Blurring the Lines
Le Tigre’s Kathleen Hanna on politics and punk rock
2004-12-16
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Despite the seemingly effortless political meanderings of today’s artists,
there are those who long for a pristine package with which to deliver their message.
It is relatively easy to switch directions in a rock band; construct your songs
in the traditional manner (i.e. four on the floor drumming, routine bass plucks
and violent guitar strums), then bewilder your core base of fans by spouting your
disdain for the Religious Right or by scoffing at the misguided agendas of the
national news media. The problem with this is that, though your intentions may
be pure, the final product may in fact distance loyal fans. Certainly, there’s
a more cohesive, even experimental, or even a (gasp!) dancy way to go about this.
The secret may be locked inside the collective hips of today’s youth, and
so far, the only band to unlock this treasured quagmire is the NYC activist /
dance-punk trio Le Tigre. Synthesis recently had the opportunity to hash out the
finer details of political ideals, rock music and Le Tigre’s latest album,
This Island, with original riot girl and current Le Tigre vocalist Kathleen
Hanna.
In light of the outcome of the 2004 election, it would seem as though, regardless of the intensity of like-minded bands, the struggle continues; and as Hanna sees it, Le Tigre has only just begun to challenge the conventions of the modern world. Refreshingly, the group employs the allure of the dance song to realize their message.
“It’s such an old, historical thing for people to use music as a conduit for struggle, and I think that whatever form that takes is as completely valid as the next one,” explains Hanna. “I like old Joan Baez stuff, but I don’t listen to it every day. I’d rather listen to Nelly to be perfectly honest, but I like and appreciate that kind of music.”
Hanna began her journey into the jaded world of punk rock and activism in the early 1990s with Olympia ,WA’s Bikini Kill and helped start what was to become the riot girl movement, a collective of anti-oppressive, pro-choice and pro gay rights women. Hanna’s exploits included infamously (and accidentally) inspiring the title for Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” when she scrawled the words “Kurt smells like teen spirit” on a wall during a party Kurt Cobain attended in Washington. When Bikini Kill disbanded in 1998, Hanna released a solo album (as Julie Ruin) after moving to New York. She decided she didn’t want to perform the songs onstage alone, and the seeds of Le Tigre were sewn when she reunited with feminism activist and ‘zine editor Johanna Fateman, whom she had met at a Bikini Kill show in Portland, OR. Later, JD Samson was added as a full-time member of the band after she was initially hired on as a slide-projector technician.
Despite the fact that Le Tigre’s magic is primarily inspired by a remarkable and focused disgust of our current political administration, there are those songs that explore specific personal musings on life in general, though Hanna doesn’t see much difference between the two camps of songwriting.
“Some of the songs that people consider to be more political are also really personal. Being in your apartment, watching George Bush on TV and feeling like you’re gonna throw up is a really personal experience on a lot of levels. That can be just as personal as remembering something really crappy that happened to you. Our relationship with the state and the government kind of reaches to the core of who we are because it’s so invasive,” elaborates Hanna.
On This Island, the angst-riddled “Seconds” emerges as a more individually personal opus, yet ironically still manages to mirror the most storied sentiments of the rest of the band.
“It’s about being completely disgusted with the current administration, but it’s also really personal. I was starting to have that feeling of ‘I don’t wanna be involved with anything, I just wanna turn off the lights and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and never talk to anybody again because I feel so disgusting,’” explains Hanna.
Still, the overall bouncy aesthetic of the group manages to override the sting of such sensitive songwriting; eliciting throngs of young women to show up in droves to the group’s concerts. However, women don’t comprise the entirety of Le Tigre’s fan base.
“We have a lot of male fans, but it’s definitely nice to see a lot of women [at our shows], because typically at shows there are less women than men, unless they’re at an Ani DiFranco concert. It’s really nice to know that women feel included in what we’re doing. I remember going to shows in the ‘90s and not feeling safe. It was really bad, but maybe I’m just not going to Tad shows anymore,” explains Hanna.
Le Tigre’s political aspirations, disguised within three-minute-long dance-punk explosions, has certainly struck a defiant chord with queer kids, feminists and pro-choice lobbyists in the six years since the band’s inception. While the group continues to advocate change and tolerance in the 21st century, we continue to be treated to infectious beats and provocative commentary, even if we don’t realize it at first listen. With any hope, the division between the group’s politics and pomp will be blurred, leaving us with the bold simplicity of an important band.
In light of the outcome of the 2004 election, it would seem as though, regardless of the intensity of like-minded bands, the struggle continues; and as Hanna sees it, Le Tigre has only just begun to challenge the conventions of the modern world. Refreshingly, the group employs the allure of the dance song to realize their message.
“It’s such an old, historical thing for people to use music as a conduit for struggle, and I think that whatever form that takes is as completely valid as the next one,” explains Hanna. “I like old Joan Baez stuff, but I don’t listen to it every day. I’d rather listen to Nelly to be perfectly honest, but I like and appreciate that kind of music.”
Hanna began her journey into the jaded world of punk rock and activism in the early 1990s with Olympia ,WA’s Bikini Kill and helped start what was to become the riot girl movement, a collective of anti-oppressive, pro-choice and pro gay rights women. Hanna’s exploits included infamously (and accidentally) inspiring the title for Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” when she scrawled the words “Kurt smells like teen spirit” on a wall during a party Kurt Cobain attended in Washington. When Bikini Kill disbanded in 1998, Hanna released a solo album (as Julie Ruin) after moving to New York. She decided she didn’t want to perform the songs onstage alone, and the seeds of Le Tigre were sewn when she reunited with feminism activist and ‘zine editor Johanna Fateman, whom she had met at a Bikini Kill show in Portland, OR. Later, JD Samson was added as a full-time member of the band after she was initially hired on as a slide-projector technician.
Despite the fact that Le Tigre’s magic is primarily inspired by a remarkable and focused disgust of our current political administration, there are those songs that explore specific personal musings on life in general, though Hanna doesn’t see much difference between the two camps of songwriting.
“Some of the songs that people consider to be more political are also really personal. Being in your apartment, watching George Bush on TV and feeling like you’re gonna throw up is a really personal experience on a lot of levels. That can be just as personal as remembering something really crappy that happened to you. Our relationship with the state and the government kind of reaches to the core of who we are because it’s so invasive,” elaborates Hanna.
On This Island, the angst-riddled “Seconds” emerges as a more individually personal opus, yet ironically still manages to mirror the most storied sentiments of the rest of the band.
“It’s about being completely disgusted with the current administration, but it’s also really personal. I was starting to have that feeling of ‘I don’t wanna be involved with anything, I just wanna turn off the lights and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and never talk to anybody again because I feel so disgusting,’” explains Hanna.
Still, the overall bouncy aesthetic of the group manages to override the sting of such sensitive songwriting; eliciting throngs of young women to show up in droves to the group’s concerts. However, women don’t comprise the entirety of Le Tigre’s fan base.
“We have a lot of male fans, but it’s definitely nice to see a lot of women [at our shows], because typically at shows there are less women than men, unless they’re at an Ani DiFranco concert. It’s really nice to know that women feel included in what we’re doing. I remember going to shows in the ‘90s and not feeling safe. It was really bad, but maybe I’m just not going to Tad shows anymore,” explains Hanna.
Le Tigre’s political aspirations, disguised within three-minute-long dance-punk explosions, has certainly struck a defiant chord with queer kids, feminists and pro-choice lobbyists in the six years since the band’s inception. While the group continues to advocate change and tolerance in the 21st century, we continue to be treated to infectious beats and provocative commentary, even if we don’t realize it at first listen. With any hope, the division between the group’s politics and pomp will be blurred, leaving us with the bold simplicity of an important band.
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