by jacquin cunningham
images by thomas spooner
images by thomas spooner
Though she’s had a long relationship with top-billed bandmate Sharon Van Etten, this latest album brought their collaboration to the forefront when the frontliner brought her fellow musicians—Teeny Lieberson, Jorge Balbi Costellano, and Hoff—into the writers room. Hoff grew up enveloped in the post-punk scene in Colorado, listening to the likes of Siouxsie Sioux and the Banshees and Magazine, which marked a baptism into the church of music-as-armor and brought this sense of studied defiance with her.
There’s something pagan about the bassline in “Southern Life,” Sharon Van Etten and The Attachment Theory’s 8th track and beating heart, like you’re dancing around the fire while the distant voice of Van Etten chants in the background calling your body to primal undulation.
Bewitchingly diverse in tone and tempo, the album is like a cry from the beyond, and Hoff’s hands strum and pluck the notes that rip your heart out. We sat down with Hoff on a sunny morning and riffed on her experience making the new album, influences from post-punk to avant-jazz, and musical catharsis.
Jacquin Cunningham: I’m obsessed with your hair. It’s such a great color (aforementioned acid pink).
Devra Hoff: Thank you. I have a really great salon here in town.
JC: Where are you beaming in from?
DH: I’m in northern Jersey. I’m still exploring. I was like, New York forever, and then my partner got a job offer over here.
JC: Yeah, Jersey is kind of paradise.
DH: Yeah, it’s like, I kind of want to tell people and I kind of don’t. there’s a lot to be said for just like getting through a day in Manhattan or Brooklyn. Everything becomes a little bit grungy and like getting through one task feels like an entire day. You could do something every day of the week in New York if you wanted to, and you would be exhausted and very broke.
JC: Exactly. You would get totally, totally broken down. But you’ve been touring. So I imagine that has been a similar amount of work to picking up dry cleaning without the multiplying stains and with a whole lot more fun!
DH: Yeah, we started this cycle and did a short kind of promo run just on East Coast and New England. It was cute. Some TV and radio. We spent a lot of time in Rhode Island.
JC: Oh, wow.
DH: We rehearsed in Rhode Island and hung out there and played a show there. And I’d never hung there and like made a friend in Providence. And I was like, this is great. I had no idea.
JC: Yeah, that sounds great. I watched the Fallon performance of, “Southern Life” which was really amazing to see the band play live. I was looking at the comments under the video and somebody commented, “Women are truly making the best music of the decade.”
DH: Aww.
JC: What does that mean for you to hear?
DH: That’s an interesting thought. I mean, honestly, I agree. I made a conscious decision years ago to work with women as much as I could—and to not work in situations where there weren’t women. I feel like just for the sake of selfishness of wanting to be around my friends and people who would get me a little bit more where I was coming from a little bit. That started to become increasingly important even before I was like, public in expressing myself as I do now—although often the people I was working with knew where I was coming from, as people closest to you tend to do. At any rate, I think there’s a lot to be said for just allowing the space for women or honestly femme queer people in general. There’s been a lot of gatekeeping within music culture in general, kind of across genres, that’s kept a lot of women out. And I think it’s such an obvious thing to say, but from my experience, it’s just so pervasive. Still to this day, even having 50/50 parity on a crew really takes effort and people don’t see the importance of it. And it’s not that we don’t want to hire whoever is good for the job, but there’s always somebody good for the job we could find who would balance things out a bit. Um, which is, uh, but, but it’s. It’s not even about that as much as that people, the ones who are holding the cards now, don’t think to hire non-masc presenting men for many of these roles—whether you’re on stage or off.
Obviously, there’s a giant backlash politically happening to any sort of progress. But also, just in my own life it’s been hard to push against. I just think, it’s just like with anything, if you let people have access to the playground, they’ll make rad stuff. But the struggle continues, you know?
JC: Well, that definitely resonates. I feel like even in the queer world there’s a lot of cabals of gay men in New York that can be a very exclusionary spaces. And I think you do have to be so intentional about inviting more people in. I mean, we’ve all seen those memes of like the 10 white gays in Fire Island, and those are the only people they know.
DH: Exactly, exactly. And that can happen so easily. You don’t realize it’s happening. You don’t quite realize that your community looks just like you.
And for me, in some ways I had to be more conscious about this through playing some of the kinds of music that I have over the years. I spent a lot of time playing jazz in Oakland. That was my job. I would tour some, but I was mostly like playing locally in the Bay Area and living in Oakland. And the communities that I was being allowed into and becoming friends with… I was just like, this is hilarious. There’s like, there’s so many other jokes. There’s so many other ways of playing certain kind of rhythm. There’s so many other things that happen in the world. When I was in my early 20s and in that scene, I was like, why would anybody cut themselves off from anything just for the sake of your own interest and kind of joy in the world? And that’s kind of the thing that I don’t quite understand is there’s this like obligation to make sure not all my friends look or think just like me. But it’s like, yeah, wouldn’t that be boring anyway?
JC: Yeah.
DH: I don’t know. I’ve never got it. Um, I’ve never got that desire to live in an echo chamber. I also never felt comfortable around a lot of white guys. Because of where I’m coming from, so maybe it’s easier for me to say, I wonder how it must feel for people that are completely comfortable in their skin? They don’t care at the same time.
JC: It’s interesting to think about that as a queer person: how are you allowed to actually interface with yourself? It’s such a huge question because so many people don’t at all. And it’s not that they’re malicious all the time in their reaction to queer expression, it’s just that they’re not comfortable because in experiencing yourself, you’re letting them question what they’re doing; And that can be I think the scariest thing for some people who haven’t really and stepped out.
DH: I completely agree. And I also think in my own experience there’s stepping out and then there’s stepping out within a within a scene, cross-pollinating overlapping interests. But within any scene, there’s almost like the approved spaces you can step into—it’s all hopscotch, really, you know what I mean? But if oops, you landed over here, now we’re not so sure. And that also does happen. You can feel yourself feeling comfortable sometimes. I’m not just only talking to, in my case, queer white people in their middle age. We might be doing fine in that group, but whose voices aren’t we hearing?
JC: As a performer from what I know of your music, you have such so many deep references across like punk and jazz. How does that play out for you because you’re so sonically open as a performer?
DH: I always have a lot of curiosity. What does it feel like to be just like fine in your own skin? I also know musicians, close friends of mine who I met in a scene 20 years ago and they’re still more or less in that scene and they’re happy. And for me, I’m just too restless. No shade at all against my friends who are in avant-garde scenes or in metal scenes, and that’s what they do. We met because of a common interest in certain aspects of these scenes, and they’re super deep in it. I’m able to be curious and interested in different things, and that keeps me sonically adventurous and open to an extent, but it also keeps me feeling sometimes like a dilettante. I have friends that are like very deep in the scene that they’re in and they get so deep that they know everybody that there is to know in their scene, and they keep expanding not by looking out, but by going deeper—which is equally as valid and really admirable.
I do that in my way, not in a genre or scene specific way. I try to keep getting deeper in the sense of the way that I relate to music and sounds and what they mean to me. I try to not be on the surface with that, but sometimes I definitely get a bit slippery when I’m like interested in something new and I feel a bit like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
JC: Yeah, for sure. That resonates with me as well because I’m constantly writing about new things. How do you step into that next space? How do you occupy that space in a way that’s respectful? Especially to be a queer person and have a bit more openness. I think people are more inviting and they want you to enter their space.
DH: If I want to enter a space, somebody has to be interested in what I might bring to it. Like a musical space. And that happens slowly, too. I said I want to start working more with like, specifically women composers and songwriters.
It’s very specific people, and I have a lot of gratitude for the people that I’ve have long term relationships with now in music: Yuka Honda, Julia Holter, Ava Mendoza, Sharon; Teeny Lieberson is now as part of that. They’re people that fascinate me as artists. There’ll be two different opportunities and you kind of have to decide which direction you’re going to go in, which is what kind of has happened with my life.
I’m very conscious of not trying to mess with music that I haven’t spent a lot of time with, I try to not get appropriative while still allowing myself to be interested in things. I spent a lot of time playing jazz as a white person from Colorado. I kind of approached it as I’m the bass player for hire here, this isn’t my gig, but people wanted me to be there. It’s kind of like a baseball travel mentality—like if you need a bass player and I fulfill what you need, then I’ll work with you. I tried a little bit to do my own thing but it didn’t feel right. I felt like I didn’t have enough of a voice, or enough to say in that world. But I deeply loved that music and the community. The people that I was with, I was able to be in a scene where jazz traditions were still oral traditions. Within folk music traditions which I’m interested in, I’m not quite sure if where I want to be is where I should be because I haven’t spent the time with the music. That sounds super PC or whatever, which there is an aspect of, but I never want to appropriate other people’s cultures. I’ve never been a fan of bands who culture hop. When you start to see that pattern and you’re like, “Ooh that’s creepy, like where’s your voice without this overlay that you’re using non-consensually?” But it’s also like being a musician—and I’m sure you can relate—but when you start to get super deep you see it in a different perspective and it just doesn’t sound good when people do that. You can hear it being light and unrooted in a way. And you can hear collaborations; you can hear Esperanza Spalding play with Milton Nascimento, and that collaboration is so gorgeous because Esperanza is showing up respectfully, having done her homework, having learned the musical language. But she’s not saying, “Hey I’m going to make Brazilian music records.” There’s a way to work with people outside of your own comfort zone, but you have to be invited. And if you’re not, just enjoy the records.
JC: It’s so important to have that self-knowledge. It’s interesting to hear you talk about being comfortable in being a part of a whole. I think that act of communion is an interesting place to be, and on this project with Sharon, I felt like your baselines throughout the album take this fundamental role and keep you all going. I can’t imagine the song without them and they give it this certain Sharon Van Etten and Attachment Theory-ness. So, I’m wondering how it was finding your voice within this group?
DH: That’s a great question; Honestly, I think patience and good music have a lot to do with each other. It takes a while for me. I’m a late bloomer—Sharon and I have known each other for a while, but when she started asking the band to write with her it still took me a minute. I was like should I hold something back? Especially on bass you can be a bull in a china shop pretty easily. I didn’t want to do that, and over time in different conversations and writing sessions that we’ve had over the last few years especially, she really wants everyone to bring their full selves. So, I felt empowered to bring my full self on the instrument that I play. That’s nice to hear that you hear those parts as integral to those songs because that’s kind of an ethic of mine as a musician: Why would you play a part if you’re listening and you can’t hear a part? Just don’t play anything. In the case of these songs, sometimes they start with the bass part, or sometimes I’m writing something to what Sharron already wrote, or what Teeny already came up. This band’s writing is very organically conversational in a way I’m really proud of all of us for. Sharon’s name is top billing so she would get final say on certain things; but still on other things she would be like how about this instead of this, and kind of directing traffic. But even then, a lot of times she would differ, so it really is a collection of a lot of our influences and what we brought. Which was nice for me because then I could allow myself to be like, “Oh I’m going to play this thing that’s kind of a lot, some of these parts are pretty notey.” I was like “Fuck, is this going to read as way too much?” And there’s all these parts on the record where I also didn’t want the bass to be as forward as it was and had to be coaxed to allow it to be exposed as it is.
JC: What’s an example of that moment for you? Is there a specific song you remember that on?
DH: Well yeah, that song “I Can’t Imagine.” To me—I think Sharron maybe too—I hear it as a Magazine homage. I think Magazine is one of those bands from that early post-punk era that doesn’t get nearly enough recognition for how influential they were. That song is definitely the kind of half-sung, half-talked vocals, and this kind of political content, very similar to Magazine. There’s a certain angularity to the way that post-punk started to be, but it’s also rooted in disco and other dance music. When we were first playing on it, we were just jamming in the desert. It was late at night and Teeny and I have a lot of overlaps in terms of music that we’ve listened to— it happens with all of us, we all have different Venn diagrams of things that we love together. Me and Jorge both have a Kate Bush thing, so does Teeny… everyone has a Kate Bush thing in this band. But I knew that if I played what became the bass part in the second half of that song it would make Teeny laugh, and that was the whole point. I was just trying to make Teeny laugh because she has a great laugh and she can really get a party going when she’s laughing. You can hear it on the demos she’s cracking up. And that became the part. “I was like sure, we can use the first half of this song, but the second half? That’s ridiculous there’s no way we’re going to have that bass part,” this weird disco bass solo. Why would we do that? And everyone is like, “That’s the part, you have to play it.” So, every night I have to play that part, and it’s hard.
JC: Yeah, because you’re probably looking at Teeny like try not to crack up too much!
DH: Exactly, exactly. She’s great, she and I always egg each other on so I’m always trying to get her to do synth solos because she’s a shredder. She’s an incredible singer and she knows how incredible she is, and she’s comfortable with that, but I love her synth playing so much. I had a gig of my own music recently and I told her please just come and play the synth, and she did and it was amazing. So I’m always like, “I’ll shred, but you have to shred too.”
JC: That’s such a joyful way to make music as well; obviously there’s different egos at play with any sort of creative endeavor, but when you can all be like, we all have that ego, let’s just share the moment together—
DH: That’s a good point. Instead of trying to let’s pretend we don’t feel that, let’s let it be out there. Yeah, it’s fun.
I love going dancing, so it’s fun for me. It’s fun that we got to go there on this record because I hadn’t had a chance to play that much dance music. Everything I’d been working on the last several years had been muted, folky, or introspective. Or like in Julia Holter’s case, kind of obtuse and creatively forward, or some of Sharon’s music that’s more of a songwriter vibe that you can still dance to it a little, but we weren’t always trying to push that as much. It’s been really fun. There’s this section in the middle of the show where a bunch of those songs happen, and we’re like c’mon, let’s have some fun, we’re going through some hard times. You kind of have to shake it off, you know? Let’s have some solidarity in joy.
JC: It is true, and I feel like when you look back in history to these different moments where dance music has been important for people, it’s always in these times when things are really difficult. We look back to the 80s, back to the 40s, and even beforehand. These moments are always when queer people come together to dance in these spaces which is so great to feel on the record. Specifically with “Southern Life” for me. I think that’s my favorite one on the album; it’s so infectious with your bassline, Sharon is like a siren.
DH: Yeah, that melody line when she lays on that one note over and over again in the beginning when she first enters. That’s really intense. That’s another song that came about as a late night vibe that we were having. That song is a real sweet spot for Jorge and me, and if you get it right, it always feels so good.
JC: It feels very streamlined in that way, but it’s also interesting to hear you talk about these feelings because you recorded in London. Having lived there for 5 years, I remember going to his little pub on Parkway in Camden called the Dublin and Castle. There would be this night called Smiler Night, all these crazy queer performances would happen—people like Salvia, a really amazing electronic musician met with really heavy dance music— which was something that I think London can let you feel in ways that other cities don’t. So I imagine that recording there was really energizing too.
DH: I love London for those exact reasons. It’s special, there’s the history of some of the best music coming from there. But I agree, there’s something in the way that dance music happens in London. There’s something about the way that happens there, and I think it’s partially the way that people actually go dancing together to creative music. I go dancing in New York, and maybe I’m not going to the right night, but oftentimes it’s DJs playing songs that everyone in the room knows. But I feel like in London I’ll see a dub band and just feel like it’s so deep that this is what we’re going to listen to now. Or the DJ tradition that’s there. I think that we try to be informed by that as much as by the past because there’s definitely a post-punk aesthetic to this record, and I’m old and grew up misunderstanding the goth scene because we were pretty removed from the epicenter. So, the music from that time, the 80s music, is very ingrained in me. I tend to bring some of that flavor into the projects that I’m in because it’s just where my head and my heart are in some cases and speaking earlier, being interested in different things is this very consistent thing for me. I feel no sense of appropriation or anything. I feel my relation to the Cocteau Twins is very pure, you know what I mean? And Magazine and these bands, it’s very deep our relationship to this stuff. And part of the influence of that time, as you were saying earlier, is the defiance that a lot of that music was coming from. And it’s kind of weird that this record came out when it did. It was released right after the administration came into power. Now it’s those times again.
And that’s been creeping for a while. The U.S and England have both been struggling with keeping fascism away. The context of that was there when we were arriving and thinking of all of these things. What’s the world looking like? What’s the world looking like for Sharon as a parent, what’s the world looking like for the queer people in the band? Having said that we don’t want to get too stuck in the past, it’s also interesting now to have this record where there are also conscious nods to Sisters of Mercy and things like them, who are ultimately political protest bands.
JC: Yeah. For sure.
DH: And there was a time period where a lot of that music and imagery gets misrepresented as, “Oh it’s just kids pretending to be vampires.” That’s an aspect of it, but there’s also an aspect of it in which they were trying to highlight the decay of the society that they were in. It just feels strange that we’re right back there now.
JC: And sometimes the absurdity is the way you shock yourself out of it.
DH: For sure. I’m reading this book right now, it’s about queering horror, a collection of essays. It’s definitely in the way that I relate to that stuff and the way that a lot of my close friends relate to it as well. There’s this sense of, we’re just being honest of the tenuousness of our eyes. Because we’re feeling it very clearly. I have a community of friends, we’re all queer people, and a lot of us have an overlap of this fascination with being honest with the totality of these things that comes out playfully, and kind of biting in the humor sometimes. But we’ve lost close friends in this community, people have chronic illness in this certain world I’m in. But causticness is part of the survival method.
JC: Yeah. It is true.
DH: The crass jokes and the gallows humor is all part of this resistance in trying to keep each other going. Sometimes you hear a joke and say, “phew, that’s a lot,” but what we’re doing is pulling each other out. I think there’s a lot to that within different cultures and scenes throughout time, in kind of shocking ourselves out of complacency and out of lying to ourselves. There’s something about keeping it real and getting up in the morning, putting on makeup and getting dressed how you feel as a human. Guy Debord says, “the true is a moment of the false.” But it’s the opposite, the false is a moment of truth, in the opposite positive way.
JC: Exactly, it’s the fantasy of it all.
DH: There’s something to be said for a bunch of kids in Colorado, where I grew up, that look like Siouxsie Sioux—you know they’re not necessarily delusional, it’s just armor, there’s a very heavy queer element to that. I don’t think it’s a surprise that when I was a kid those goth girls were my protectors and idols.
JC: Exactly. I think queerness is very powerful in that it allows you to appreciate the most genuine part of every person no matter who they are, and getting to that place can be very pure. I wonder, did this music become armor to you at any moment of your life?
DH: Oh, so much so, it still is. Music to me is something I need. And there’s times when as a musician, you’re pretty far down a rabbit hole worrying too much about what this chord is, or how to play this one part. But I always take a step back from it and remember how important it is. And those details are important because they help convey the feelings that we need to convey which, to me, are absolute survival mechanisms. Absolutely, it’s armor. And it’s also grieving; I grieve through music that really helps because I have grief that I’m processing every day. I’m still that kid that I’ll have a certain song in my head to walk home if I feel that I’m being looked at a certain way and that’ll keep me feeling like, “Okay, I’m strong enough to get through this.”
This music that we’re making with The Attachment Theory very much for some of us is designed to be that. I think one of the things that the four of us share, and that Martha who produced the record shares, is a sense of the use value of music. Not to be grandiose about it, but if playing “Southern Life” makes me feel like I can get through a day and makes me feel fierce, proud, and strong, then it might make someone else feel like that too. I think that one of the great strengths Sharon has as an artist is her ability to translate her emotions like that. Some people have a very strong emotional connection to her music which I think is appropriate and it’s cool. It’s heavy to look out—when I first started touring with her, we’d play “Love More” and I’d look into the crowd and see multiple people sobbing in the audience. I think that’s an ethic for all of us, it’s something we aspire to. But you have to do it through connecting with yourself. That’s the weird thing about art. You can’t try too hard to make a dance song to make other people to dance to, if you don’t want to dance to it, it’s not really going to work.