Catching Up With... Dar Williams

Since self-releasing her debut The Honesty Room in the early ’90s, Dar Williams has become one of the brightest lights on the folk-pop scene, excelling at intimate, confessional works and socially-conscious statements—and often combining both in the same song. Her new album Promised Land, out September 9th on Razor and Tie, should expand the audience for her thoughtful, intelligent music, thanks in part to Brad Wood’s elegant yet unobtrusive production. Paste recently talked with Williams about songwriting, politics and the benefits of sexual confusion.

Paste: Promised Land is produced by Brad Wood, who’s worked with Liz Phair and Pete Yorn. How did [your collaboration] come about?

Williams: I was looking for a very clean sound. I’d been doing a lot of walking around in wide open spaces. There’s a museum called Dia:Beacon [in Beacon, NY] that presents large, contemporary works of art. Specifically, I was wandering around these huge Richard Serra spirals, getting more Zen. It’s hard for me to sit down and meditate, but I would go there on a Monday and walk inside those wide echo-y spaces and then write. So when I heard what Brad does, it reminded me of those spaces. He records clear vocals and beautiful instruments, and you can hear them all. He has a reputation for being a pop and rock producer, but if you look at Pete Yorn and Liz Phair, he gives them a lot of space to be what they are.

Paste: And they’re songwriters.

Williams: Exactly. I remember working with one producer—not Brad—who said, “I don’t want to put any production on your work. I’m so happy not to have to disguise your lyrics! Usually record companies bring me in to add substance where there isn’t any, but lyrics are the main part of what you do.” Brad seems to find a happy medium. He respects where a songwriter is going, and wants those songs to be heard. Liz Phair’s first two albums are very intelligently produced; there’s no overstatement. I also listened to more recent albums by Pete Yorn and Ben Lee [both produced by Wood] as a check-in, and again, they were extremely clear, with no competition between the voice and music. Natalie Merchant once said that in 10,000 Maniacs there was one guitar whose frequency competed directly with her voice. On Tigerlily, you can hear her lyrics and voice much better.

Paste: You’re often categorized as a folk musician, but that seems limiting.

Williams: Back in the early ‘90s, Patty Larkin was asked if she performed folk music, and she said, “I am a singer-songwriter,” which was a way to give herself more freedom. Ani DiFranco said that if it’s music for the people, and that could be all over the map, let’s call it folk music. There’s so much music that’s made to be product, to fill airspace and make money. I can tell when I hear it on the radio, even if it’s a beautifully written song.

Paste: You’ve been on Razor and Tie for more than a decade. Has there ever been any pressure to steer your music in a more commercial direction?

Williams: If anything, I pressure Razor and Tie. Early on they said, “We’re growing, you’re growing, let’s grow together.” And we have. There are a few things about the way I’ve constructed my career that have allowed what’s happened to happen. My booking agency was extremely proactive about building up a network of promoters. They told me, “We don’t make big stars here, but you’ll always be able to work.” My management echoed that philosophy. Everybody collaborated to make my career strong and safe from the fickle winds of change, and keep it as organic as possible. The along came the internet and Lilith Fair and Razor and Tie, and things got better for me than I ever would have expected. I broke out of my niche, and had success, not platinum success, but six-digit success, making a living and then some. So when I started to be successful, I thought, “Wow, I’m going to have an opportunity to make a living in music, as opposed to making my living another way and doing music on the side.” That seemed pretty amazing to me.

Paste: You’ve written some songs that were hits in their way, if not the traditional Top 40 way.

Williams: I wrote a song called “When I Was a Boy.” It’s not hooky, but it has a message, and now it’s taught in eighth-grade English class, and people bring it to therapy. And I have a song called “The Christians and the Pagans,” and it’s sung at a lot of Unitarian churches, and I think that’s really an honor. That’s my equivalent of a hook—it’s a cultural hook. Then there’s some songs that have radio hooks as well, and had some commercial success. But the fact that it’s been uneven terrain has been positive for me. The spikes and bumps make it more interesting. I wouldn’t have a lot of laurels to rest on if I did a crap album. I wouldn’t want to have an album that people were seduced into buying. I only want people who want my music. I never wanted to treat this like drilling for oil, getting a bunch of people to buy something they were just going to take to the used record store. I’ve had more mainstream embrace of some of my weirder songs than my more straightforward ones. That’s pretty consoling to me. It shows people have some of the same dark, less explored pockets of experience that I had when I set out to write a song.

Paste: Do you ever worry about how listeners will interpret your songs?

Williams: The people who know what you’re talking about identify deeply, and the people who don’t will call you everything I’ve been called—complicated, academic, whatever. But others say I’m too obvious.

Paste: Does it make you feel weird when people pore over your lyrics looking for details of your personal life?

Williams: Most people are not that way. They try to find themselves in the songs. There are people who try to dig into my personal life, but they’re so wrong it’s humorous. There has been weird stuff and intrigue at different parts of my life, and they’ve never gotten near that. There were questions about my sexual orientation in the ‘90s, but my fans, who knew I was straight, came back and said, “Does it matter?” I had not been clear on my sexual orientation as an expression of solidarity with people of all orientations, as if to say, “If you have a problem with people of other orientations, then go ahead and have a problem with me. Many of my friends are lesbians, so I don’t want you to be relieved that I’m straight.” I didn’t want to talk about going out with men or with women. The funny thing is, I had boyfriends all along the way. My die-hard fans, many of whom are lesbians, knew this and chose not to talk about it. But I’m not the best example. There are a lot of musicians who are truly weird, and if you were more curious about their private lives, you’d get a lot more interesting stuff. Still, it’s a little flattering when people want to know about you; it shows there’s this little sexual verve. I’ve only had one stalker, so that’s never been a terrible problem.

Paste: You’re known for socially conscious music. Are you getting involved politically during this election season?

Williams: I did a fundraiser for Obama early on, which led to me getting hissed at recently by Hilary supporters during one of my concerts. I’ve also done fundraisers for John Hall from Orleans, who’s now in Congress, and Al Franken, a friend of mine who’s running for the Senate in Minnesota.

Paste: Are you optimistic about the upcoming election?

Williams: I feel optimistic about everything. John Hall said that no matter who wins—and he meant McCain—the country is poised for good. But I think Barack is gonna pull it out.