Laurie Anderson is constantly moving. The avant-garde legend has more on the go in a single year than many do in a lifetime, each of her various projects poking little holes in our assumptions about the world we share.
The creator of a great web of art that spans London, Toronto, New York, Sweden, Nova Scotia and beyond, Anderson's latest musical project is, fittingly, about another ocean-spanning dreamer. Amelia is Anderson's first proper album in six years, following Amelia Earhart's fateful final flight.
Pulling inspiration from the legendary pilot's "diaries, the telegrams she wrote to her husband, and [Anderson's] idea of what a woman flying around the world might think about," Amelia finds Anderson as curious and thoughtful as ever, brought to life by contributions from the Czech orchestra Filharmonie Brno, ANOHNI, Gabriel Cabezas, Rob Moose, Ryan Kelly, Martha Mooke and more.
Of course, that's not all that Anderson has her hands in. Books, a Manchester-based exhibition exploring the terror and possibility of what lies ahead, a politically charged AI project with help from some future-facing Torontonians — she's everywhere, pulling from the past and present to imagine a future that may not be waiting for us.
In the meantime, she's also been checking out Canadian immigration applications and taking long nighttime drives through the countryside. Here's Laurie Anderson's Exclaim! Questionnaire.
What are you up to?
You know, the usual weird slurry of stuff. A couple of books — one a book of stories, and one a book that's a catalogue of two recent art exhibitions at the Hirshhorn at the Modena Museum in Sweden. And then the biggest project is called Ark; it's a bunch of pictures, music and stories, and it's set a bit in the future. It's going to be happening in Manchester, here in England, in November.
How did your Ark project first germinate?
Terror, maybe? It's about the end of the world. It's a bit of a doomsday comedy, if that's a term. It's very long right now — it really needs to be shortened. I'm kind of in the middle of it, so if you asked me tomorrow, the same Questionnaire, I would have different answers. Right now, it's 40 stories about, in a way, disaster scenarios. Eh, maybe it's not just disaster scenarios — it's stories about how we move through time.
What are your current fixations? What's driving you right now?
Oh, I'm checking into Canadian immigration. Right-wing politics are driving me into some strange places. I'm in a bit of a state of shock, just because it feels like the election was just decided, three days ago. I can't articulate it yet, really. A lot of it is fear, a lot of it is grief, it's a lot of things. So I'm trying to figure out what to do — like most of the people I know.
What do you think of when you think about Canada?
On first blush, it's a time warp. When we were kids, we always went to Canada in the summer. It was like going back in time, because there were cereals that we hadn't seen in a long time. Stuff that looked, to us, like [it was] from another era. It seemed like a peaceful place. And an old place, somehow. I was always trying to imagine what Canadians would think about us — I forget which comedian it was who [said it was like] Canadians are living over a crack lab. I think that kind of sums it up for me. Like, who are these insane southerners? They're just out of control.
But, there are lots of places in Canada like that, too. And there are lots of places that I've learned to know better, like Vancouver and Toronto, especially. And I spent a fair amount of time [in Canada]. It's very, very, very different than it was before, 50 years ago.
Are there any Canadian cities in particular that inspire you?
I do love Winnipeg. Starting with the name Winnipeg — it's a great name, really original name. And Toronto is, you know… Toronto has a lot to do with New York. A lot going on. And I love the film festival. I mean, there's a lot of stuff going on in Toronto.
I'm working with an AI group in Toronto, BMO. We just did a concert there, I don't know, four months ago or something. And they're using this AI language-to-image system that they invented at the University of Toronto. It's amazing. So depending on what you say, it generates images, basically immediately. So if you say Rudy Giuliani — and before you say Giuliani, Rudy Giuliani is on the screen. And if you say drinking a martini — before you can say "ini," he's got a martini in his hand. It's like a dream, It's wild. It's the best I've ever seen. I'm the artist in residence in Toronto now, with this group BMO, and it's going to be part of this project in Manchester. They're going to have a remote situation hooked up for us, so we're using their computers and it'll be, I think, pretty much instantaneous because of the way we're routing it. It's really exciting. I'm trying not to geek out on things, but I do with this one because it's really, very, very cool.
We're using it as conjuring, in a political sense. Because it's what politicians do! In Our head con man, he just conjures images — imagine immigrants crowding in the border, And suddenly you see thousands of immigrants. And they all have knives! And suddenly they all have knives. And they have blood on their hands! And they're going to take your jobs! Politicians create pictures in people's minds, mostly fearful ones, that are very vivid. And if they're good at language, and they're good at convincing people, then it's like a movie for people, they can see it. Our country's been overrun with immigrants! And they're gonna destroy our culture! Blah, blah, blah.
Who's a Canadian musician that should be more famous?
Guy Madden. I really, really admire him. One of the most fun things that I ever did with film was with him. He had a new film, and — I forget the name of it now — but he asked a bunch of musicians to come by and he had a Foley orchestra, and a bunch of people sitting around ready to play sound and music for various scenes, just improv. It was so much fun. Lou [Reed] and I did that — you never knew what scene you were gonna have to provide music for, he would just point at you and you would play. It was really brilliant, I loved it so much.
Kevin Hearn is a really good friend of mine and another Toronto person. He was a music director for Lou, in his last band. And Kevin — aside from being a hard working member of Barenaked Ladies — also does a lot of amazing charity work for children. And I just admire that a lot.
If you weren't an artist, what would you be doing?
The thing about being an artist is you can practically do anything. The category is not very stable. There's this group here in London, of artists and activists, called Hard Art, and it's kind of spearheaded by Brian Eno. And they're kind of all over the place with activism and art, and so those borders are very blurry, fortunately. And also, anytime you go to an art school now — I was up in Nova Scotia to do [a] commencement speech about a month ago — and the students all, mostly, would call themselves multimedia artists. And so that means you have the freedom to do electronics or painting or ceramics, and they're not fitting themselves into any categories anymore. And I love that. It used to be a very awkward category, to be a multimedia artist. But it's not like that anymore, to my relief. It's wonderful. That's a great school, Nova Scotia School of Art and Design, it's a place I visited a lot in the '70s. And so it was really nice to go back and see how much it's developed and what a really cool place it is now to make art.
What has been your most memorable or inspirational performance and why?
Gosh, that's a lot of things. You know, it would be way back when I was a kid. The first time I was astounded by a player was Van Cliburn — he came and played with our little orchestra of students, and he played like he would play with the philharmonic. He played his heart out. And we were just sawing away, but he treated us like musicians, like real musicians, and I will never forget that. He's the only person whose autograph I've ever asked for. And he gave it to me and I had it in my violin case until, like, a year ago. And when I lost it, I lost it. It was very covered with rot and junk by that point, but it was my treasure of being part of his amazing sounds. He played for real, you know? He didn't take it any slower for us, he didn't patronize us in any way. I was just shocked by that.
Do you think that experience sort of changed the way you thought about creating?
Yeah, I think it did. Because I thought, "Wow, there's a chance that someday, we could make something or play like that." It was a big leap into the adult world. Or into the musical world, truly. He was like a big child in many ways. It wasn't, "Oh, there's an adult." It was "There's a great musician." And he was treating us like musicians! Adults, we thought, were pretty much idiots.
Do you remember the first song you ever wrote?
It was called "Art and Illusion." I didn't really write songs until I started writing songs. Before that, I was just playing, and then once in a while I would sing. But I didn't call it a song until I wrote some songs for myself. "Art and Illusion" was about, I think, paintings? I think it was a song about paintings.
What's the best piece of advice you've ever been given?
It probably has to do with the so-called sermons that we had in the Swedish Evangelical Mission Covenant Church. They weren't really sermons — they were bits of advice. These bits of advice were kind of the opposite of the other side of my family, who were like, "Don't do this. You're gonna burn in hell." The Swedes were much more like, "You know, it's better if you're nice to people. You know why? Because then you'll have a nicer life." That's it. That's the sermon for the day. And now let's go and drink a lot of coffee. That's pretty much what the advice was. And I thought that was good advice! Just try to treat people well. And that's it. You don't have to be a saint.
Who would be your ideal dinner guest, living or dead, and what would you serve them?
I would really rather have a conversation with somebody than try to talk while we're eating. But if there's eating involved… Oh, you know, my choice today would be Alice Waters. I'm just thinking of food, you know, because Alice has such great ideas about food, and I'm sure if we were eating together she would talk a lot, because she's a really great talker. And then I wouldn't have to say anything, and then it would just be relaxing. It would maybe be stuff about her Edible Schoolyard project. She talks about that a lot, which I really admire, because she goes to schools, and these kids don't have any idea where food comes from. And they're like, here's some seeds, we're going to go out in the schoolyard. And they usually have to break up some concrete, but they do, and she forces the schools to make a place for dirt, and they grow stuff, and then they realize they can eat that stuff. And it's a revelation to them. I consider that a great service, and I'd like to hear more about it. So I choose Alice.
What's the greatest song of all time?
I'm gonna go with a piece of music that I like very much, and it's driving music for me. William Basinski's The Disintegration Loops. These are works about loops, and they're involved with the falling of the World Trade Centers in 2001 — feels silly adding the date to that, but it was long ago now! [Basinski] was an artist in residence there, and he decided to make a piece about disintegration, and used a lot of the sounds that he was working on at the time to do this piece. And then he also has orchestras that play the sound of slow crumbling. It's just fantastic, gritty, beautiful sound full of all kinds of harmonics and crunchy things. It's a beautiful, beautiful series of sounds. And in the middle of the night, in the country, in a car, going about a mile an hour on deserted road, I drive and listen to that music. Usually with headphones, if I can. It's an amazing experience, because it slows you way down. There's something so luxurious to just stopping — not having all those thoughts marching and driving through your mind about what you're going to do, what you just did. It's music for absolute presence, and it's very exciting to hear that. So that's my favourite music. How did I do on the Questionnaire?