It’s not hard to image why an expansive landscape, blanketed with starry skies would be a preferable, energising force; not to mention the ease with which you can draw a line between the organic, almost feral edge to their sound and a generative proximity to nature. “I just heard this interesting fact the other day,” confirms Wayman, “when you look at something natural it actually releases endorphins in your brain. Even if it’s something harsh like a rock or a Joshua Tree that’s really spiny, it’s nature so it actually feels good.”
That definition of harsh, invigorating beauty – of a satisfying, night-timey darkness – is more or less the perfect way to describe the twelve tracks on the new record. On first listen it’s a pervasive atmosphere or attitude that strikes you, rather than definable melodies or memorable lyrics. I put this to the band, guessing it to have been their intention, but find out how different it feels to them: “The atmosphere was more intentional than on other records,” agrees Kokal, “but I think on past albums there was a kind of film between the music and the listener, it wasn’t quite as immediate…”
“We didn’t want to create a lot of conflicting melodic lines,” adds Wayman, “but at the same time I feel like it’s not ambiguous or free floating, at least not to my ears – I feel like there’s more succinct songs.”
“We put the vocals up, the lyrics up,” continues Kokal “…the song writing is as much of a focal point as the instrumentation, whereas in the past the vocals were almost just another instrument… there’s a lot more of a vocals pressed to the front, it’s a more traditional style of recording than we did last time.”
Clearly there’s something about the listening experience that involves shifting register and inhabiting the band’s particular wavelength. Like ‘The Fool’, ‘Warpaint’ repays a patient and attentive ear – time passes, the music creeps under your skin and suddenly, out of an amorphous, disorienting whole, those succinct melodies gradually begin to emerge.
The first single swims around the bittersweet, rhythmic mantra “Love is to die / Love is to not die / Love is to dance”; ‘Hi’ broods over crisp electronic beats; ‘Go In’, penned by Mozgawa, is a louche masterpiece of understatement and ‘CC’, driven by Lindberg, might be the grungiest thing they’ll ever produce. The more you delve into the record, the more their specific personalities are revealed, but the thing that tethers it together is the particular blend of timbres that somehow make one, stunning vocal entity; a soft, communal roar that is unmistakably theirs.
“Before the record was finished,” says Lindberg, “we thought the songs were all so different and the record was going to be so eclectic, like no song sounds the same – but I think we surprised ourselves, when you tie them all together, how fluid the record was and how concise it feels.” That cohesion could, in part, be attributed to the involvement of legendary producer Flood whom, along with the expansive desert, Wayman cites as the sixth member of the band. “We’ve ended up with an album that we couldn’t achieve on our own sonically,” she relates. “He has so much experience creating really good sounds, and mic-ing drums in such an incredible way, and being creative with how to layer sonic ideas within a song. All of that is so natural to him that it’s actually pretty hard to know exactly what he’s doing, it seems like nothing’s happening but he’s doing so much!”
Flood’s name is generally mentioned in the same breath as the words seminal and landmark – PJ Harvey, Nick Cave, New Order and U2 all being counted in the roster of his long-term collaborators. But rather than exerting any heavy pressure, his presence simply adds to the band’s status as serious, canny musicians, bristling to explore the boundaries of their sound and continuing to gather people around them that compliment rather than upset the balance of their particular universe. “He’s a real collaborator,” says Kokal, “from the get go, he said ‘you pick what’s comfortable for you’, and that’s pretty amazing for someone of his level. He lived on the premises of the studio, ate what we ate, slept in these little quarters… a really simple, really modest person who was just there to serve the music and to bring out, what he felt, was the best in a circumstance that could be quite stressful.”
Perhaps the most logical way to translate this atmosphere of closeness that Warpaint both generate and seem to crave creatively is into the notion of a family. And it’s a motley extended one that includes Wayman’s son, her long distance partner James Blake, and Lindberg’s husband – the maverick, Reading born, video director Chris Cunningham – who plays a direct part in bringing the band’s vision for ‘Warpaint’ to life.
For music that sounded so cohesive, the aesthetic that accompanied ‘The Fool’ was arguably pretty jumbled; “everything was scattered,” says Wayman, “it didn’t seem like we knew what we were all about as much as we wanted to portray. So that was a conscious decision this time around, and then we ended up having Chris Cunningham helping us do that!”
The band had begun filming one another during the Joshua Tree sessions, just to document their time and “have something in 40 years, y’know,” as Lindberg puts it. But Cunningham was on site too, working on his own projects and taking his place at the family table before eventually beginning to gather footage of the band himself. The result is Love is to Die, a full length film that will accompany the album when it’s released early next year, but don’t expect a fly on the wall documentary – teaser clips suggest that the potent atmosphere of their creative coven has been distilled, layered and set against an underscore of howling desert winds that are tinged with the ghost-girl harmonies.
Family ties aside, the collaboration makes total sense when you consider the twisted beauty of their oeuvre alongside Cunningham’s own genius for visualising the most shadowy corners of the collective unconscious. With a shared experience of the places they’ve been and a deep sense of the music they’re engaged with making, it’s fair to say that his treatment of Warpaint’s particular brand of noir is likely to be a gentler assault on the senses than his genre (and peaceful sleep) destroying work for Aphex Twin. “Definitely,” says Lindberg. “The record cover he made for us is really timeless, really classic, really beautiful and soft, but with just a hint of edge and darkness. People think he’s the dark lord of music videos but he’s actually a practical joker and really funny!”
“I feel like he’s more mischievous than he is dark,” adds Mozgawa. “I remember seeing ‘Come to Daddy’ and laughing my tits off. Even ‘Windowlicker’, people are like ‘ewwww that’s disgusting’ but I think that’s the funniest shit ever!”
So Cunningham will cast his subtly dark web over everything that emerges under the banner of ‘Warpaint’ – even remixing some of the music – and this time around there’ll be no confusion about what the band want to say about who they are. “We’re so lucky that we have someone that has such an interesting, creative and twisted mind in our inner circle,” enthuses Wayman, “and also that he’s so good at what he does…”
“His soundtrack is probably going to sell more albums than ours!” jokes Kokal.
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While they’re clearly focused on driving more of themselves into their music, even opening their private, collective world to a bigger audience in the shape of a film, what makes Warpaint such an alluring prospect is the sense that you can never quite pin them down. Between the music that takes its time, a maturity that defies flighty commercialism and the secret alchemy of their friendship bond, the mercurial nature of the band slides in and out of tangibility; even Cunningham’s album artwork alludes to this – depicting four spectral personalities merging into one chimeric whole. They’re both the strange girls on the peripheries of the schoolyard and a classic girl gang that you’d sell your soul to join. They’re goofballs too, cracking each other up as often as they slip into contemplation; just like the track listing of the new record which flits from the gentle, harmonic tug of ‘Teese’ into ‘Disco/Very’ – the Warpaint-ian notion of a floor filler being a snarling, Slits-y, comic book anthem that carries the warning “Don’t you battle / We’ll kill you / Rip you up and tear you in two”.
“I think we’re all of those things,” muses Mozgawa, “we’re sunny, we’re very emotional and sensitive, and I think being outwardly sunny is sometimes the end of a journey of being tortured and intense and self-aware. As a collective we come to those places where when we’re having fun we’re genuinely having fun and when we’re sad we’re really sad. Being in a band and being encouraged to let those emotions show, both personally and collectively, I think that you get a bit of everything.”
So what’s next for them? While the world casts judgement on the sonic twists and turns of the new album, what will Warpaint do with their renewed sense of balance and possibility? Despite the particularity of their identity as a collective, Mozgawa, Lindberg, Wayman and Kokal are clearly never going to be interested in JUST being instrumentalists and will doubtlessly want to explore projects beyond the limits of the band.
“Being in a band with less people sounds nice,” says Lindberg, “with just one other person y’know… doing something heavy metal! I’ve always wanted to be in an instrumental band too…”
“Yeah, Jen and I have talked about starting a funny project that’s really hard-core,” says Mozgawa, “and I think all of us are totally not intimidated about anyone exploring all the things they want to explore, because it only enhances the experience of being around each other. There’s no antagonism and no one feels held back. I’ve been in situations where I’ve been dissuaded from playing with other people and I feel really lucky that we’re all supportive enough of each other that we can all go off and do our own thing. Aside from the fact that we’re a functioning collective we’re also really hyper and we all have a lot that we want to do while we can.”
Despite having conjured the anxieties of her 19 year old self, it’s Lindberg who articulates the one thing that’s underpinning the whole operation, the thing that keeps the planets aligned and the ship afloat; “It feels special and unique,” she enthuses. “If we broke up or did something else, I feel like it would be missed. It would be something we eventually would want to come back to because, y’know, you can’t really find that anywhere else.”
“Yeah,” says Mozgawa, “It’s a weird delicate thing for sure.”