FEATURE:
Saluting the Queens
PHOTO CREDIT: Peyton Fulford for The New Yorker
Hayley Williams
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I have already featured a couple of artists…
PHOTO CREDIT: Alex G Harper/WWD
for Saluting the Queens. A reason I want to come to Hayley Williams is because I think she is one of the most inspiring artists of her generation. A solo artist and lead of Paramore, she is an incredible artist and songwriter. Someone always speaking out against sexism, inequality and injustice. A modern icon that is loved by so many people. You can follow Hayley Williams on Instagram. I want to bring in a few interviews from this year. Rather than highlight Paramore’s recent album, This Is Why, and why it is one of the best albums of 2023, I want to focus on the brilliant Hayley Williams. I want to begin back in February. The New Yorker highlighted an artist who left the South but someone still searching for home, her PTSD diagnosis and the impact of her divorce (she divorced artist Chad Gilbert in 2017). Six years on from After Laughter, the beloved Paramore were back:
“Mississippi is so central to the history of American music and literature, to the civil-rights movement, to so many things. I’m curious how the culture of the place—its particular Southernness, and the way you escaped it—shaped you, if at all?
I think it shaped me more than I was willing to admit for a very long time. I changed my accent pretty quickly. I got made fun of, and then I was, like, I’m done with this. When I was in school in Meridian, the music that I was drawn to was gospel music, Motown, R. & B. My granddad was obsessed with Elvis, so I listened to a lot of Elvis. And I was very focussed on the fact that one of the Temptations—David Ruffin, who doesn’t have a sparkling reputation—was from Whynot, where I went occasionally as a kid. When I think of Mississippi, I think of my Black friends; I remember learning about D’Angelo from my friend Sheena. We would get back from basketball practice and go to third period, and she would still be in her basketball shorts, putting shea butter or cocoa butter all over her legs. Class would start, but she would just be drawing D’Angelo. I’d be, like, “Who is that?” As an adult, I’m putting together why I get really swept up in amazing singers like Aretha, or Etta James. I think Black history—which is American history—was placed in me while I lived in Mississippi. The people who were very helpful to my mom in the early days, when she was going through this horrible marriage to my first stepfather, were Black women. I remember them being honestly heroic to my mom. And they were heroes for me as well. I don’t get to talk about this a lot, and it doesn’t usually feel appropriate to bring this up. But I think that’s what Mississippi is to me. It’s like a connection to a really rich history, some of which I have no part of now. But it’s in there.
I sometimes hear unexpected blasts of Motown and R. & B. in Paramore; I think it’s certainly present in the way you exist onstage. I’m interested in what you were saying about the generational trauma in your family—your mom, your grandmother, all the women before that—and how that has somehow seeped into your DNA, into your blood. I would think there might be some inherited trauma from the landscape, too.
Yeah, totally. I feel really thankful to be from the South, as much as I get frustrated by the typical political point of view in the South, or how Nashville is just a little blue dot in a red state. My mom’s family were from Slidell and Baton Rouge, Louisiana. So I spent a ton of time in both places. There’s just something. There’s an incredible grit to all of it.
Does it feel as though Nashville is where you belong now?
Yeah. The guys and I were just talking about this yesterday, because Zac [Farro] finally got a studio space here. We work in L.A. a lot. But it’s hard to describe the sense of community a person can find in Nashville. Even with all the tourists and all the shit that we don’t love, the artistic community and the people we’ve found a home with here—it’s not like any other creative community in any other city. I love it, man. And our families are here. My family and Zac’s family live south, in Franklin, and Taylor [York]’s family lives in the city. So it is home.
You’ve been incredibly open about your P.T.S.D. diagnosis. I’ve very recently found myself struggling with P.T.S.D., too—I’ve had to figure out a way to not believe everything is going to fall apart at any second, though sometimes I believe that so thoroughly that I very nearly manifest it. “C’est Comme Ça” addresses some of the tedium of that work. How have you found a way to keep at it?
I’m still figuring some of it out. I don’t know if everyone’s experience differs, or if we can all commiserate on this, but it was my physical body that started demanding that I pay attention to choices I was making and ways I was living my life: people I was around, my past relationships. All those things that I ignored—my body didn’t want me to let it go. So it kind of broke down on me. That looked like an adrenal crash, and I had to manage my cortisol levels. I got very good at science, suddenly—I was really enjoying reading science books and learning shit about the human body, trying to understand what burnout is on a scientific level. We can talk about it, and there’s plenty of think pieces about it, but in my life it has manifested as deep exhaustion. And when I get scared, when I have those moments like what you’re talking about, where you feel like you’re about to basically just manifest everything around you falling to pieces . . . I used to describe it as waiting for the piano to fall, like in a cartoon. I had to start actively looking for ways in my daily life [to treat it]—whether that be talk therapy or physical therapy. All this shit becomes physical if it doesn’t start out physical. I’m always on the lookout for people I can relate to about it, because it tends to feel isolating when you’re thirty-four but you just want to be cozy in bed, always. I’m just always expecting that something bad will happen. You’ve got to find support; you’ve got to find people that can relate or empathize in some way.
Writing “C’est Comme Ça” was me laughing about it. I think you have to laugh about it at a certain point—you have depression, and you’re just, like, Oh, my God, my lens on the world is a fuckin’ Leonard Cohen poem. Everything has got this dark heaviness to it. But there’s also levity in those moments—or maybe that’s just my dark sense of humor. But what else are you supposed to do? There’s mass shootings weekly in America. There are new articles all the time about how if it’s not an asteroid that’s going to hit the Earth, it’s a cyberattack in two years. You’ve gotta find rhythm, and for me, because of P.T.S.D., my rhythms are that I have to do some type of Pilates or movement, at least a couple of times a week, and I’ve got to not drink coffee as much. If that means having a little bit more of a boring life but I can stay healthy and enjoy it, then that’s great. I don’t need to be a rock star.
You’re such a joyful, magnetic performer. For a long time, we didn’t see that so much in rock bands—for decades, the reigning idea was that serious music required a kind of reserved, almost tortured performance. Have you always enjoyed being onstage?
I’m reserved and tortured offstage. [Laughs.] Up there, it’s so freeing. It’s interesting that you can be in front of that many people and feel safer. We wanted to do a run of theatre shows [last fall] because of the intimacy. We just wanted it to feel beautiful and close and sweaty. We’re gonna open for two of Taylor [Swift]’s shows in Arizona, for her “Eras” tour. I know I’ll be nervous, but when I get up there I feel so free. I’m with the people that I trust most in the world. My bandmates are family. We’ve grown up together.
On the fall run that we did, it was tough—a lot of us got covid. I was getting over covid when I had to sing “All I Wanted” at the Vegas show. I was, like, What am I doing? Why did I say yes to this fucking song? Aside from the health stuff, it was just weird to be back on the road again. I had some days that were pretty tough. But, as soon as we got onstage, I felt so comforted by all those faces. Our crowds, thankfully, are super diverse. They really reflect the world that I would love to see. That aspect also made me feel safe. It made me feel like—all right, well, the news sucks, but there are still these beautiful faces, and these people that are getting through things, too. We all just need a release. We need to feel safe together for a moment. That’s what brings me joy”.
There are a couple of other interviews worth highlighting. The reason for me bringing them together is to show the various sides of the extraordinary Hayley Williams. An incredible lead and modern-day icon. Someone who is inspiring other artists and is one of the queens of modern music. Rather than focus on This Is Why and the album itself, The Cut looked more at Hayley Williams’s on stage attitude and etiquette. Someone who feared that she would face sexist comments on stage if she dares to play guitar, there are still these toxic attitudes around women in music. As you will read, Hayley Williams is as compelling and magnetic as any of her male peers. A wonderful musician:
“You’ve been an advocate for abortion rights and LGBTQ+ rights, and Tennessee has unfortunately been a leader in political attempts to control people’s bodies. What does it mean to advocate for others, and do you have any personal rules you follow knowing the position you hold as a celebrity?
If you are paying attention, it’s maddening. I try to stay off of social media. I really never watch the news. I have other places I get my news from that I trust and that I feel, like, a little less overwhelmed by. It should be absolutely normal for any of us to want what’s good for our neighbor. I’m tired of that being edgy and cool. Whatever I can do to normalize having a healthy respect for all humans and a healthy disrespect for people who don’t value every human as an equal, that’s the guide, or the gut feeling that I try to follow. What I want for our city is just equity for everybody.
My heart goes out to all the people who are organizing here in town and definitely the Tennessee three. There’s still a lot of young people showing up at the courthouse day in and day out trying to get the attention of the policy-makers.
Do you have any personal rules for etiquette onstage and offstage when you’re performing?
Offstage is the real world. Onstage is when there’s no rules, and I spit all over everything. My crotch is out half the time because my skirts are too short. It’s a space where all of the margins of being a girl kind of disappear. The first time you get that experience of really letting go, and catharsis, it’s amazing how the inhibitions go, and there’s not really rules, and you’re just raw energy.
There’s absolutely no reason to have any sort of manners onstage other than … I will say, if I ever spot people fighting at a Paramore show in the crowd, I become like the worst teacher that you’ve ever had, because I will embarrass you and make you feel like what the fuck are you doing here?
Do you approach performances differently at music festivals versus on tour, and do you see a difference in audience etiquette?
When we play festivals, my brain always goes to Bonnaroo 2018. It was a really large crowd. I knew that all those people were not big Paramore fans. They were still giving us their attention. I was like, “Okay, well, there’s headliners after us. So what can we do to make them feel a part of this?” It happened to be the day that Anthony Bourdain had passed and I was struggling with my own mental health. So I kind of just sat down and was like, “Can we talk for a second?” Recognize the humanness of the thing that you’re doing, which is cramming together and sweating on each other, and being expected to have a good time. We probably will never be with this group of people again, so how do we try to be as present as possible in it?
Why is that different at festivals?
I feel that more at festivals because I know that I’m not preaching to the choir. I know there’s a lot of people that have never seen Paramore before or they’ve been on the fence about us. Maybe they’ve only heard a couple of singles. So how do we give them a snapshot of all of it and still be human together? At our shows, even in the heavy songs or the heavier moments, I always can spot someone in the front few rows that I know, and it kind of feels like an inside joke. A Paramore show is a much more intimate reunion”.
Before I wrap things up, there is a bit more to bring in. Interested to discover what Rolling Stone asked in October. I always love hearing what Hayley Williams says about herself and the creative period. It is amazing to think that Paramore released their debut album, All We Know Is Falling, in 2005! They have faced obstacles and challenges. It seems like Hayley Williams is more settled and secure than she has been in a while. Very much present and optimistic:
“This Is Why asks a lot of questions, often unanswerable ones. What’s something that you learned about yourself while making this record that surprised you?
That I am capable of sitting with a whole lot of discomfort. I’m always seeking comfort. Some of it is family of origin shit. Growing up there was so much love, but it was a very broken-family-home-type situation. As I’ve gotten older and especially as Paramore was able to find success, I was able to afford [to say], “Okay, I’m going to create a home for myself. I’m going to make it feel safe.” One of my core values is security. It doesn’t have to look like much, but it needs to feel safe and secure. So I’m constantly seeking out, “Well what’s the most comfortable route?” And it has not always served me. In fact, I would say more than not it keeps me from growth.
Towards the end of the tour, you developed a lung infection and tried to push through before making that decision to cancel so you could get better. What kind of dissonance did that create between your mind and your body?
Oh man, it was devastating. Being on tour is hard on the body, it’s hard on the brain. But those two hours that you get with those people that are there at the show, it’s like nothing else. Especially when the world feels like it’s quite literally crumbling around us, to be able to experience people’s joy each night is a real gift because you can very easily forget that that type of joy exists when you’re just online or you see the news. That was really healing for me and I think it probably got me through more shows than I should have gotten through, even the last show before we ended up ultimately having to pull off the road.
I knew that I felt horrible, but I walked out with the guys during the intro and the minute that I saw the people in the front — some of which I recognized very quickly — I was like, “This is fine. I’m gonna get through this.” And I found myself coughing a lot, I was trying to speak and I was struggling. It’s funny how you can really disconnect from that. The physical and spiritual experience that you get on stage is somehow simultaneously the most present that I ever am in my body, and then at the same time, it’s this out-of-body, wonderful soul experience that you can’t duplicate doing anything else.
PHOTO CREDIT: Zachary Gray
Have you gotten any closer to understanding the distinction between selfishness and self-preservation?
I’m still trying. I was talking to Zac and Taylor about this recently. Sometime in the middle of this tour, we all started getting really excited about making new music again. We’re just ready to be back in the studio. And we still have plenty of shows — we’re going to do the Eras tour next summer, we have the New Zealand/Australia run, there’s a couple of dates happening early next year. But there’s something that we all are metabolizing finally, about the last few years of the band, but also existing. There’s a lot of lessons that have sat on the surface, like when you try to rub lotion in and it just sits on top of your skin and you’re like, “Gross.”
But I think that now there’s things that are sinking in that couldn’t have before. I’m excited that we can actually go forward knowing more, or being more than you were before. I’m ready for that and I feel it. Every day is like, “Gotta be present. Gotta be here.” There’s amazing things happening every single day, whether it’s work or whether it’s just being with my dog and going on a big walk, you know? I need to be here now”.
PHOTO CREDIT: Alex G Harper/WWD
I am going to finish off now. WWD spoke with her back in September. Spotlighting a music fashion icon who, at thirty-four, is a different performer than she was as a teen. Maybe more need and priority to set time aside and not burn out. Still able to deliver the most captivating performances and highlight why she is a queen; she has learned some lessons and truths through the years. Someone who, with her band, are at a new and exciting creative peak:
“At 34, Williams feels like she’s a completely different performer than she was as a teenager; when the group first started, she was one of the only women in a sea of male metal bands, and as a 17-year-old in that space, felt the need to create and armor for herself
“I really created such a hard-core version of myself. And I feel so much softer and more open now, and that because of that, I feel like I’m allowed to be more myself. It’s nice because I do think that our band has always kind of championed people having their own unique thing, being different or being a space for people who have felt outcast in some way or all of that. That was just important to us,” she says. “But it’s interesting because at the time, being a teenager, I don’t think that I was fully present in myself because it was just, it’s scary. The world’s scary, and you’re 17 and you’re doing all these new things for the first time in front of the world. And I think that now there’s just an ease to being wherever I’m at, not feeling like I have to puff myself up and be really tough to get through something.”
Her approach to onstage fashion has also undergone a transformation, and for this current tour, she wanted to juxtapose the “anxiety” of the album with more feminine silhouettes and pieces. Her favorite decades of fashion are the ’60s and ’70s, so she looked to the style of people like Jane Asher and Debbie Harry as inspiration.
“Every now and then, we’ll play a song and I’ll be really present, not only the being with people aspect, but I’ll be really listening to the lyrics, I’ll be like, ‘oh my god, I can’t believe I can’t believe I wrote this.’ I remember we were playing a song called ‘Misguided Ghosts,’ which was on our third album, and it’s one of my favorites because I think it reflects some of the music that we were listening to more in our acoustic [stage]. And we were playing it somewhere, and it was the first time that I really paid attention to what I was saying in a long time, and it was so emotional,” she says. “I just felt like, ‘god, man, we’ve been through so much as a band. We should not still be here. There’s no reason that we should still be here.’ I joke all the time that we’re like a cockroach. We just won’t die. I’m so grateful”.
One of the most inspiring and respected women in modern music, Hayley Williams has definitely made a massive impact. Someone who has so much love for her fans. Another big reason why I wanted to highlight Hayley Williams is because she turns thirty-five on 27th December. Ending a brilliant years where Paramore have released a career-best album, she looks ahead to a new year and new opportunities. Even if Williams and Paramore have faced criticism and accusations of misogyny because of the track, Misery Business, there is no doubt that Hayley Williams has faced huge oppression and discrimination through her career. A passionate feminist, if not a perfect one. She is an amazing artist who is clearly influencing so many young artists coming through. To me, she is a role model for so many people around the world. A source of strength for so many women. That is a big reason as to why I wanted to…
SALUTE her here.