Singer-songwriter Jill Barber on personal growth, identity, and creating art for the moment
Jill Barber’s career has run the genre gamut with such latitude that “singer-songwriter” now remains the only catch-all term for her work. From folk to jazz to French and Quebecois; from girl-group-motown to a hint of country twang to, now, pop—it’s like she’s throwing spaghetti at a wall, and, somehow, everything is sticking. Her most recent album, however—Metaphora—is a departure from her previous work in more than just sound. Nobody is as proficient as Barber at both personalizing the universal and monumentalizing the minute, and her albums have, typically, been studies in love and timelessness. Metaphora, meanwhile, focuses on the self rather than partnership, and it works as a meditation on moving through the world as a woman. The Strand got in touch with the singer to talk about this new direction, and what it means both to the artist and within the world at large.
The Strand: There’s one photo from this new Metaphora era where you’re sitting in a diner, pouring sugar into a cup of coffee, very liberally and unapologetically. I thought it was a great photo—metaphorically, it’s both subtle and straightforward. So: how involved are you in the visual aspect of your career, your persona, and do you see that visual aspect as meaningfully communicative?
Jill Barber: That’s an excellent question. I love it. I’m very involved—it’s not the aspect of my career that I’m the most confident in, but it is important to me to be very, very involved in making all of those creative decisions because, you know, what I do and who I am are very closely connected. The work that I create is very much about who I am as a person. And, of course, when you start getting real about what it means to do publicity shots, you realize—or, at least, I realized—I may have started in this business because I love to write songs, but the fact is that every musician or band in the music industry is building a brand. Only in the last few years have I even become comfortable with that kind of terminology, because I don’t think of myself as a brand. But the less I’ve become afraid of that concept, the more I’ve been able to realize that, actually, I can just own it. I can create something that feels authentic, and compelling, and representative of who I actually am and what my music is about—and then that can actually be really empowering. So I’m involved in all of the creative decisions. The diner I’m sitting in for that shot is the local diner of—like, it’s this funny, weird old diner near the home of the photographer that I worked with, and the sugar idea was just a very on-the-fly idea that I had: I should just fill this with sugar. I don’t even take sugar in my coffee! I liked the idea that I could pour it very liberally and with abandon, and that’s also kind of the theme of [Metaphora]. I have taken a certain amount of abandon when it comes to this album in that I decided I wanted to be free, to experiment, and work with people that I’d never worked with before, and really get out of the somewhat restrictive genre that I started to feel other people were putting me in.
I read in another interview that you said that you feel you’re moving through the world in a new way, and that you felt, newly, like a modern woman. Was that change a sudden change, or was it more of a process? And what did you feel brought it about?
Oh, definitely more of a process. I mean—I think we’re all involved in the process, as human beings. I think it’s a combination of me being more of a seasoned performer and musician, and having more literal experience under my belt, from a professional point of view. I feel like I’m not 20 years old anymore with something to prove to the world with my music. I’m much more confident and I know who I am, and I feel I’ve earned a certain amount of… well, I’ve earned it to experiment and try different things. I feel like I’ve earned my place in the industry. Also, as a person—and, I would say, specifically as a woman—I feel that in the last few years I have harnessed my power as a woman more. I think that that also just comes from experience. The experience of becoming a mother has, I think, made me way more fearless and fierce and more powerful—I have a sense of how powerful I am. And not just in terms of, like, me disciplining my kids! My body, for instance—my relationship with my own body changed a lot when I actually gave birth to human beings. It was something that I felt more respect for after that. The fact that my body then fed my children… you know, things like that. I’ve realized what strength women’s bodies have, and what strength women have, in bodies and spirits and minds. I think I’m just growing up and becoming wiser.
This new album is very much linked to that idea of harnessing your power as a woman, and that is clearly relevant in the current moment and in this political climate. Do you feel that so clearly linking this album to a contemporary social justice movement will have an effect on its staying power?
I have no idea! I feel like I used to make records—like you mentioned, Mischievous Moon—that were very much a throwback. I think that I did that in part, well, because I love old music, and I still feel very much inspired by older music, but now in retrospect I realize I was playing it a little bit safe in that I was taking my inspiration from music that did have a staying power, a sound that was kind of… well, I was trying to create music that sounded timeless. Now I’m making music that I hope sounds timely. And that could really go either way, because, you know, time moves quickly, especially in this day and age. Maybe it won’t have the same power, but, on the other hand, maybe it will be a part of a chorus of voices in the political climate that we’re in that will have a lasting effect—the way certain songs from the 1960s that we still listen to now are anthemic. But the one thing I’ll say is: I certainly don’t write music in terms of whether or not I think it’ll be around in five years, or ten years. I write it more instinctually: based on the song that needs to be written. I write the song that I need to write, at the time I need to write it.
That’s so interesting—thinking of the staying power as music as being linked to that social moment that it is related to. Something I’ve been thinking about recently is the need to feel like you are doing something relevant, given the current fraught state of the world, politically and ecologically. Do you have those feelings of “Art is enough” versus “What is the point, really, if I don’t make a political statement?”
I always think art is a really great place to start, and everyone’s got to start somewhere. I have tremendous respect for people whose lives revolve around social justice causes and people whose passion and commitment are ever-present when it comes to trying to make positive change in the world. I think, like a lot of people, I feel like, “Well, you know, in some ways I do my small part,” but in lots of other ways I could be doing more. But I think that’s a pretty common experience: I think I could always be doing more. I don’t think it’s enough to sit around and write songs [laughs], but, at the same time… I guess I feel like I’m at a place in my life—and I think a lot of people relate to this—where life is busy and it’s hard to be on the front lines all the time. So, I don’t know—that’s a really good question. I guess I’m just giving my—well, of course, I always give my honest answers, but I wish my answer sounded better than it does! Like lots of people, I wish I could do more. I wish it were easier for me to do more. I guess I’m making one small step forward now in that I am actually less afraid of addressing political issues in my music. For a long time, I really stayed away from that. I mean, I have a small platform, and I’m trying to use it more now than I used to.
In your career, there’s been a lot of reinvention in terms of genre; with this album, as you’ve said, pop has been a good way to address something that’s of the moment. I was wondering: does that sort of reinvention appeal to you in theory and as a form, or have you felt it to be a natural complement to the development of your writing process? Or—both!
I’ve noticed that the artists that I follow for a long time are the ones that do evolve and change. That’s the amazing thing about making music and making records: if an artist that I love changes in a way that I don’t love as much, I still have that record that I connected with. That’s how I reassure myself when I make changes: because I’m trying something new now, that doesn’t mean that people that loved the older stuff can’t still love it. But—I do feel like true fans of an artist—and I speak as a fan of other artists—have to at least support the artist that they love in their creative journey, even if they don’t love the music. I just think that anyone creative—or with any sympathy for anyone creative!—has to understand that it’s essential that people do evolve and change, and that it’s a positive thing to try new things, even if the results don’t yield great things. I think it’s important for artists of any kind to change. I don’t know if I really addressed your question…
No, thank you! We’re good.
Your questions are really good.
I think they’re too long! Every time I start saying one, like, halfway through I’m thinking back to when it began.
No, all good.
So—these artists that you mention, whose careers you’ve been following—who are these artists? Who would you cite as your main inspirations? And, additionally, are there are people or works that are non-musical that have contributed to your work?
I guess I have to say—well, the first person that comes to mind is—Joni Mitchell. She’s someone who has evolved and changed and gone down many different garden pathways, creatively speaking. And I’m not a fan of her work across the board, but I am a huge fan of her as an artist. Certainly some of her records have had a huge impact on me, as an artist and, well, they’ve just been part of the soundtrack of my life. I’ve seen her in interviews and I don’t even—well, I don’t find her that likeable of a person. I don’t think she’s a deplorable person or morally incorrect [laughs]—like, she doesn’t seem like that nice of a person to me, but that doesn’t matter because the art she creates has spoken to me so much. And she’s also a good example of someone who’s been a lifetime artist and strikes me as someone who will be making art until the day she dies. And she’s also a good example, I suppose, because she’s not only a musician but she paints, and… I wish I had some other form of art, but I don’t, really. Although I’ve taken up cross-stitch, but that’s not really comparable.
No, you can do a lot with cross-stitch.
Well, I guess—I’m not there yet. I’m still following really simple patterns, but actually really enjoying it. In terms of the other question you asked, I guess I would say: as much as I appreciate literature and visual art, probably the thing closest to me, that has been an influence on me and my life, is theatre. I’ve always been really impressed by good live theatre, and it’s been a part of my life as far back as I can remember, because my parents took me to see plays when I was a kid. I’ve always been enamoured with the magic of theatre. I guess that’s fairly complementary to what I do as a performer, in that I’m also in a theatre— I’m not playing a part, but there’s certainly a performance aspect to it. I feel like a great show does what a play does for me: it takes you into its own little world.
Yeah, I remember—I saw your show at the Rebecca Cohn in Halifax a few years ago, and before you sang Sous le ciel de Paris, you told everyone to close their eyes and imagine they were in Paris. It was very theatrical, in a very interesting way.
That’s cool that you remember that. There is something really powerful about a group of people in a theatre together. We’re all there to have an experience… everyone’s having their own unique experience, and yet we’re doing it all together. Yeah, that’s cool that you remember that.
Do you have a favourite album of yours? How do you relate to your past music?
My favourite album right now is, of course, my latest record, because I’m excited about it, and it’s new and really fun for me. And I really see myself in it right now, and I feel proud of it. So I have to say Metaphora is my favourite right now, but I have a lot of affection for my older records, and I am proud of my whole body of work. There are some records that I like more than others, but I remember making them all, and I remember that for each one I wanted to make the best record I possibly could. I wanted to capture where I was at and be expressive and connect with people through it. I guess I like them all, and some of them stand out for me—I’m a little inclined to like the ones that are the most popular, and I’m grateful to them. They’ve opened some doors for me, and they’ve allowed me to build my audience, which I’m extremely grateful for. I think of them fondly, and I still play a lot of music from my older records, because I recognize that that’s how people got to the show that night. It’s not necessarily because of my new record, although—maybe! Fingers crossed it might bring some new people out. But I really want to acknowledge the songs that people have connected to the past, because I think that’s the reason that a lot of them come to shows: they want to connect again to those songs, and so I always want to deliver. I hope that that answers your question, and, really, your questions were really interesting.
Your answers were also super interesting!
Well, thank you, and I look forward to reading what you have to write. Whenever I end interviews, I’m like, well, my work is done! But you still have to write a story, so I really appreciate that.
No problem—truly, it has been a pleasure for me. Thank you so much for your time!
Jill Barber will be performing at Roy Thomson Hall on October 16, 2018 as part of the Metaphora tour.
This interview has been edited for length, style, and clarity.
