Every once in a while an artist like Sarah McLachlan comes along who not only creates great and lasting music, but also great and lasting change. It’s the kind of change that happens with an inordinate amount of personal investment, sacrifice, good will and the ability to lead.
When Sarah founded Lilith Fair in 1997, she nurtured and paved the way for female artists and songwriters at a time when men dominated the music festivals and radio waves. During it’s initial three-year run it not only raised $10 million for women’s charities throughout North America, it set a new tone in the industry that was more embracing of female artists after it became the top-grossing touring festival in history.
For her birthday today, I decided to go back to her first interview with us in 1994 when she was only 26. It was when Fumbling Towards Ecstasy—her first album to break outside of her homeland of Canada—was released, and she had gone to a mountain retreat to write the songs. It was before international acclaim, Lilith Fair, the sale of over 40 million albums and multiple Grammy awards. It was before marriage, the loss of her mother to cancer, the birth of two children and the end of a marriage. It was at a time when life was held just a little at bay and the road ahead was wide open with possibility and wonder.
I love going back to read these interviews because the place the words come from is so innocent, hopeful and inspiring. It reminds me of the awe found in creativity. And it reinforces the fact we need to create space in our lives for it to appear, and then nurture it so it can stay around.
Happy birthday, Sarah, and thanks not only for all you’ve given us, but all that is to come.
A lot of your songs have an air of mystery and darkness. Is there something you do during the writing process to conjure this mood?
(Laughs) I just think it’s what’s in my brain. It’s not that I’m really pessimistic or anything—I’m not. But I sort of like the effect of two sides of things—one being really pretty and one being really ugly. Like when you lift up a pretty rock and there’s all these mites and worms underneath it (laughs).
I think that came from this one poem I read in grade nine. It’s funny, the little things that stick with me my whole life. Wilford Owens is a World War I poet and he wrote about being in the field in the war and all the horrors that went on. But somehow, without glamorizing or romanticizing it, he made it incredibly beautiful. In the same breath, he’d be talking about something horrendously grotesque. I just really loved that.
That’s actually where the title of the record came from too, “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy.” It was taken from a line in one of his poems. “Quick boys, in an ecstasy of fumbling we fit the masks just in time,” and I thought that was amazing … “in an ecstasy of fumbling.” It was so beautiful, and since grade nine I’ve been trying to fit that into something (laughs). I sort of have a little library of phrases and words in my head that I like. Like “murmur.” Haven’t been able to use it yet, but it’s a beautiful word. I like words that say so many things. Language is such a beautiful thing and words are so amazing.
Are songs an act of discovery for you?
Yeah, and sometimes long after the fact. Going back to “Good Enough,” one of the things I was focusing on was don’t tell me why he’s never been good to you, don’t tell me why nothing’s good enough. For a couple years, every time I’d see my mom, I’d say, you know, you deserve more, you deserve to be happier than you are. Why are you putting up with this? Basically telling her that the only thing she knew sucked. So she never wanted to see me, and I wondered why. I couldn’t understand it, then I wrote that song. Around the same time, I tried reverse psychology and didn’t hassle her anymore and just accepted that she had accepted. Then she opened up. She completely changed and she started saying, I’m not going to accept this anymore, I’m changing this and this and this. It was fantastic, because I wasn’t beating it into her, she was doing it on her own. That song taught me that. I have a lot of emotional attachment to that song.
What would you like to accomplish as a songwriter?
I’d like to keep trying to be able to work through things. Songwriting is such therapy for me. It’s given me so much, as far as learning about myself. I’d like to be able to keep doing that and that’s it. That’s everything to me, just being able to work through things. I guess an offshoot of that is other people listening to it and being able to get something for themselves.
Do you have the sense that what you’re doing will last?
Yes, it certainly will last for me. I’d like to think I’ll keep writing and getting better and better. I hope (laughs). I’m really proud of what I’ve done so far, and that pride hasn’t diminished in any way.
What advice would you give to someone looking to make music their career?
I’d tell them to go read Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke, because his advice is better than any advice I could ever give.
—Interview by Bill DeMain
To get the full article, the rare issue available HERE
Sarah also appeared as the cover feature of Issue 73, November 2003
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