LOS ANGELES — As sweaty fans pushed up against one another, clutching their drinks and swaying to the music, Annie Clark, known professionally as St. Vincent, was being transported.
She recounts that surprise concert in May at the Paramount, an intimate, historic East Los Angeles venue, as a kind of “exorcism” that allowed the singer, songwriter and guitar virtuoso to channel something she doesn’t ordinarily have access to.
As the Grammy winner stood on stage and hypnotically manipulated her guitar, Clark spat on the crowd — a welcomed gesture — before leaping into it to be propelled around the dimly lit room, something artists with her caliber of fame rarely do. The show was a preview for what was to come during her All Born Screaming tour, which kicks off Thursday in Bend, Oregon.
Clark spoke with The Associated Press ahead of the tour about the catharsis she finds through performing, punk music’s influence on her and how the idea of chaos informed her self-produced seventh album.
The interview has been edited for clarity and brevity.
CLARK: Well, it’s interesting that you bring up the Paramount and theatrics because there were no theatrics. Like that was just a full primal moment. The band had been rehearsing, but we hadn’t had any like production rehearsals or anything like that. It was just like “Let’s get up there and play music and just like melt the house.” So, there was nothing consciously performed.
I kind of go into a little bit of a fugue state when I’m performing. Like something else takes over that I don’t have access to in my normal day to day. And the spitting, for example, like sometimes singing is very, like, visceral. And sometimes you just need to spit in order to, like, I don’t know, clear your mouth to keep singing. It’s not like a bit or anything like that. There’s just something so primal about playing in general that it’s just like everything comes out.
CLARK: Oh yeah, you go more. In a 200-cap punk club, you’re like, “The Germs played here,” you know? I started off playing small clubs and would be lucky to like drive to Denver and be psyched to have like 200 people in a club. So you know it, in a certain way, really excites me and takes me back. You can see people’s faces — you can see people’s faces in other venues certainly — but you can see people’s face, they’re right there. There’s no barricade, there’s no nothing. I mean, listen, I love performing in any context except like karaoke or unsolicited at a party with an acoustic guitar. It’s kind of an exorcism for me.
CLARK: I’m a fan of music with a capital F. So I can be as moved by Fugazi and Big Black as I can by Duke Ellington. And it’s all music to me. But I definitely remember seeing Lightning Bolt a lot of times. And obviously this ethos of just like it’s not a stage and performer. We are all one. Also, you didn’t really see the show if you didn’t get like an injury of some kind. I am physical in that way. Just this idea of like a loud, visceral show where we are all in this together. This isn’t about, you know, glitter and capitalism. This is about people having a place to freak the (expletive) out.
CLARK: Everything about the making of this record needed to be tactile. It needed to start with moving electricity around through discrete circuitry. And not just to be like a nerd, but because it had to start with the idea of chaos and chance and “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.” Because that’s how life is. I don’t know what’s going to happen — chaos. But then somehow through a process of intuition and work and magic, you take chaos and you turn it into something and make some kind of sense. So that was the reason for starting with analog modular synths and stuff like that.
