She made "fuck you" sound eloquent in a folk song, has supported myriad political causes and created a successful independent music label. When it comes to performers dubbed "alternative" or "independent," few, if any, have more cred than Ani DiFranco.
She's a dynamic singer-songwriter who during her nearly two-decade career has progressed from performing solo with an acoustic guitar to leading a large jazz band and eventually sharing the stage with former James Brown saxophonist Maceo Parker and collaborating with Prince.
And then there's DiFranco's business acumen. In 1990, in her hometown of Buffalo, N.Y., DiFranco founded the record label Righteous Babe. Early on, she peddled cassette tapes from the back of her Volkswagen, played coffeehouses and dive bars, acquiring one fan at a time. Many have tried this approach, but few have taken it past regional success without ultimately signing on with an established record company.
DiFranco, on the other hand, has built one of the most loyal followings in all popular music — selling 4 million records — without the benefit of an outside investor, let alone a major label or support from commercial radio or MTV. DiFranco's ska-leaning 1998 album, Little Plastic Castle, peaked at No. 22 on the Billboard 200 — with her other albums reaching as high as 29, 30, 32 and 37. DiFranco has issued all 19 of her official full-lengths on the label, plus a "bootleg" concert series and releases by such cult artists as Andrew Bird, Utah Phillips and Hamell on Trial. She sings on the two Phillips discs and produced Hamell's.
In terms of persona, DiFranco has managed — through her music and interviews with LGBT-related publications like The Advocate — to become somewhat of a lesbian icon. Interestingly, she's never purported to be a committed lesbian. DiFranco explained to The Advocate in 1997 that she's bisexual — but prefers the term "queer," because it's "open-ended." In another interview with the magazine, she said, "I would happily be a big dyke to help affirm people in their own choices, but I fuck up, I fall off the wagon."
Despite her political activism and unflinching songs about rape, abortion and homophobia, DiFranco doesn't fit the angry folkie stereotype. For instance, she recorded a faithful cover of Dusty Springfield's boy-crazy ditty "Wishin' and Hopin'" for the 1997 soundtrack to the Julia Roberts romantic comedy My Best Friend's Wedding. An ironic gesture? Not likely.
Months later, DiFranco married her sound engineer Andrew Gilchrist. The couple divorced after five years. A failed marriage, however, didn't sour DiFranco on domestic bliss, which is what she's enjoying these days with boyfriend Mike Napolitano, who coproduced DiFranco's 2006 album, Reprieve, and their 13-month-old daughter Petah Lucia. The singer reportedly gave birth in her Buffalo home. DiFranco and Napolitano also maintain a residence in New Orleans. They used to live in the French Quarter above a rowdy bar called Check Point Charlie's. Petah's arrival prompted a move to the city's quieter (by Big Easy standards) Uptown district.
Creative Loafing caught up with DiFranco last month prior to a concert in Burlington, Vt. The 37-year-old singer is touring with a three-piece rhythm section in support of her first career retrospective, the double-CD Canon. She will perform at Tampa Theatre on March 11.
CL: You perform in a few hours — any pre-show rituals, a drink or meal you like to have?
DiFranco: No just endless setlist-making. It's a bit of a ritual. For some reason, it takes me a long time to design. I kind of change it up every night, always trying to gauge the vibe in the room, the crowd and what I feel like playing. The elusive setlist [laughs].
Unlike most best-of collections, Canon has a cohesive feel to it. Was selecting the tracks a difficult experience?
Yeah, on many levels. Just the mere fact of having to listen to those old records was traumatic — not my idea of a good time. There are so many songs on all those records. It was a radical distillation to make 19 records into two. A lot was left out; a lot of my favorites are not there. I wanted Canon to flow chronologically, and that really informed the song choice. And the songs had to flow from one to the next. I used some touchstone songs people suggested and then filled in the rest.
You also recently released the poetry collection Verses. How do your poems differ from your song lyrics?
For me, poetry is completely unfettered by form, which every now and then I can't be bothered by [laughs].
Do you know before sitting down to write if it will be a poem or song?
It's definitely unique in my brain in that when I'm writing I know if it's a song or poem, but in the initial phase of the writing process it's more about jotting down ideas, lines, impressions — that raw material in journals can pop up anywhere.
Would you ever consider penning a memoir?
I don't know about a memoir. I've already revealed entirely too much through my songs [laughs].
"Hypnotized," the lead-off track of your last proper studio album, Reprieve, finds you in jazz mode, toying with the syllables, inhabiting a character that wistfully revisits a painful chapter from a busted relationship. Are songs like that coming from real-life experiences, or is it a matter of relating the stories of others or perhaps imagined situations?
You know, as a writer, you can imagine. It's not literal. Sort of as you think about it, the story line is not necessarily an actual experience. It could be melded from whatever — my general experience or through other people's. Yeah, like my poet friend says. … "In poetry it's sometimes more important to ignore the facts and tell the truth."
Do the lines pour out of you in finished form or, like with many writers, is the final product the result of meticulous self-editing?
Lots of editing, pushing stuff around, working and reworking. Sometimes a song will pour out. There are those moments when everything comes together — words, emotion and guitar all in the moment. But mostly it's lots of working and reworking and reworking.
Your concert "bootleg series" was just updated with the release of Hamburg, Germany 10.18.07. What made that show special?
It was at an old bomb factory that they've converted to a place where people make music. I found that very life-affirming, that transformation. And European audiences react different, there's a different theme going on.
In between songs during the Hamburg show, you talk glowingly about your baby daughter, Petah. What's been the biggest surprise of motherhood?
Um, gee, I don't know. I guess I didn't have a lot of experience, which is probably a good thing. … [My daughter] is really a joyful thing for me; having a baby is a gas. They're so funny and present and in the moment. All the little things in life are entertaining to them. Having her along on tour makes it new and fresh again.
Is it tough being a mom on the road?
Not as much as you think. I'm lucky enough to have her father with me, too, which is great. It's hardly like leaving home with them around. It's almost easier on her. It's like that old saying — "It takes a village to raise a child." On the road, there's a village, a whole crew of people to hang out with her.
A recent concert review noted that you said from stage something along the lines of "My new thing is 'happy.'" Is this a direct result of having a daughter?
My daughter has contributed, but her father before that is really what it's about. He changed my life. When we first hooked up three years ago, I was much more melancholy. I got to a place in life where it was the rock-star syndrome: Everyone wants you when you're on stage and then you walk off to a lonely life of catastrophic isolation. I went into the typical spiral. Immediately when we hooked up, Mike noticed. [DiFranco then mimics the voice of a man.] "You're listening to too much bummer music, dude."
That can bring you down.
He started making me mix tapes of happy music. He taught me how [to be happy].
You've always been politically active. But now that you're a parent, what concerns you most about where the world might be headed?
Y'know, um, I guess the same things concern me now that did before the kid came along. But now it's that much more poignant. I feel awful thinking of the world my kid is going to inherit. Problems are escalating. One thing weighing heavy on my conscience is climate change and ecological disasters and the responsibility we have as Americans to answer to that. It's our carbon omissions dooming the planet and our addiction to fossil fuels. I feel very urgent about American society transitioning to clean power. And this propaganda about nuclear being clean is total bullshit. Nuclear is the most ecologically dooming stuff around.
The presidential campaigns are heating up. Are you publicly endorsing a candidate?
I was very much supportive of Dennis Kucinich, who's no longer in the race. He was far away in my mind the best candidate. His ideas about a department of peace [are appealing]. He offers a real cohesive plan to transform America from fossil fuels to clean energy. He's a true public servant. Beyond him, at least there are strong Democrat candidates out there. You know, there's nowhere to go but up from the administration we have now. I'll be pleased to see any Democrat in the White House. But I'll tell you, I'm most excited about voter turnout. The big story is if Americans become involved and vote. At least then we can have a democracy again, a true democracy.
Over the course of your career, you've been able to reinvent yourself musically. What do you consider your bravest move stylistically?
Hmm, I don't know. I think that when I was working with my last band we did a lot of music exploration. The experience of possessing a big band led me to do new things, like maybe write a song around a horn line, branching out from the lone singer-songwriter milieu. All those experiences with the [jazz] band, I don't know if was the most successful, but it was a learning experience, me growing from being with fellow musicians, learning about arrangements, recording and stuff. [But] I'm really excited about my new band; it's totally a different thing and really fun. My bassist, Todd [Sickafoose], is on upright; we toured before as a duo. Now we're with a drummer, Allison Miller. And on vibes and percussion is Mike Dillon. It's really a cool blend — the instruments make a nice sonic palette.
When you have a day off, are you able to walk down city streets without being approached by strangers?
Yes and no; it depends on the street. I can probably walk down Main Street in Iowa [without being noticed], but if I'm in a hipster area or amongst my tribe, I'll probably get recognized. These days the interactions are not a frantic thing, there is not a rock-star dynamic anymore. It's usually really genuine.
So you don't go out incognito?
[Laughs] No, I don't hide. By and large, I appreciate the support and the graciousness strangers will display.
You don't find yourself guarding your privacy more now that you have a daughter?
No, I just feel like I've gotten to a real good place with my audience based on mutual respect. For the most part, they're not invasive, especially down in New Orleans. I love living down there. It's great. There are so many awesome musicians; people are like "whatever," like people are used to all these amazing people around. They don't lose their shit when they see someone.
What's a hobby or pastime of yours that might surprise people?
Um, geez, I don't know, none that I can think of. [Laughs] No deep, dark ones, if that's what you mean.
You've shared the stage with some of music's biggest names. Have you ever met someone that caused you to feel starstruck?
Oh sure, plenty, the people whose work I really admire especially makes me starstruck — whether they're famous or not. Some people just emanate superstar really capably, like Prince; he just emanates it. And Maceo [Parker]: He's a hero of mine.
What projects do you have planned for the future?
In a couple days I'm going to go in the studio with the band, and we're going to put a new record together. I'm also slowly recording [an album of] music for infants. I want to make something ambient to soothe infants — instrumental, very ambient. I started working on it when I was spending months with my infant. I sort of became aware that I wanted to make a record I wish I had to soothe her and help her sleep. I figure since I've made so much music over the years to wake people up, it was about time to make something to put them to sleep.
This article appears in Mar 5-11, 2008.