Music

Savages detail their serious sophistication

by Mark Teo

“I always try to find the word to describe it, but it keeps slipping my mind,” says Savages singer Jehnny Beth, while trying to describe her post-punk band’s blistering forthcoming debut, Silence Yourself. “It’s like sweet, but sour. It’s related to aesthetic, sophisticated roughness. It’s stylized—but raw. There’s a word out there… there’s a classiness to it. It’s—for fuck’s sake!”

It’s fitting that Beth can’t articulate the source of Savages’ allure—because, quite frankly, neither can most who’ve witnessed the London foursome perform. When we rendezvous with Beth and guitarist Gemma Thompson over grilled salmon salads, they’re in the midst of a veritable hype storm—and Savages, after announcing a distribution deal with Matador Records, had just completed runs at Canadian Music Week and SXSW that drew near-religious accolades. Their unhinged stage presence, said critics, was driven by Beth, who was half stern taskmasker, half wounded animal. One opener claimed that the band made them “want to quit music.” They were called foreboding. Chaotic. Confrontational. Intense.

“We surprise people with our charisma,” says Thompson. “It’s different than what people expect. There’s a tension we create between sound and lyrics—and there are things that are expected from all-girl bands, but we like to [subvert] expectations to create something that’s original.”

Thompson has a point: Silence Yourself has a quality that feels both obsessively controlled and dangerously unhinged. There’s plenty of sonic touchpoints here—think Suicide’s bleak mechanics, Joy Division’s taut rhythms, and even the metallic dirge of Motorhead—but when describing the album, Beth and Thompson speak in generalities. Sure, Savages liked Converge’s guitar tone and Nick Oliveri’s bass distortion, but in sculpting their sound, they say, mood came first.

“A lot of it’s very instinctive,” says Thompson. “It’s really funny that people always hear Joy Division in us, because we never try to reference anything in our songs. In writing, we look at our instruments with intent, which is more interesting than the mechanics of playing an instrument. Intent is very important in our music [in the same way it is in] performance, theatre, or film.”

Here’s what she’s getting at: Savages are uber-controlling about how they’re perceived, interpreted, and disseminated. For this interview, for instance, they were even hesitant to appear on camera. (“We’ve always been very into the details,” Beth would tell us later, “which can make us a nightmare to work with.”) Beth likens the band’s serious-minded performance to John Cassevetes 1977 film Opening Night—a work that’s quoted on Silence Yourself’s opening track—in which Gena Rowlands plays an actress unable to separate the personal from the performance.

“The reason I like Cassevetes is because for him, life and art are the same thing,” says Beth. “I’m surprised that people don’t believe that what singers say is true—I always assume that when people are sing a song, they’re telling the truth. I’m surprised by how many people don’t think of it that way.

It’s also why Beth isn’t ecstatic about signing with a well-respected label in Matador. “Whenever someone congratulates me for working with Matador, I don’t really connect it with my feelings,” Beth deadpans. “I see things cold-heartedly. I had to demystify the culture around independent records: Bands make their own success. No record labels are my heroes.”

Combative words, perhaps. But Beth breaks her casual intensity by slamming the table, grabbing my arm, and announcing that she’s found the perfect word to describe Savages’ music: “Fuck, I have to write this down,” she laughs. “It’s sophisticated.”