As such, Hersh feels that the “evil” contained in the songs is something kids already know. “It feels good to shout gross things. To moan along with the dying and then get back to your oatmeal cookies. My boys were born knowing this…when did I forget? My father didn’t.” A gruesomely hilarious song like “What’ll We Do With The Baby-O”, which Hersh says horrified English fans, gives the jealousy of older siblings an amusing outlet.
Children whose parents meet their emotional needs don’t have to be protected from the unsavory inducements of popular culture, whether it be murder ballads of the past or television of today. “Kids have their own built-in sensors; they’re picking and choosing for themselves. I’ve never seen them too badly fooled. Besides,” she adds, “kids can watch ‘The Simpsons’, ‘King Of The Hill’ and ‘The X-Files’ and see three of the most excellent female role models around.”
O’Connell found Alan Lomax recordings of some of the childhood songs; fans and music-business colleagues sent her tapes of others. Hersh used the recordings to fill in the blanks in her memory, trying to record the words she remembered from childhood. After the recording session for Strange Angels, Hersh made Murder, Misery And Then Goodnight in about a week. “Billy gave me twenty seconds of rehearsal time for every song,” she laughs.
Through her various acoustic projects, Hersh has learned a great deal about both her musical influences and the power of acoustic music. Throwing Muses’ music was seen as wholly original when the band’s first record appeared in 1986, with their complex song structures and angry/funny lyrics about life as a woman creating a new feminine ideal in rock. Hersh’s solo albums, set in spare acoustic settings, provide a sensual glimpse into the everyday domestic world of a very lively mind. Her guitar playing and lyrics defy cliche.
Still, Hersh feels that “Throwing Muses was pretty much a combination of Appalachian folk music, Patti Smith, the Talking Heads, and the Doors. As much as people said we were from another planet, we were proud we’d invented our own language. But now I see that the chord progressions I do are always Celtic and country.”
Likewise, Hersh has deepened her appreciation for acoustic music. She has always been vocal about her disdain for the straight-forward sounds of the mainstream singer-songwriter genre, which she believes often puts women musicians into restrictive roles. “They pretend not to be bimbos, but they’re a different kind of bimbo. They’re smug instead of intelligent, or they’re the angry young woman; there’s no one funny or kind.”
As for folk music, Hersh says she has learned that the demands of the acoustic guitar and of unadorned songs can be exciting. “You don’t have to play chord structures and play blandly behind lyrics. A guitar is similar to the way our voices work; it’s percussive, and there’s rawness there. The guitar taught me a lesson about what raw music really is.”
Murder, Misery And Then Goodnight has attracted new fans drawn more to folk than punk. Hersh reported, with surprise, that she’s been written about in folk magazines as a result of the project, and that music fans who didn’t respond to her past recordings have responded enthusiastically to this one.
In part, the decision to do an Internet and mail order-only release with 4AD (who released her Throwing Muses efforts) was prompted by the uniqueness of the project. “I don’t want anyone to think this is my next career move,” she says. “So this is a way to do a quiet project. I wouldn’t want to attract a folk following who hated everything else I did.”
Hersh speaks enthusiastically about using the Internet for projects such as this. First of all, it increases earning potential by eliminating the middleman: “You don’t need radio or videos. You don’t have to rely on a label to work it.” Second, the Internet increases the range of choice for the consumer. “There’s many people who don’t go to MTV for musical opinions, and this is a good way to reach them,” she says. “I’d like to get music from these avenues more than spin-doctors in the music business. They’re marketing to pre-teens.”
Hersh and her family recently made a move back to Rhode Island from the California desert. (“Victoria Williams was my neighbor; she wears really big hats.”) Though they had hoped to move to San Francisco (her husband had a job offer at an Internet company), being close to her son Dylan, who lives with his father, was ultimately a higher priority. The family hopes to move to the Bay Area when Dylan turns eighteen and starts college.
Hersh’s seventeen years in music certainly have not brought her great riches. “I had to give up Throwing Muses; we couldn’t afford to be a band,” she says ruefully. When she first started in music, she was angry at the workings of the music business, and “afraid of the songwriting process,” she says. More accepting now, she understands that all businesses basically work the same way. “I’m not rich, and I don’t want to be,” she says. “I know famous people and their lives are comfortable only in the most surface way.”
Ultimately, the music is its own reward. “It’s a great world to be in,” Hersh sums up — “to be in love with sound.”
