The Indigo Girls' Amy Ray gives a lesson in community
by Adrienne Martini
It's the scandal that rocked Knoxville last year—well, the one that involved both the music scene and a high school principal. Not only did the local press report on it, but the national media did as well, including the old man of music journalism, Rolling Stone. Knoxville was held under a media microscope, simply because Farragut High principal Ed Hedgepeth didn't want this band to play in his school.
Ostensibly, Hedgepeth's resistance pivoted on the Indigo Girls' use of profanity. Yet, despite the insistence of Amy Ray—the half of the duo who swore in one of the lyrics of their songs—that she would replace the offensive word with another, the concert still did not happen at the school.
Fortunately, the show did go on in the club formerly known as Barley and Hopps (now Moose's Music Hall) and Knoxville teens did get the chance to hear the Girls perform live. After all, it's not every day that such successful and grounded artists come in town to perform for free.
Of course, the Indigo Girls, made up of Ray and musical partner Emily Saliers, aren't strangers to controversy surrounding their careers. They've spoken out on a variety of hot-button issues like Native American rights, gun control, and women's rights. Oh, and they happen to be gay, which many speculate was the real reason behind resistance to their show, fomented by a small group of Farragut parents and which resulted in Hedgepeth's red light.
"The reason we were going was because we wanted to sort of have career day," Ray says from a rehearsal hall in Atlanta. "That's basically what it was—a 30 minute set and questions. I talked to the school I said I'm willing to make sure I don't say 'fuck' in my song. I totally understand that—but I'm not going to suddenly become not gay just because we're in a high school.
"A lot of the parents expressed fear that their kids would ask us about our lifestyle...and that we would answer the question. I guess my advice to parents would be that you need to be willing to let your kids ask people questions like that. And that they'll then come home to you and tell you about the answers. If you don't have that kind of dialog, then you're not going to get anywhere with them.
"It's so disturbing because we're almost goody-goody, in a way," she adds with a hearty laugh. "We're radical politically, but our lifestyle...there are a lot worse things their kids could be exposed to. It would have been nice to have a dialog with the parents to express that."
Even though Ray and Saliers weren't given the opportunity to have a discussion with parents, they harbor no ill will towards Knoxville as whole.
"I begged the principal to let us come. I don't have any negative feelings for Knoxville, because we had that alternate show. But that guy's a jerk. I mean really. I'd say that to his face. I talked to him on the phone and he's a jerk. That's a bummer.
"But the kids and the people that came out to the alternate event were just so inspiring, to see people be willing to say, 'I don't care about this. I just want to hear music.' In that way, it was a really good thing. But it seems like a stupid thing to get upset about given the state of the world."
Despite the politicization that seems to surround the band, for Ray and Saliers their work has always been about the music itself. The two have been singing together since high school and produced their first single in '85 when they were attending Emory University in Atlanta. Their major label debut on Epic, the eponymous Indigo Girls, was released in '89, spawned the break-out single "Closer to Fine," and went double platinum. Since then, the Girls have won a Grammy, released a half-dozen albums (more if you count solo projects), honed their live show, and learned about a woman's role in the music business.
"I think when we first started out I was pretty... not idealistic, but sheltered, in a way," Ray says. "We had a community [in Atlanta] that was supportive. We had a lot of women in our community. A lot of gay people. But we also had punkers, rockers, Southern rockers—all these different kinds of things. It just all seemed to mix and I never felt like being a woman was a setback.
"As we climbed the proverbial ladder and became more aware of what was really going on—a larger sense of the media—we started realizing how misogynistic it was. We were young and from a very sheltered community."
Much of this misogyny, she says, stems from the fact that most record labels and journalists are still mostly male. Also, female writers, producers, musicians, and executives who are qualified are still had to find, given that it is still difficult for women to enter and gain experience in fields that have been male-centric.
"It's a historical issue," she continues. "It's got to start somewhere. They have to try to attract interns who are women who have faced such a history of sexism. It's like saying there aren't enough good women drummers. There are, but there aren't as many as there are men, because men have been doing it longer. It has nothing to do with ability, with potential to be a good drummer. It's all about whether you get an opportunity."
Come On Now Social, the new album by the Girls that will be released two days before their Knoxville show, reflects this deeper understanding of the female voices that have been neglected in the music industry. Some of these belong to women who were on the Lilith Fair tour with the Indigo Girls, like Sheryl Crow, Kate Schellenbach of Luscious Jackson, and Me'Shell Ndegeocello. Others aren't, like Ray's grandma Ozilline Walker and the members of Ghostland, a British/Irish band who backed Sinead O'Connor a few years ago. But Social taps into more than women's voices—it is also an exploration of Appalachian traditions as well as intricate rhythms and Southern swing. It is a musical melange filtered through 10 years of experience in the industry.
And it is this experience in the industry and the people met along the way that have helped inform the music—one could not exist without the other.
"A lot of people that I meet," she says, "were just totally happenin' and I felt mentored by—because I felt inspired and I felt like I was learning something from them, from their style of activism.
"There's an Indian woman named Winona La Duke who's been a mentor for a long time, very clear thinking. There's a writer—she's coming out with a new book, incidentally—Susan Faludi and I've called her at times when I've really needed advice about media stuff or political campaigns. She's always immediately written me a letter with an answer to the question. She's really been responsive and we barely know each other. It's great to have people who have the spirit of community, who help each other out.
"There's so many, it's endless. David Crosby—whenever I see him I always have a list of questions to ask about life and he gives great answers. Basically, anybody who is older than me in the rock world—like Chrissie Hynde. We did a show with her and just sat down and asked her questions—that's what I like to do. I just want to ask questions.
"I think sometimes I feel like a mentor to certain people and I get mentored myself, too. I think mentoring is a two-way street."
Does Ray see herself as a role model for would-be rockers and/or activists?
"I don't feel pressured to be," she says. "I just do what I do. I am what I am."
In essence, that's what the Indigo Girls are all about, learning to be who you are and giving others the chance to discover themselves as well. That was the grand plan behind their planned visit to Farragut, to show some kids that you can speak your mind in a song. In a way, that motivation was almost better served by the cancellation; students who wanted to see the Indigo Girls were forced to learn how to make their voices heard.
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