When Corin Tucker and Tracy Sawyer kickstarted Heavens To Betsy in Olympia, Wash., in 1991, the two were in their teens and just finding just their voices in an underground scene where proficiency on one’s instrument mattered less than having something to say. In the grand scheme of things, the pairing registered as little more than a promising blip before the two moved on to other projects—Tucker as co-founder of Sleater-Kinney and Sawyer as the drummer for the Lies and several other bands. Meanwhile, the riot-grrrl movement they helped spawn morphed into a fiercely independent space for young women to confront subjects mainstream rock generally ignored.
Now reunited after more than three decades, Tucker and Sawyer are returning to that formative period with Baby’s Gone (Kill Rock Stars), a 16-track collection that brings together Heavens To Betsy’s early singles with a previously unheard eight-song demo recorded in 1992 and uncovered on a single surviving cassette.
MAGNET’s Hobart Rowland reached out to Tucker and Sawyer for a discussion about the reunion, Olympia’s lasting influence and why the riot-grrrl ethos remains impossible to dismiss.
You’ve said that once you began playing together again, there was an element of muscle memory. What came back immediately and what felt different?
Sawyer: The first thing to overcome was just being around each other and learning to communicate again. We both moved away from Olympia in the ’90s—Corin to Portland, and me to Oakland—so we hadn’t been together in so long. After we broke the ice on a personal/social level, playing together just fell into place. I think we both have a different approach to music now than we did when we were younger and just learning how to play. But it was important to keep it minimal to align with the original spirit of the band.
Baby’s Gone begins with a demo recorded by Bratmobile’s Molly Neuman in February 1992 that essentially disappeared for more than three decades. What was it like hearing that material again?
Sawyer: The thing that first hit me was how relevant the songs still are today. I don’t think we would’ve guessed when we were 19 or 20 that the subject matter would still be so significant decades later. When we originally talked about doing this reunion, I had strong reservations about being in my 50s and playing songs we wrote as teenagers. When I started listening again and thinking about the subjects coming up—exploitation, shame, sexual abuse, etc.—I felt it was something we have to do now.
Reportedly, Molly checked out a Tascam from an AV library to record the demo. Looking back, how important was that DIY infrastructure at such a formative stage of your career?
Tucker: I think we were incredibly fortunate to have that DIY resource—and Molly’s support—as we were forming the band and learning to write songs. The whole ethos of the Olympia scene was to give young artists that freedom to create and dream outside the machinery of the music industry, professionalism and big money. Looking back, I know I was so lucky to have that early community to nourish my songwriting and budding musicianship.
“Ain’t Never Goin’ Back” captures the freedom you found in the Olympia community. What was it about that town?
Sawyer: For me, it felt immediately welcoming and supportive. I think both of us felt a little like outsiders in Eugene, which could’ve stemmed from being uprooted from our hometowns at a formative age. We both started middle school in Eugene after moving from very different environments—Corin from North Dakota and me from Ohio. Starting middle school is hard enough, and feeling like you’ve been plopped onto another planet definitely didn’t help. We gravitated to each other immediately. Olympia, at the time, offered respite from that feeling of being an outsider as we found other folks who were doing the things we wanted to be doing.
The early-’90s underground relied on shows, zines, tapes and people exchanging ideas face to face. When you look at how young musicians build communities now, do you see the same spirit operating through different tools, or has something tangible been lost?
Tucker: I think people can still find like-minded friends through the internet in the way we did. But I do think there’s a difference in-person. In conversation, we see the whole person, their emotions and their body. That enriches the exchange and the ideas we build together, and the music we make. I think we need to remember to hold space for this in our lives because we need it as humans.
Archival projects like this can sometimes tidy up the music. How did you approach Baby’s Gone so the demos retained their rawness?
Sawyer: We weren’t interested in cleaning it up too much, as it’s the rawness that gives these songs power. I think other than cleaning up a few pops and snaps, we wanted to keep true to the sound of the original cassette release. Listening to it again, there were some parts I cringe at—like, “Oh, my bass is so out of tune,” or, “I really could’ve played that part better.” But we didn’t want to make the recording something it wasn’t. It was brave of us to put this out there—granted, on a very limited scale—when we were teenagers, and it’s brave of us to put it out there now.
A generation discovering Baby’s Gone in 2026 will encounter these songs without firsthand memories of riot-grrrl culture. Is there anything you hope younger listeners understand about that environment?
Tucker: One thing I think was important about riot grrrl was that we truly tried to take care of each other during our movement. We did have meetings that were support groups. We warned each other about abusers before there was social media—and that kind of TLC is really important when fighting the motherfucking patriarchy. It is heartbreaking to me how relevant these songs full of outrage are to the present moment.
See Heavens To Betsy live.
