one song with the electric guitar, but I didn’t really think about that balance at all—those were just the songs I had. When Charlie Parr [a well known Americana musician within Duluth] came in and did some slide guitar on the record he had played with me so much he knows I like it simple and I don’t want anyone doing any frickin’ Bonnie Rait solos or anything. And Dave [Frankenfel, Bonar’s drummer and significant other] and I have played together for a while, so it was real comfortable in that way. The overall tone I thought should be simple because I never play live with more than two people, so why would I make a record that’s really noisy and over-produced?
Pulse: What’s the Duluth music scene like? Do you see yourself staying there long term?
Bonar: It’s definitely smaller than the Twin Cities. It’s easier to enjoy it and know what’s going on. In the case of a city like Minneapolis I don’t really know what’s going on, because there are so many bands and show and venues. Duluth doesn’t have a lot of venues, which is fine with me. It’s not really my goal to play a different place every week around town. In terms of leaving, I don’t really want to leave.
It’s cheap and I love the building I live in, I live in an artist co-op and it’s great, the people there are nice. The winters suck, but overall it’s a nice place.
Pulse: Has your relationship to music changed over the past year since you decided to make it your full-on occupation and means of support rather than just a pastime that you were really passionate about?
Bonar: Now that making music is sort of my job I feel like it consumes me a lot more emotionally than it did before. I get really fucking stressed out about the songs, like, (affects tremulous tear-wracked voice) “Oh my god, I’m never going to write another song again.” Total blank periods artistically become that much more huge, you’re like, “Am I ever going to make another album, what will the people think about me?” And then, because there’s critics out there, you can catch yourself looking up reviews of your album and being like, “they’re so right, I should have done that on that song” and that starts getting ridiculous. It’s OK though—because I hate working (laughs). I would rather be doing something that I love to do.
Haley Bonar plays Sat., Sept. 20, at the 400 Bar with with Tony Glovers V-3 and State Champs . 9 p.m. $8. 21+.
Be sure to download the mp3 Drinking Again from The Size of Planets.
Find out more about Haley Bonar by visting her official website.
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