Since self-releasing her 2004 debut mixtape, Suburban Rap Queen, K. Flay (Kristine Meredith Flaherty) has learned a few things and she knows what’s what.
“The two things that are true are: honesty is the best policy — that is true — and cleanliness is next to godliness. I believe in those two,” Flaherty says with a laugh, over the phone in advance of her NXNE showcase June 18 at the Mod Club.
Those are the nice lessons. The hardest one came at the hands of her deal with a major record label. After years of self-releasing mixtapes and building tons of buzz online and through shows and collaborations, Flaherty was signed. But the dream was short-lived and over the course of two years, she recorded 60 songs, none of which were released by RCA. So she walked away and crowdfunded her first full-length record, Life as a Dog, after 10 years in the business.
CBC Music spoke with Flaherty about her the major label breakup, her hip-hop heroes, feminism, the NXNE/Action Bronson protest and misogyny.
[Editor's note: video contains some strong language.]
The dream after doing it on your own for so long is to have help. So when that help didn’t materialize, did you question what you were going to do?
Yeah, definitely. What was strange for me, when I began making the music, it was DIY, partly out of necessity, partly out of personal interest. But I was still quite early on in my music identity when I got signed. So, even though the label was barely involved in what I was doing, I was still enmeshed in the infrastructure and I had the support and the validation of it. When I didn’t have it anymore, I did feel, like, spun around and confused in a way I hadn’t anticipated. What was very fortunate for me was when I was with the label, I had full autonomy. They never took over my website, they kind of let me just do what I was doing. Granted, they wouldn’t let me release anything, but they let me just do stuff, like I was touring and everything... But it’s like when you break up with someone and you’re like, ‘What am I going to do on Friday?’ (Laughs)
When you started out, you described your work as a bit of a parody. Were you surprised when established hip-hop artists embraced you?
When I began, to be honest with you, I made a couple joke songs, and then I went home for summer break and just had a job and whatever, was hanging out with my friends. But I bought a keyboard and I started learning how to program my beats and I bought a microphone and started recording, so right away the content started to become authentic. Even if I look back and cringe on it now, I really did mean it, I was quite sincere. I think the stuff, when people started to get behind it, it was me and a genuine expression of my mind and myself.
How has your relationship to hip-hop changed in the course of your career?
Hip-hop was really the reason I started not just liking music, but loving it. Growing up, I liked music for sure. I don’t think you can trust people who don’t like music. But I didn’t love music. It didn’t shape my life in any way. But when I got to college, I was in California and there was a really strong indie hip-hop scene. I kind of got immersed in it.
The two things I loved about hip hop are, number one: it’s an incredibly honest, confessional form of music I’m very drawn to, that storytelling aspect. And then secondly, it was a word puzzle in a way that a rock song isn’t. Breaking down a rhythm pattern or a certain kind of cadence was endlessly fascinating. Of course, certain rhythms will appear throughout lots of different songs across many different artists, but there’s such incredible variation, even within individual artists and seeing everything they do. It was my first musical love and it really brought me into the world to make music.
Which artists were most important to you originally?
Originally, Dizzee Rascal for sure. Boy in a Corner was a huge record for me. OutKast. And probably [A] Tribe [Called Quest]. When I really got into the Low End Theory, that was also a big moment.
I want to talk to you about everyone’s favourite subject, misogyny.
Yay! Can’t get enough of it.
There’s been a fair bit of discussion over Action Bronson... I’m wondering if you have any thoughts on the idea that misogyny can be entertainment for some people.
Well, this is a very complicated question. And one that I myself struggle with. I clearly consider myself a feminist and I often think — even last night, I was with a couple of my female friends who are also in entertainment and we were just all commiserating about how it can be hard to exist in a male dominated space. Which I guess is every space, right? But what’s difficult for me, on a personal level, to be honest, is that a lot of the music I listen to perpetuates different kinds of misogynistic language or attitudes or just a general philosophy. And I often don’t even think about it. I think we’re just so inundated with that [misogyny], it becomes part of the air we breathe. Even if that air is giving us shortness of breath or some form of asthma, we don’t think of it that way.
Do I think I should be listening to stuff that just speaks so horribly about women? And yet, I do still listen to some of that. I guess that shows how deeply ingrained some of this stuff is and I’m not sure of the solution to be honest. I do think a first step for anything is a public discourse though. Was the issue that this is a free show in a public square?
Yeah, the main issue is it was in a public space, accessible to anybody.
In a perfect world, I would say that none of that should ever be condoned, but then we get into the basic issue of freedom of expression. The thing that’s tricky about all of this is that freedom of expression, freedom of speech works very, very well when everybody’s saying everything. I think the issue with music is that not everybody’s saying everything. Men are saying a lot of things but women don’t say analogous things. It’s not a free-for-all, like a wrestling ring, it’s like a punching bag. I don’t know. It’s such a complicated, terrible situation, and I am complicit. I’ve been complicit just through things I’ve listened to and bought and I consider myself to be a pretty ardently feminist person. I don’t know. (Laughs)
I consider myself a feminist, too, and have listened to things that are complicit, too. And I’m still working on where I draw the line. I’ve discovered I draw the line at graphic depictions or tacit permissions of sexual assault.
Yeah. Isn’t that f--ked up that we’re even saying this? It’s so bad.
Yes. So this is the question I have lately. Most people can recognize that those things are wrong. But some people have decided that part of their persona is to say those things are cool. And I don’t get the decision about that, as to why that would be cool, but I also don’t get the consumption. I know the idea is, ‘Oh, we just skip over the bad songs’ or whatever, I get that, but at some point are you going to skip over everything?
I’ve definitely had conversations about — like, I don’t like aggressive music in general, it scares me and gives me anxiety. But I’ve talked to friends of mine — peaceful, lovely, compassionate, kind-hearted people — and they listen to some brutal ass music. Lyrically. And sonically, but definitely lyrically. How do you have these amazing values but listen to some pretty brutal stuff? And when I talk to them about, they’re like, ‘How do you think I’m like that in real life? I have an outlet.’ It’s sort of cathartic or something. I don’t really know. I mean, people listen to songs about graphic murders, which holds no appeal for me either. I’m just thinking out loud now, I’m not even answering your question.
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by Andrea Warner via Electronic RSS
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