Continuing the trend of notable actors testing the murky waters of a fragmented music industry, the Yagas are a New York-based quintet fronted by Oscar- and Emmy-nominated actress Vera Farmiga. “The Crying Room,” the group’s debut single, layers guitars and synths atop a Cure-like groove for a doomy, mystical vibe likely influenced by Yagas keyboardist/producer (and Farmiga’s husband) Renn Hawkey, formerly of industrial rockers Deadsy.
The Yagas’ five members all met at the Rock Academy in Woodstock, N.Y., taking their name from Baba Yaga, an infamous witch from Slavic folklore. Produced by Hawkey, mixed by Brian Virtue (Deftones, 30 Seconds To Mars) and mastered by Emily Lazar (Beck, Coldplay), the band’s self-released debut, Midnight Minuet, is out now.
MAGNET’s Hobart Rowland checked in with Farmiga to get the scoop.
What’s the history behind the Yagas, and how did the Rock Academy figure into it?
If you would’ve told me a year ago that I’d be in a band, I would’ve screeched, “Who, me? I can’t even commit to a group text.” It’s like a goat in a ballet recital—it makes no sense. Yet here we are, and here I am … stage front, microphone in my face, fog machines blowing up my nostrils, drying up my throat. Jesus, who let this happen? Renn let it happen. Turns out some rando signed him up for the Rock Academy’s adult program as a joke. I suspect it was Scott Ian of Anthrax, an old buddy of Renn’s, who was teaching a workshop that summer. Renn was in the middle of breaking up with Deadsy, so he welcomed the invitation. Whatever Renn does, wherever Renn goes, sign me up. We’re co-dependent like that.
After playing through a few song assignments together, (drummer) Jason (Bowman) and Renn suggested we meet up and jam for fun. (Guitarist) Mark (Visconti) and (bassist) Mike (Davis) were invited. Honestly, I tagged along to that first session confused about what I’d offer, mostly thinking I might be responsible for sourcing the snacks. Next thing I know, we’re meeting outside class, still half-joking … like, “Oh yeah, we’ll just put some lyrics about my intimate death experience ushering my granny through brutal in-home hospice to that weird and wonderful synth thing Renn was doing on top of Mark’s lovely guitar thingy.” Then all these riffs and lyrics and beats started to make sense, and we went from, “Hey, let’s jam,” to, “Wait, are we a band now?”
The moral of the story: Never underestimate a random adult’s Rock Academy season. The school is like the Hogwarts of rock ’n’ roll—pure magic. One minute, I’m a regular mom, driving my kids to their 18th season, waiting hours in the pot-holed parking lot. The next thing I know, I’m being swept into this late-chapter band adventure.
How has your background in film and TV influenced and/or comingled with your work with the Yagas?
I’ve spent 30 years acting out various traumas, gazing wistfully into the void. Now the void has a fun rhythm section, and I’m swapping my wigs for a Waldorf synth. Dialogue is melody; every scene is a verse; and every chorus is a big-ass closeup of pores accompanied by crash cymbals. Film marinated me in melodrama, basted me in backstory and broiled me under the hot lights of emotional exposure. The Yagas brew the same kind of recipe, but with distortion pedals and harmonies. I don’t think of myself as a singer. I’m a storyteller with added notes and reverb. Whether I’m acting or Yaga-ing, I still pretend.
How would you describe the Yagas’ sound?
It’s, um, hard to box. It’s like riding a flaming dragon through a wormhole made of astral synth projections and metal beats. Everyone brings their ingredients to the cauldron. I like to think of what I muster as Slavic lullabies and rants, with lots of eyeliner. I’m a hopeless case if you want music references. When they reference, I go cross-eyed and drool. I just tell them stuff like, “Make it sound more like dire wolves waltzing.” Or, “Chant here like Gregorian monks with blue eyeshadow.” Or, “Hey, Renn, make a sound like I’m five years old and I’m skipping down the Carpathian Mountains, playing my balalaika, wearing a fluorescent pink mini skirt.” Or, “Jason, beat those skins like you see me crazed and naked, walking the wet fern path to my sacred crying ritual hut accompanied by my pack of guardian gorillas … and go!”
Tell us more about “The Crying Room.” How did the first Yagas single come to be?
It was co-written with my writing partner, Acacia Ludwig, Jason’s wife. Acacia and Jason were on a summer tour with the Rock Academy Showband with my son, Fynn. She texted me that the kids were performing in a church and there was a door labeled ‘The Crying Room.’ I imagined an empty, dark, padded room, walls sweat-soaked and sworn to secrecy, the scent of frankincense and existential dread, and a woman with her mouth stitched shut yet screaming. Concurrently, Renn and Mark were working out a riff in our living room. The song came to me one happy-go-lucky morning at 6 a.m., sunburned and joyful on a beach vacation with a house full of guests sleeping below us. I woke up and said, “Renn, put on the coffee and turn on the mic.” I just let it rip—one take. I can’t even imagine what would’ve gone down if I wrote that song when I was actually sad.
What was the recording process like for Midnight Minuet?
We grabbed an hour here, an hour there. Trying to find time to write and play music as a band while juggling acting, teaching, real-estate-development careers and parenting was nuts. We don’t live in the same zip codes. It’s chaos. It’s mayhem. It’s art. Lots of coffee and desperate hope that the kids won’t wake up before we finish recording a chorus. Renn spends way more time than any of us, piecing it all together. He’s our glue.
