Antony didn’t become ANOHNI because it was convenient. The lushly forlorn composer and quietly operatic vocalist with pop’s richest other-worldly vibrato has forever gone far beyond androgyny, whether as an Avenue A performance diva or as the somber front-person of Antony & The Johnsons. The feminine ANOHNI—a change reflected on her new album, Hopelessness—is but one shift in sound and vision, one that finds her doubling down on the singer’s longtime identification as transgender. The other shifts in ANOHNI’s and Hopelessness’ mood and manner are a peppier, dance-ier groove and happy, plush arrangements that run counter-intuitively to her sudden loss of innocence regarding politics, nature and even the current president. This ANOHNI is angry, even if she never raises her voice.
So I spoke to Martin Schmidt from Matmos, with whom you worked on tracks such as “Molly Malone.” He mentioned that you were sort of aghast that they weren’t exactly proficient when it came to being instrumentalists; that you are very much a dominant musician—which they say they aren’t—and that you definitely like to be in charge. Are you really so exacting, so precise?
Hmm. I guess that I am detail-oriented. That’s definitely true.
It’s interesting that I’ve spoken to you many times in the past as Antony—here you are, same voice, same demeanor. Have any of your perspectives shifted as ANOHNI? I know that you’ve always identified as being transgender.
Yes, that’s true. My impressions of being transgender have been consistent. Now, I’m the same exact person, same form. Just a different name, a formal change. No matter what name that you’re using, would you say—at the very least, with this new album—that you’re angrier? You certainly sound it. Or actively disgruntled. This one takes a different approach than any of the previous albums, a stealthier approach. The aesthetic of the music of Hopelessness is fashioned to be contemporary, very seductive to the ear, I suppose. This album could enter the main thoroughfare of dance music today. Only here, I’ve used what I hope is a much more challenging lyrical content to go with that music. In the past, I’ve made more pastoral-sounding work, and, in a way, more internal work. This record is no less personal. It’s just a di fferent sort of exploration of empowerment, self-determination and the world all around me. I think that I felt an urgency in wanting to participate in the bigger conversation this time out—that wasn’t true before. I think I was passive in that regard.
Now, you have sharper teeth.
I’m explicitly expressing the despair and frustrations of what’s going on around us. I’m flexing a muscle of participation that perhaps I haven’t flexed previously. You know what I mean?
Was there a societal or political flashpoint where you went from passive to active?
Maybe “passive” was the wrong word to describe my situation. My past work was so pastoral in that regard; it wasn’t holding space for a more galvanizing point of view. I wanted to throw a wildcard into the mix, use the platform I’ve been afforded to my best advantage, to be part of the conversation. There wasn’t one single moment that motivated me, however. These were all thoughts that I’ve had for many years. It’s a cumulative effect. Plus, I had to find the right context. Working with Hudson (Mohawke) and Dan (Oneohtrix Point Never) was that right vehicle. I couldn’t have made this album with my usual chamber-y orchestral sound. I wouldn’t have captured the energy that I feel toward things that are so pressing on my heart.
You wanted to be more vivid as a lyricist. And I hate to say it, sweeter sounding in its musical delivery?
It is sweeter. Much more candied. The content of the songs emerge in di fferent ways. When I heard Hudson’s demos for “4 Degrees” and “Drone Bomb Me,” I wrote those lyrics. I was spurred. Some songs such as “Hopelessness” came incrementally. It’s not as if lyrics were lying around. They just needed the right vehicle. Once Hudson got on board, in particular, we found a direction.
Some of Hopelessness rails against what you once found beautiful, the representation of nature, President Obama.
My approach to Obama was quite naïve because I was looking for an easy way out, a silver bullet, to fix the world’s problems. I think we placed an unrealistic burden of hope upon him, which he invited us to do. My part in all this is that I allowed myself to be infantilized by the current system of representational government. I thought by casting my votes that I had fulfilled my obligations as a citizen. In many ways, I think that it’s just not going to work that way anymore. We’re not going to see any change in anything if we continue down the path we’ve been heading for far too long. There are things that are required of us if we are to maintain our diversity or prevent, at its worst, any apocalyptic effects when it comes to climate change. It’s all me, though. I have to participate more actively and in more deliberate, wide-reaching ways toward creating change.
You sound as sad as you are disgusted toward our current president within the walls of Hopelessness.
You know, I think that it’s like being a child who realizes that a parent isn’t going to fix everything; better still, in fact, that he’s incapable of fixing anything. The system is equally incapable of fixing itself, but he isn’t helping. There are successes and great disappointments, but the trend that I see is that we’re sliding inexorably toward something very, very destructive concerning the well-being of the world.
—A.D. Amorosi
