Handstamp: You’ve spoken before about your relationship with Baltimore, but what was your personal access to live music like when you were younger?
Jenn Wasner: “Oh, my gosh. I mean, that was honestly the thing that kept me in Baltimore. When I was in high school, I was dead set on leaving as quickly as I could. It just so happened that the Baltimore music scene in the mid 2000’s was and still is sort of understood to be one of those defining music scenes. We had these huge zeitgeist moments, where all of these bands were coming out of Baltimore. But yeah, it was a really vibrant community that I was exposed to from a pretty young age. I saw a lot of stuff that was pretty formative to my development.”
Handstamp: What was the first show you saw?
Jenn Wasner: “Oh, man. I remember there was a warehouse venue in West Baltimore where I saw a lot of bands, including maybe one of Beach House’s first shows. I remember seeing them lug their 250-pound organ up six flights of stairs and thinking ‘these guys are committed.’”
Handstamp: Back when they had to still play with regular stage lighting, I guess.
Jenn Wasner: “Right, or no lighting at all, just a room. I have a terrible memory and don’t remember my life very well, which I’m trying to work on, but I usually remember these things by going to my friends or bandmates, who have a better memory for those things. I definitely saw the band Ponytail pretty early on and was blown away by that. I saw Future Islands early too.”
Handstamp: What was that like? Was Samuel (T. Herring, Future Islands) bringing the same energy to the early shows?
Jenn Wasner: “Yeah. Every show I’ve ever seen them play has been full on. It didn’t matter if it was in front of 10 people, it was sort of what they were known for. Wye Oak was actually on tour with Future Islands in 2014 when the Letterman performance kind of popped off. It was interesting to see because I’d been seeing his on-stage charisma every night and it was like an open secret, so it was really fun to watch the world respond to it like that. They also have great songs, but he certainly has that natural performer energy.”
Handstamp: I interrupted while you were in your Baltimore flow…
Jenn Wasner: “Not at all. There was a restaurant where I worked, named Golden West Café, where they would have shows after hours. One of the earliest shows I remember seeing there was Sharon Van Etten. She had put no music out at that point. She was opening for a band that I had never heard of, playing solo. We had never met and I had just worked that night, so was exhausted, trying to get out of there as quickly as possible, but she literally stopped me in my tracks. I remember turning around, then just sitting down to watch the whole set. She played the song ‘Consolation Prize’ when I realised that she was special and not somebody I could walk out on. We met that night and have been friends ever since.”
Handstamp: Was your time at Golden West Café one of the biggest catalysts in your pursuit of this thing?
Jenn Wasner: “I was already in pretty deep, to be honest. I had bands all through high school and was writing songs already at that point. That was around 2005, 2006 and would have been the time Wye Oak, or Monarch as we were called before, we were already making music. So, I was already obsessed and fixated on it but, I mean, I learned a lot about what being in a band could mean and how adventurous music could be. It also taught me about the importance of a strong, DIY-rooted community. That’s something I am figuring out 20 years later, as I try to re-access and reimplement it into my own career, because there’s just no replacement for it.”
Handstamp: Totally right. Starting so early, I guess your relationship with watching live shows was different to other people your age? Could you still absorb shows from an objective point of view?
Jenn Wasner: “I think I always have been able to and I still can. It would be an unpleasant sensation to not feel it, in the same way fans or audience members are able to access that feeling of connection. There are parts of making art and music that are under siege by turning it into your day job, but I think it’s probably time to call it a day when you’re completely separate from the experience of being an appreciator and observer, which is such an essential source of inspiration. If we lose that, what are we even doing?”
Handstamp: It seems like you really value the performer-audience relationship.
Jenn Wasner: “I think that’s why I find myself drawn towards smaller shows, with less production value because I do think at a certain point, no matter how good you are, when you expand to a certain point, it becomes about the spectacle in a way that I don’t really care about. So, for me, I am always bumping against that idea of growing and expanding, because then you have to have conversations around lighting packages and a backdrop or whatever. I could give a fuck. I do not care. The further away I get from people, the less I enjoy the experience of doing what I do.’
“I also don’t think I’m a natural entertainer. I think I am an artist and musician, so a lot of the things that come from expanding are just trappings of entertainment, which is an area that I don’t really feel at home in. It always feels a bit forced, so I think the show is the show, the show is the music, the show is the band, the show is the songs.”
Handstamp: You have been part of more elaborate shows though, haven’t you?
Jenn Wasner: “I’ve played in massive bands. I played in Bon Iver and you know, the songs are incredible, the band is incredible, but you also had to have a crazy fucking laser lightshow. That was a fun and cool thing to be a part of, but it takes so much work, time and money. It’s an incredible thing to watch people execute, but it’s never going to be for me, as my songs are a little smaller and my ambitions are a little more humble.”
Handstamp: Do you value those experiences of playing with such a wide array of artists, at varying stages of their careers?
Jenn Wasner: “I treasure the experience, when I’m playing other people’s music. It’s been huge for my development, as a musician and as someone who often acts in support of other people’s work. It also just feels like a superpower, like, I remember when I joined Bon Iver and I was rehearsing to play in the Chase Center Arena, while also playing a basement show in Oakland. That sort of kills the romantic fantasy that a lot of people have, or the trap they fall into of thinking that bigger is always better, that validation comes from getting more people in the room. Those are the principles of unchecked capitalism, applied to art.’
“A lot of musicians, myself included have the experience of playing in huge places like that, then walking away feeling like they were floating in space, or playing a show on a weird asteroid in the middle of nothingness. It’s also hard to tell if it sounds good and difficult to hear your fellow musicians because they’re a hundred feet away from you. It almost feels like a simulation of a performance.’
“I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s good to free yourself from the aspirational treadmill of thinking that’s going to be the thing that makes you feel good about performance or good about your art. I’m grateful to have experienced it from all sides, so I understand that’s not where gratification is going to come from.”
Handstamp: The ‘disease of more’. I recently spoke to the artist Madi Diaz, who has played with Harry Styles in stadiums and enjoyed it, but it also quenched her thirst for those intimate shows that allow an audience to truly lean in. You mentioned the issue of space between band members, I guess it’s pretty hard to connect with somebody who is 20 feet away, especially if you’re a band that really depend on ‘feel’.
Jenn Wasner: “Oh, it’s next to impossible. It can be guesswork. It’s no accident that I’m now playing in living rooms, as much as I’ve loved playing with those bands. It feels so good and more human to talk to everybody who comes to the shows, have a conversation, person-to-person. I don’t think the fact that music is my calling makes me more special than anybody else. It’s important for me to lead with humanity and not place myself on a pedestal. Playing these shows makes you feel like a troubadour, back when music really felt like an act of service, or a working-class enterprise. It’s nothing to do with the building of celebrity, which robs you of your humanity.”
Handstamp: You moved to North Carolina in 2015. How would you compare your musical life there to the one you had in Baltimore?
Jenn Wasner: “North Carolina has a smaller community, with fewer people. The energy is very different, which is part of why I was drawn to it. Baltimore was absolutely transformative and exceptional, but there was also a slight distrust of success beyond the city, that lied within the DIY ethic. I make less adventurous music than some of those bands that broke out, I was a songwriter, sometimes making weird songs with unexpected arrangements, subversive themes, but ultimately I was singing my songs, which Baltimore wasn’t super oriented toward at the time.’
“When I moved to North Carolina, I found myself suddenly around people who were really big fans of my work and were super encouraging. There was a real positivity that felt really comforting, so I just moved towards it and it really changed my life. I loved my time in North Carolina in many ways, I even fantasise about returning there, even though I love LA too. I really needed that energy that I received there, as well as the lack of judgement. I was in my late 20s and nobody feels awesome about themselves at that time, with a few exceptions.”
Handstamp: I think, for a lot of people, myself included, that shift of no longer seeking approval happens in your 30s.
Jenn Wasner: “I think so, at least it did for me.”
Handstamp: You mentioned living in Los Angeles. I recently spoke to somebody who said you really can’t walk down the street without seeing a session musician you recognise in LA. How do you feel that has impacted you creatively?
Jenn Wasner: “That’s true. You know, I think the jury’s still out on that one, because we just got here and it has been a rocky, tumultuous year. We had been planning to move here for about a year, moved across the country, then the week we got here was the week of the fires. So, we spent the whole first month unsure if we were going to stay. We got evacuated, so it was a really scary, confusing time. It also takes time to become accustomed to living in a new place, especially after such a challenging entrance, but I’m excited to be here.’
“There are so many musicians here that I admire and I’m interested in collaborating with. I think there’s something about being physically present here, where without really trying, certain connections just happen. For example, I made music yesterday with this really wonderful artist who I really admire from Australia, her name is Angie McMahon.”
Handstamp: She’s great, I look forward to hearing that.
Jenn Wasner: “She’s fantastic. We’ve been writing songs together and I only met her because I moved here, I was introduced to her, we had a coffee and next thing you know, we’re collaborating. That’s just the kind of thing that happens here like it doesn’t elsewhere. It feels important to me in this moment to spend a little time here and see what kind of opportunities and connections present themselves.”
Handstamp: Yeah, the importance of proximity can’t be overstated. The Life You Save is a really beautiful and personal record. How have you found the process of sharing such personal songs with a live audience?
Jenn Wasner: “I would say the experience of just going public with the record and putting the music out in the smouldering hellscape that is what’s left of the music industry in 2025 has been less than awesome. The experience of sharing the songs with physically present live audiences at shows has been wonderful. So it’s really been a mixed experience.”
Handstamp: Can you explain more about the challenges that you mentioned?
Jenn Wasner: “Well, I’m really proud of the record. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. I know everybody says that but I’m singing and performing better than ever, I also have the best band I’ve ever had and I’m really proud of what we’ve done together.’
“It’s just disappointing to have to bump up against the limitations that exist. I was talking to Angie when we met, about how there really is no music industry, it’s just a bunch of different tech companies. It has become so demoralizing to try to exist within that. But I believe in art, I believe people need art and that there’s a purpose for music. I feel no less dedicated to that path. The problem is not with the music and the audience, the problem is everything that’s getting in the way. I feel committed to making the things that I want to make and sharing them with people, however scrappy and resilient I have to be.”
Handstamp: It must be discouraging, especially given the nature of the record. Has that belief you describe ever faded?
Jenn Wasner: “It’s a vulnerable thing, you know? There was a big part of me that really didn’t want to put out this record, a part of me that doesn’t really feel like talking about it. There’s a big part of me that just thought it would be easier not to. But seeing it as part of my lived experience, it felt like something I needed to do for myself and also that it would be selfish to not at least offer it to people who may see themselves in it. I haven’t felt a whole lot of representation around a lot of this stuff in the culture, so it feels good to be part of whatever conversation is happening.”
Handstamp: Is that conversation happening? Have you heard of the songs finding those people so far?
Jenn Wasner: “You know, I believe that the music moves on its own. Once you start the ball rolling, people will share the music they love with the people they love, so it’s out there ricocheting around in ways that I may never actually be aware of.”
From: https://handstamp.substack.com/p/a-handstamp-interview-with-flock
