Part 2

Are you acting out parts of your personality in your music which you couldn’t or wouldn't in your daily life? If so, which are these?

I find it most satisfying to channel power and intensity in my work. A friend once said to me “you make such powerful music for such a small person”, and it made me feel really seen.

There’s admittedly an attention-seeking part of me that wants to be regarded as strong, capable, and interesting - it’s little awkward teenage Michelle deep in there wanting to feel understood and in control of her own identity.

It’s a lot more difficult for me to access “powerful” than “gentle”, “meditative”, and “beautiful”, which come more easily but feel more “expected” and not like I’m pushing the boundaries of who I am. Pushing those boundaries makes me feel free, making me feel capable of reinventing myself.

It’s the same part of me that’s been drawn lately, post-album, to genres like house and metal. Music that feels more like it belongs to the body than the brain - after doing such an introspective album, I wanna dance and scream and shake out all the feelings! I feel like I’m starting to tend more to these sides of myself that have been neglected for a while.

I’m excited to see how those impulses come out the other end …

Late producer SOPHIE said: “You have the possibility [...] to generate any texture, and any sound. So why would any musician want to limit themselves?” What's your take on that?

I’ve been so drawn into the world of synths and production for those reasons. As someone who comes from a classical piano/choral/chamber background, who still is coming to terms with the fact that I might want to use backing tracks for live shows and not build 100% of the songs from scratch in front of the audience, I’m still trying to gain fluency with synths and samples to the degree I have it for the piano and my voice.

You can control pitch, rhythm, and timbre in absolutely unlimited ways, which is exciting but also overwhelming compared to the limitations of something like an 88-key piano or the voice you’ve been given. You suddenly get every color paint imaginable at your fingertips, an infinitely large canvas, and no limitation of how fast or slow the paint dries - everything happens at the pace of your imagination.

Which is partially why this album took so many years to finish.

Do you feel that your music or your work as an artist needs to have a societal purpose or a responsibility to anyone but yourself?

I think a lot about what Thich Nhat Hahn and the Buddhist practice says about how to make positive change in the world: before we tend to the suffering of others, we have to transform our own suffering in order to support others from a place of stability.

Creating work as an artist for me feels like a way for me to understand and transform what’s going on inside myself, whether good or bad. My work helps me stay in touch with my emotions through its reflective nature, and much of the content of my songs reminds me of my intentions to be a more caring, compassionate person.

Some of the most profound moments of my life came from experiences I had either creating work or engaging with the work of others. I’ve had songs and books put me on a hopeful new path after feeling at my most lost. I don’t write music with the expectation that it’s going to change anyone’s life profoundly, but even to hear from one person that they were touched by it feels like an honor.

I have so much gratitude for everyone in the world who puts their voice and work out there, because it’s a way of connecting with others and potentially helping them in ways both big and small.

I would love to know a little about the feedback you've received from listeners or critics about what they thought some of your songs are about or the impact it had on them – have there been “misunderstandings” or did you perhaps even gain new “insights?”

I find it so beautiful when people find new and completely unintended meaning out of what I’ve created.

Someone at our listening party told me that during the event, they were able to process several kinds of grief/loss they were going through that I have never experienced. A friend told me that the music video I made helped her process complex emotions from her childhood she had forgotten about.

I guess our emotions all had the same “shapes” in some way. It makes me feel more connected to everyone.

Sound, song, and rhythm are all around us, from animal noises to the waves of the ocean. What, if any, are some of the most moving experiences you've had with these non-human-made sounds? In how far would you describe them as “musical”?

I grew up a short distance from the redwood forest and Pacific Ocean in Santa Cruz County, California, so the sounds of these places are even better than music to my ears - waves, the rustling of trees, birds … they are literally the most natural things, and put me at ease in a way that sometimes music can’t.

My ears and brain can feel fatigued after listening to too much music, but the sounds of nature always restores them.

We can surround ourselves with sound every second of the day. The great pianist Glenn Gould even considered this the ultimate delight. How do you see that yourself and what importance does silence hold?

I craved silence so much during my work on this album - my mind was overstimulated with sound, and my ears were fatigued from close listening while mixing. It was actually kind of alarming how little I wanted to listen to music for much of the process and the time following it.

I still don’t really know what to make of it, but I’m definitely happy to be in a period of time now post-album where I’m craving music again. Everything in moderation, I guess?

Do you feel as though writing or performing a piece of music is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

It all feels the same. Maybe it just comes down to what you get to keep after the experience.

I can aggressively make tea by scorching the leaves with water that’s too hot and then slamming the cup on the table without a coaster, but that scratches that itch for just a moment. I can look out my bedroom and see a beautiful full moon illuminating the fences and gardens outside, and the moment and its lingering memory will give me the same feeling as some phrases in songs do.

Songs feel like souvenirs you get to keep, like photos.

What is a music related question that you would like to add to this interview for other artists to respond to – and what's your own answer to it?

“Describe an experience of reinventing yourself as an artist. Why did you feel you had to change, and who did you then become?”

Coming off of this huge wave that was two and a half years of work on the second album, I feel that I’m in the process of doing this now. No concrete answers yet, but the intuition arrows so far are pointing to simplicity, directness, and rawness.

It’s a little scary feeling this way, literally releasing the album now as I write this and feeling like my heart is yearning for things miles away from it. But accepting that change is a normal and necessary part of having a long creative life helps.

I’ve found comfort in something Maggie Nelson said a mentor once told her:

“‘Remember, your feelings about the work don’t determine the value of the work.’ You can feel frustrated, disgusted, agitated, hopeless, every day, on and off, but you can’t necessarily believe all your moods. You just have to keep on working.”