Lee AdcockLike many veteran rockers, Sadie Dupuis doesn’t just talk the talk. Where other bands merely stamp the phrase “safe space” on their gig flyers, the frontwoman of Speedy Ortiz maintains a hotline so fans can report any incident of sexual abuse or harassment at a show. As folks dither over the lack of women in the music industry, she recorded and produced her own solo record back in 2016 as Sad13. And as Speedy’s third album Twerp Verse gathers acclaim for its all-killer, no-filler approach to the private anxieties of living in 2018, the band are gearing up for their next trek across the nation. In fact, when I called Dupuis on a late Monday morning, she was scoping out “snacks for the road” at Whole Foods. “We just did a few festivals this weekend,” she says breezily, a casual assertion that the real journey had yet to begin.
Now, pause. Prior to this assignment, I actually hadn’t been hip to either Speedy Ortiz or Sad13, but I knew I should have been. So I plugged in, followed the thread, and fell in the river. Then Twerp Verse itself floated into view on NPR, and this line greets me on the sulky single “Villain”: “We ride the same bus / He knows my name… He talks like he knows me, so I’m being polite.” It’s a tale about what sexual assault can look like—from unwarranted questions to one-sided conversations, which cast a dark cloud over me, as I’d just experienced a similar incident the other week.
As I was sidling out of Aurora Coffee one afternoon, someone hailed me from behind. The man didn’t know my name, but he confessed he’d been watching me in all the coffee shops for over a year. “You’re always alone, even with your friends,” he told me on the porch of Aurora Coffee (after lighting a cigarette in front of me, which I loathe to death, but damn politeness let me dismiss it). “I figured you’d be like me.”
I let him talk to me for 20 minutes, because I didn’t want to be rude, but he seemed determined to flatter me, to mold me into a fragile snowflake within his league. When I finally drove away, my head raced through dizzying qualms: Did I do the right thing? Why was he watching me? Do I exude an aura? Am I paranoid? Still, until I heard “Villain,” I wouldn’t have called it “assault.” He didn’t even touch me, after all. But then there he was, the man on the bus in Speedy Ortiz’s most subtly sinister song yet. We had to discuss this.
The publicist only granted me 15 minutes with Dupuis, but we covered plenty of ground as she strolled through the aisles. As I’d suspected, she was the type of artist that not only dialed in to societal issues, but worked to create solutions. What I didn’t realize, though, was that her imperative to help stemmed from a gracious, intelligent empathy. When we did broach “Villain,” for instance, Dupuis didn’t condemn anyone in a typical assault scenario. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” she said (the “you” referring to survivors in general, but specifically to me). “You just happened to be there when someone who has been civilized incorrectly feels entitled.” And that’s why Speedy Ortiz now hand out tip sheets at shows, on how to spot and spot sexual harassment as it happens in public. See what I mean?
We could have talked longer, honestly. By the time Dupuis had made her way to the hot bar, we had discussed the rising star of her supporting act, Nashville’s Soccer Mommy; the positive trend of strong female solo acts displacing white dude gangs at the top of the charts; and the crisis of vanishing venue spaces, including the recent closure of Brooklyn’s beloved Silent Barn. But that’s fine. I’m just grateful that Dupuis cared about all the things I cared about—starting dialogue in public spaces, creating art that inspires others to act, and helping others feel included and valued. She certainly validated me.
I took a sneak peak of some of the things you were doing this week, which sounded really cool—like that production class you were leading. What will the format of that look like?
Well, basically, Sonos does panels in their shop, and I’ve done a few before. And they’re like, “Well, do you wanna host a panel? How about women in music?” And I’m sick to death of gender being the primary focus of so many of my friends’ work. So I said, “We could very easily put together four amazing women in audio production, and just have them talk about their work.” And that’s going to cause more of a change in audience members than hearing the same ol’ gender-driven [discussion] to the end of time. So I just reached out to four people in different fields of audio production, who I’m a fan of, and my first choices all said yes, which is amazing.
Suzi Analogue is going to do a self-production workshop, and Emily Lazar is going to talk about mastering, and what to listen for. Natalie [Hernandez], who works at Death By Audio, an effects pedal company that I’ve been using and loving for over 10 years, is going to build a Fuzz War, which is one of their biggest pedals, and help attendees build that together. And then Danielle Depalma, who runs Bowery Ballroom in New York, [and] used to do sound for Speedy on tour—she’s going to do a live sound workshop. So we’ll have a brief conversation with all these amazing engineers, and then break out into smaller groups with the people who have signed up for their workshops. So it’s gonna be cool, and I’m excited to actually take the workshops.
Credit: Shervin Lainez
Wow, that’s great. Yeah, it always feels like to me—and maybe it’s because I’m not actually a musician—but when dudes get into groups and talk about gear (and it’s always dudes), I always feel deficient.
Yeah, we’re trying to make it very accessible, for people of all genders, obviously. But sometimes, especially for women, you can feel especially intimidated by gear stuff, just because you go into a music store and you only see men employed. And that’s just not the reality. So I’m so excited for this workshop.
Supporting you at this show is Soccer Mommy, i.e. Sophie Allison. How did you get hip to her? Seems like, just suddenly, she’s blown up in the media.
I know! We met a year ago. Well, it was through our publicist, who’s my friend, [when she] said, “You would like this!” And then we appeared in a roundtable discussion for the New York Times, about a year ago, and so I hung out with her for a day while doing that. And I loved her, and so I’m really psyched that we get to tour with her.
Yeah! Although I do worry sometimes—when people talk about her, they lump her in with Lucy Dacus, Mitski, Jay Som, and call it this “new poetic movement.”
Oh! You just mentioned three musicians that I think are really doing it right.
I know! I just worry that people are doing that thing, of grouping people together exclusively by gender.
Yeah, yeah. Well, all of those musicians sound totally different to me, but I know some of them are friends of each other. I’m friends with all of them! I think we’re all just fans of each others’ work. I don’t know for how many years where all five of the hottest indie bans comprised solely four or five white guys. I think it’s great that that seems to be shifting.
Agreed. And I think it’s also great—and you mentioned this in your interview with London in Stereo—that music with societal commentary, and music with a purpose, is much more interesting to you now. I feel like that’s coming a lot more to the surface in modern music, too.
Yeah, I think we’re all understandably more stressed out and worried, and on guard. Those preoccupations have a natural tendency to slip into art, and I think many of us feel an imperative to express that, and perhaps lead people to action through art.
Yeah. That’s definitely true, especially with your new album. I was just listening to it again, and “Villian” is just astonishing to me, because I actually just had something similar happen to me.
Oh my god. I’m so sorry.
Well, it wasn’t quite as overt as the situation you described, like the character asking “What kind of porn do you like?” He wasn’t that invasive. But he still addressed me as I was walking out of the coffee shop, and he claimed that he’d been watching me for the past one-and-a-half years. And I didn’t know what to do in that situation. I let him talk to me, but I tried to keep a distance. So it’s just—whenever we talk about this situation, I wonder, cool, now what do we do? Especially when it’s not so overt that he just wants to go to bed with you.
Well, the point of the song—and I wrote the song about my own assault, but there’s a range of situations that occur in the song, because that can take so many forms. And really, the hope is—it’s not just a song for the people that survived that kind of thing, but it’s a song for anyone who might be a bystander, or for someone who, because of the way that they’ve been raised and socialized, might not understand how unwanted their conversation or advances are to a stranger.
So I really think that, when that happens in public, bystander intervention is so important. And we started passing out work tip sheets on how to intervene if you see someone experiencing harassment at a show or in public. The hope is that it shouldn’t just be on the person, it shouldn’t just be on you to stop that from happening to you. You haven’t done anything wrong, you just happened to be there when someone who has been civilized incorrectly feels entitled. And I feel like what we need to work on, more than your response, is this entitlement that people feel, and also the lack of action that people take when they see that happening, because they don’t necessarily know how to intervene safely.
Or they may not even recognize that anything wrong is happening. Yeah, that reminds me, that you started that hotline at shows, and that was the first time I’d ever seen an artist do that. And I still don’t think enough is being done. More bands are openly stating that they’re willing to help, but…
Right, what does that physically look like? A lot of bands are keen to announce that their shows are safe spaces, but they don’t actually have any policy in place. It’s interesting, we actually had to reconfigure the hotline yesterday. Someone texted it while we were at a show two days ago, and the program we were using for it was only forwarding to my phone and not my bandmates! This isn’t very interesting for the record, I guess, but I was just thinking about it, because I had to do a deep dive into how to fix it, and I got it fixed. But yeah, it did get used this weekend, and we did let the venue know what was going on.
A lot of bands have reached out to us since we started this initiative, and now have set up hotlines of their own. I do think bands are trying—it’s just a slow learning curve for all of us, Speedy Ortiz included. There are things we’ve changed, like the hotline, and the safer spaces policies that we post at shows. And we started passing out the tip sheets I mentioned earlier to you, because that’s probably more effective than anything, just teaching as many people as possible about how they can help their friends and fellow show-goers. So it’s a learning curve, and I think people are trying, and I have to commend that.
Speaking of venue spaces—and this is actually a weird segue—but I read that Twerp Verse was recorded at Silent Barn, which just closed recently. That’s such a problem lately, venues staying open. We’re having that problem here in Atlanta, too.
I think the last time I came through Atlanta, with my side project, I played at the Drunken Unicorn, and the show got shut down in the middle, because of some nonsense. I can’t remember what they’re called, these tricks that they play on venues about “codes” that they use to shut them down—and it happened in the middle of our set! And I was like, “C’mon, Atlanta too?” This happens all the time in New York, but…
Oh, yeah, absolutely. There’s a cluster of art galleries downtown that’s probably not going to exist at the end of this month, because the company that owns them used this random fire that happened on that street as an excuse to throw up more inspections and say, “Welp, nope, you guys cannot operate in these buildings anymore, we’ve got to take these buildings back.” And that’s another thing that I’ve been worried about: is there anything artists and fans can do to protect venues in that way?
It’s hard for me to answer. A lot of that depends on real estate, which is a pretty evil business. And what’s also tricky, is that these businesses can reopen, but often they do so in a way that gentrifies another neighborhood, and creates the same real estate cycle, for people who have been living in those neighborhoods forever. And so, it’s a pessimistic response, but I’ve had a hard time seeing a good solution. I think Silent Barn was great, because they were really aware of their status as a gentrifying force in the neighborhood, and I think they did a lot to counteract that with their programs for local residents of Bushwick, and education, and they really tried to push racially diverse lineups. I think it’s really important for these types of spaces to have conversations about the gentrification of their neighborhood, but it’s really hard, especially [when] the real estate in New York is not fickle, but really capitalist, in a way that doesn’t really create lasting spaces for art. I feel like the conversation has to be about anti-capitalism before it can be about how to preserve art spaces!
Oh, absolutely. I’ve had this conversation with other artists, too. Like, “How can you convince other people that art and music are worthwhile when they’re just concerned with how to make the most income?”
So, on an individual level, it’s a matter of showing up to these art spaces, and trying to spend your money at art galleries that are doing shows instead of the bars that are doing shows. But there’s only so much all of us can do, especially when real estate prices are being driven up so drastically. Rental on these places is impossible to earn when you’re just renting a space. And that causes the venues to get into stuff that’s not really good for the artist, like taking a cut from merch just to stay open. So I don’t really know a good solution, but I don’t love what’s happening.
And it’s really heartbreaking to see Silent Barn go. At their old location, that was where I was playing as a teenager, and I went to shows there as a teen. That was my first DIY space really, other than, you know, playing in a church basement. But I’m from New York, so I’m used to seeing that cycle, and I think a lot of major cities are sadly getting used to it as more tech comes in, and more condos come in.
[I admit that I can’t speak too much for Atlanta, since I’m a relatively recent transplant. We chat about me a minute, then I note that our 15 minutes have definitely passed. She asks if I have anything else to say before she goes to the checkout, which prompts me to ask…]
So what’s in your basket?
Ohhhhh my god, what did I get? I’m at the hot bar right now. I’ve put in some stuffed peppers, quinoa, arugula. And in the basket, I’ve got some tortilla chips to share with my bandmates, and some yerba mate. Nothing too exciting, just some snacks for the road. I got me some dried mango, too.
Ooh, hell yes! I love me some dried fruit.
I know, oh my god. The problem with me is that I usually eat the whole bag.
Speedy Ortiz will perform tomorrow night, May 9, at the Masquerade alongside Soccer Mommy and Zenizen. Doors open at 7 p.m. Admission is $13. All ages.
More Info
Web: speedyortiz.com
Bandcamp: speedyortiz.bandcamp.com
Facebook: @speedyortiz
Instagram: @sad13
SoundCloud: @speedyortiz
Twitter: @speedyortiz