Marika Hackman has already released her new album „Big Sigh“, by the time we connect via Zoom to talk about it. It’s something I don’t take for granted, because often, and quite understandably, artists want to move on as soon as they’ve released an album, to touring and performing it. Sometimes they’re even working on the next one already. However, Marika Hackman still appears happy to talk about it, another sign of what a special album „Big Sigh“ is.
She talks very openly about how hard the pandemic and lockdown were in terms of being creative. The world around you assumes you should have more time and headspace for it than ever, but not having anything else to do and not having any input can be terrifying and numbing. Depression and anxiety are not a good place to operate from, despite being romanticised as such. „There is this idea that being tortured makes you a good artist,“ Hackman says. „But if I am feeling anxious and depressed, I can’t show up for anything.“
So after a hard time struggling with the fear of seeing the life you chose and are used to – a cycle of writing, recording and touring – falling apart, Marika Hackman came back with an album whose name speaks for itself. „Big Sigh“ is an album about fear, anxiety and emotional hardships, but also about the cathartic feeling of witnessing things falling back into place. She calls it „the hardest record“ she ever made. Perhaps the relief of having it out in the world now, outside your protection and control, makes it easier to talk about it. We end up having a very interesting, honest and fruitful conversation about the sheer work ethic and magical spark that have to come together when working creatively, as well as the necessity of giving your work room and space and the emotional impact music can have on us.
„Finding that true honesty is very, very satisfying.“
Your album is so personal and brave. I always wonder how you do it. How do you put so much of your heart and soul out there?
I think that’s the aim, isn’t it? That’s what successful songwriting is. It’s connection and it’s being honest. It’s very hard to be honest when you’re being creative, because there is so much thought that goes into it, that you could be second guessing yourself or sort of digging in the wrong places. So, finding that true honesty is very, very satisfying and it’s kind of the secret to it all. I like being vulnerable, and I think it makes everything easier. It makes it easier to work on it. It makes it easier to play those songs live. Because it feels authentic, and it’s much easier to be yourself. Especially as you get older and learn more about yourself. It’s much easier to be yourself than it is to put on a character.
I am very much fascinated by the two sides to creating something. How much of it is just sitting down and doing the work, and how much is this kind of „magical spark of inspiration“, that comes out of nowhere? And then taking into account everything that has happened in the years since the pandemic, and everything you have gone through on a personal level, it must be a big relief to have this album out. Pun intended – a big sigh!
(laughs) Yeah, a big sigh, exactly. It’s been a big relief, getting it done. Every time I wrote a song, it was like a big relief. It totally is about just showing up. I’m not gonna write a song if I’m wandering around outside without my guitar, or like not sat down on my desk or my bed with an instrument. Even if I’m struggling to write, the least I can do is show up and try, and at some point something’s gotta give. But then that’s the tricky part, that’s the magical bit. But the magical bit is also the hardest bit, because there is no real process and there is no real control, except showing up. So you kind of have to trust that it will happen. And then something clicks. Once you get that initial spark of the idea and you get that down – that inspiration – then the work is finishing the song, recording the song, producing the song. It takes effort to weave from that little piece that you get: that’s the magical moment. But that bit is okay, because there is a process to that. You sit down and you know you’ve got to turn that into a song, you understand what that means. But sitting down with nothing in front of you, knowing you have to create something from nothing, that’s bizarre (laughs).
And then, how do you know when it’s done? I feel like I’d never know when something is actually finished.
Yeah, that’s a hard one, mainly when it comes to production. I think a song will tell you when it’s done, it will have its natural end. And we do tend to follow certain patterns with songs. But when it comes to production, I’m always wary with over-producing. You don’t want to bury something underneath too much external stuff. And sometimes when you’ve been working on something for too long, it’s very hard to know where that finish point is. But I like to lean on the side of „less is more“.
You do have a big soundscape on this album, I think. There is real diversity between the soft and quiet and the big moments.
Yeah, I think I wanted it to feel really cinematic. And I think in order to make it feel truly dynamic, with a proper sense of space, you have to show your listener where those edges are quite early on. To have moments where it’s really up close and personal and simple and quiet, and then you have moments where it’s so loud and broad and far away, you’re creating that sense of space, that everything can fit within. So starting with a track like „The Ground“ is basically showing the listener: This is the space we are going to inhabit now for the next 40 minutes. It was kind of picking and choosing which parts of that I would go into and creating that sense of dynamic.
It’s a bit like having a house and inhabiting all these different spaces within it…
…rather than just one room. Yeah. I think that’s why on the cover as well, there is that sense of perspective, with the mountains far off in the distance and the perceived ugly industrialness of the trolley right up close. Again, it’s giving you a sense of space. There is nothing, apart from a tree, within that space from those mountains to that trolley, but it’s showing you where you are going to be existing within, when you listen to the record. Because you have to nudge people along on a soundscape. You don’t want to keep everything in one room. That would be incredibly boring to listen to, I think (laughs).
„Even just a kind of thudding heartbeat is almost like pinning it down.“
Recently I was talking with a friend about what gets us first, when we listen to music. For me, it ’s the beat, for her the melody. So we categorised ourselves as „heartbeat girl‘ and „heartstrings girl“. I thought of that when I listened to your record, and I kind of felt like you could be both.
(laughs) Yes! Yeah, I think I aim to be both. That’s such a nice way of putting it, heartbeat or heartstrings. I think when I’m writing, my focus is on the heartstrings. Because it’s all about that initial melody or that crush of harmony, that creates a sort of intrigue but also this stomach feeling, this squashing stomach. And obviously you can augment that with lyrics. The interplay between the lyrics and that melody: they can push and pull and elevate each other. That’s the joy of having them both together. But then drums and rhythm is something that I’ve always been very drawn to. I was taught to play the drums when I was a kid. That was before I even picked up a guitar. To me, even just a kind of thudding heartbeat is almost like pinning it down. Again, it’s giving a sense of where it sits, making it less of something that is a floating experience. It pulls it into the real world where we exist, into our bodies. It’s reflecting noises that our bodies make, our footsteps, our heartbeat. When I’m thinking of production and writing, it’s all about all the different parts complementing each other to basically make them have more of an impact. So yeah, I’m very happy that you said I’m a combination of the two, because that’s the ultimate for me.
It’s really interesting how you describe it as something that is a part of our body. Because I remember that during my first pregnancy, I could hardly listen to music. I felt like there was no space in my body for music.
That’s so interesting. I guess you are tuning into yourself so much, that having anything else coming at you is just too much.
Yes, probably. Even sheer volume was an issue for me. Normally I love loud music, but I couldn’t listen to anything via headphones and I always had to ask people to turn the volume down.
To be fair, I am like that all the time (laughs), ever since I was a kid. It’s a bit of a role reversal. I always used to tell my parents to turn the music down in the evenings. Because if I can hear a drumbeat, I can’t not engage with it, because I can’t switch off. And I hate loud music. If we have people around for dinner and we have music on, I can’t focus on what people are saying. If there is music in the background. I find it so distracting:
it’s so affecting. I actually don’t listen to that much music, because I find it too much. Which is interesting, because I create it. But that feels more like an output as opposed to an input. I get overwhelmed very quickly with noise in particular. It really stresses me out (laughs).
I think that makes sense. You might have such a strong emotional connection to it, that maybe you can process it more by creating than by consuming it.
Yeah. My mom used to drive me and my brother to school when we were kids. They would play music in the car and it would affect me emotionally so much. I would feel it so strongly that I had to say I couldn’t listen to certain songs on my way to school, because I would feel too sort-of strained (laughs). It’s also crazy because that’s what I’m trying to emulate now with what I do. That’s my ultimate goal, to make music that makes people feel like that. But I find it too difficult. Or I certainly did when I was 15. Strange.
„It’s an emotional assault on people!“
It’s strange, but it’s also such a beautiful testament to the power of music. There is this lovely video of Pedro Pascal talking about how it literally offends him, when „Purple Rain“ is playing in the background at a supermarket. Because it affects him emotionally so much. How can you play that song in public, when people just want to do their shopping?!
(laughs) It’s an emotional assault on people!
It is! And I feel like it makes a lot of sense you feel like that, looking at what you create with your music.
Yeah, it’s strange. And I’ve had times when I’ve listened back to records I’ve made. I think it’s cathartic, I cry and everything. And sometimes it’s also the relief of actually getting over the finish line as well. There is so much else that is supposed to be wrapped up when you make your own music. There’s the whole journey that you’ve been on, the struggles and everything else. That feeling of ‘it’s done’, combined with then being hit by your own emotional output. It’s quite intense. But I love it: the more intense it is, the more I think I’ve achieved making properly connecting music.
Fotos © Steve Gullick
Live:
11.04.2024 Berlin, Hole 44
12.04.2023 Hamburg, Molotow
14.04.2023 Köln, Artheater