by Benji Heywood (@benjiheywood)
Zoh Amba was walking down the street in Kingsport, TN, their hometown and primary inspiration behind their new album, Eyes Full, when they saw two punk kids with black hair and piercings walking the other way. It was a sight so uncommon in this corner of Tennessee that it filled them with emotion. “I almost cried,” the 26-year-old singer-songwriter said on a call with us a few days later.
Feeling emotions fully is something Amba funnels into their music. While they cut their teeth playing saxophone in the New York avant-garde jazz scene, toured with Bill Orcutt and Chris Corsano, and most recently, backed Iggy Pop at Coachella, Amba is first and foremost a songwriter. On Eyes Full, their debut for Matador, this distinction rings as clear as a train rumbling through Appalachian coalfields. Their songs are full of strange magic and Flannery O’Connor characters, their guitar percussive, their voice aching and pure.
To understand the album, it’s helpful to understand a bit about the region of Tennessee they’re writing from. One of the country’s first planned and privatized cities, Kingsport was originally a chemical town (Eastman Chemical Company remains the dominant employer in the region). This century, a steady decline in well-paying jobs and the persistent out-migration of its young people have fueled a poverty spiral. Many point to this as a significant contributor to the region’s status as one of the hardest hit by the opioid epidemic.
But to call Eyes Full bleak is to miss Amba’s hard-fought spirituality. There is a hopefulness to the songs – even if the characters in them are struggling – shining through. We sat down with Amba on the eve of the album’s release to talk about Kingsport, the struggle to make the album, and finding the people who have your back no matter what.
This conversation was edited for length and clarity.
Post-Trash: The album feels very connected to place. How do you describe your hometown of Kingsport to someone who’s never been there?
Zoh Amba: Depends on my week, how I would describe it, you know what I mean? Last time I was there, I was taking a walk with my best friend and saw this young, punky, queer couple. They looked at me and said, ‘I like your hair.’ And I said, ‘I like your hair.’ And it was the sweetest moment. Then, last time I heard about Kingsport from up here [Amba lives in Brooklyn], there were these kids protesting against ICE, and they all walked out of school.
PT: Punk kids, protests – I take it this wasn’t the norm when you lived there.
ZA: When I went to school there, I wish we knew that that stuff existed! But it’s a double-edged sword. There’s also a chemical plant down there (where a lot of people work). It's not anyone's fault how hard it is to pay rent. You got to do what you got to do to pay rent, period. However, you work your ass off, and for what? Do you know how much minimum wage is in Kingsport, Tennessee?
PT: Well, the federal minimum wage is $7.25, so…
ZA: $7.25! They’re told an hour of their life is worth $7.25 by the same politicians they vote for! The same people who keep their heads under the water, their families (living) check-to-check. It's interesting how they have so much faith in a system that is fucking them and fucking their family – and they're proud families, they work hard, they love Jesus. Right when you pull off the exit at Kingsport, Tennessee, people soulful as fuck.
PT: Did you ever have to find a place to rent on $7.25 an hour there? It’s literally impossible.
ZA: I lived with my grandma until I was 17, then I left. But I have a twin brother who I don't speak to; I knew when he was looking for a place, how hard it was. It’s not just a job, you have to have a credit score, you have to have savings. And no one has that. It's all fucked up. My brother [Amba has another sibling they do speak to], he pays almost what I pay in New York – in Kingsport, Tennessee! But in New York City, there's so many things set up to help, like there's free health care for people. I just got health care for the first time in my life.
PT: And yet, listening to the album, you seem to still feel some fondness for Kingsport?
ZA: There are some people who come from such blessed situations, where, by the grace of God, your parents didn’t get addicted to drugs, and you can be okay and keep passing that on to your family. But for a lot of these families, it’s just not how it happens for them. It’s heartbreaking. It breaks my heart. But one thing about those souls down there is they make it fucking happen. I grew up with a single mom until I started living with my grandma, and my mom, she, uh – it was rough, dude. It was so rough, but she always found a way, despite whatever was going on, or how bad things were. She always fucking found a way to keep the lights on. Kingsport people, they're problem solvers.
PT: Did you grow up with religion?
ZA: When you say that, the first memory that comes to my head is my mother. Everything bad that happened, she blamed God. But my grandma would always pray – and she would never put that on me, she was real quiet about it. I had this weird thing as a kid, I always felt anger with God for people's situations that didn't make any sense – it still don't make any sense. I used to ask God, ‘Hey, I know people say you don't make mistakes, but I really think you should take a look at this one because it makes no sense.’ Then, as I’ve gotten older, it’s kind of shifted. I try to be understanding about it, but I don’t really know anything.
PT: The reason I asked is because I feel like there is a connection between the belief in Christianity – that there's something better for you after you die, and that there is something out there that cares about you. I think it goes toward explaining how good, decent people who care about their community, who care about each other, can also find themselves in really difficult situations with employment, with drug addiction, with abuse, and still be hopeful. How do you find hope?
ZA: In the sweet, little moments. We started this call talking about those kids, and the protests. I find hope in them. There is something huge that is really inspiring people down there – this band called Wednesday. I think Wednesday is in one of these examples of coming up in religion, in North Carolina. They're the sweetest souls you'd ever meet. They’re bringing this music that comes from those mountains, and they're bringing it to life. (Karly Hartzman, Wednesday frontperson) is talking about all this shit that's happened in the South. Wednesday gave me a lot of hope.
PT: When did you first start playing guitar?
ZA: I asked my grandmother for guitar lessons, I think for Christmas, and she got me, like, three of them. But the lessons just kept going. She was like, ‘Oh, it wasn't supposed to keep going,’ you know? But the guy, he didn't really teach me much. It was just nice having a buddy to go meet, you know, just to talk with. I think it was a waste of money.
PT: Do you remember your first guitar?
ZA: I do some. It was the cheapest Yamaha you can get. I still have it down there (in Kingsport), but it has all the same strings been on it for years. The first nice guitar I got was when I came to New York, and a friend gave me one of them Blue Ridge guitars. I was really touched by it – because I didn't believe in having anything nice. I was kind of one of those assholes (who thought) you don't need (nice instruments) for your sound, your sound cuts through. I was like, you can play through a fucking straw, and it will still sound like you. Now I'm like, man, I love Martin (laughs).
PT: Listening to Eyes Full felt like reading a book of short stories. There’s this West Virginian author named Breece D’J Pancake who wrote so eloquently and compassionately about his region. Your songs have that same quality, the compassion you have for the people in them.
ZA: I'm actually grateful that people are hearing them as (stories) and not about the people I wrote them for. I don’t read short stories. I've honestly just read a lot of, like, devotional books, a lot of poetry books.
PT: I think what I’m connecting to is the idea that an artist can bring a character to life. You're telling me that these songs are based on people that you know, but there's some universality to the experience of the people that allows others to say, hey, I've had that experience, I can connect to that.
ZA: So, for the first time in my life I’ve been having trouble sleeping. The past months, I've been so anxious. Before I came back up to New York, like a week ago, I was throwing up every morning. It’s anxiety about this record coming out. It’s not that I'm telling secrets – all these songs are either about people I've met or about my family. So, I’m feeling really nervous and exposed.
PT: Y’all recorded this album live?
ZA: A lot of people in these interviews have been asking me about not doing many overdubs on the album and I’ve been like, I didn’t know you could! Honestly, I thought recording any record, you just sit down, you just do it, and that's it. But now I'm learning that's not the case. The next record is going to be crazy, now that I know that there's more possibilities.
PT: The album has a cool vibe to it. Some of it feels like watching you play solo, other songs have a more expansive band sound. When you were writing these songs, how did you envision the album sounding?
ZA: Honestly? I never thought about making a record in my life. I never really played with a band. I mean, I kind of played with Jim (White, who plays drums on Eyes Full) a lot, but it wasn't a working band. I’m interested in either (playing) solo or developing a band. I'm not trying to have people sit in and play my songs. Before we went down there (to Drop of Sun Studios in North Carolina), I’d actually recorded the record with a whole different band a year before.
PT: Really?
ZA: Yeah, with a lot of different songs, too. We did it in an apartment. But then the blessing with Matador came, and we got to redo it. I wrote a lot more songs that I thought were better than some of the earlier stuff. So, we tried recording again, in New York, and I was like, this isn't it. And I was so devastated, because I knew what I was trying to get, and I was like, this is just. Not. It.
PT: So the album we’re hearing…
ZA: We recorded in Asheville, yeah. It’s the third try, really. I mean, the first one wasn't really a serious try. The second one was serious. And then the third one was like, okay, this is it, y'all.
PT: Tell me about Kevin Hyland, who plays guitar on the album with you.
ZA: He's like my absolute brother. It's so weird. I met him in a bar, and we didn't talk, and I didn't want to talk to him. We were both in such different places, you know? But the Lord, for some reason, kept bringing us together. We met in his basement, at a Nashville song share, where you pass a guitar around. There was no audience, just four of us in a basement. And people were doing cocaine. I didn't do it that night. I tried it one time in my life, and I never tried again (laughs). But Lord, and they were passing around the guitar, and nobody were talking to each other, we were just trying to play the best song and outdo the other person. Then me and (Kevin) got together, and we started playing every day in the park, acoustic. I think we needed each other's friendship so bad. I think we both were going through it in a lot of different ways that we never spoke about. I think our friendships saved each other's lives. We've never really talked about it, but I think that's what it was.
PT: I want to ask you about the acoustic guitar sound y’all got on the album. It’s so percussive. You can really hear the strings reverberating off the fretboard. Was that intentional?
ZA: Very intentional, very, very. And I feel like we still didn't quite get the sound I wanted out of it. But we all tried so hard. We thought a lot about it. We mic’d the fuck out of the guitar, even had mics out in the hallway, and all in the room. We really, really tried to get a sound out of this piece of wood.
PT: How much of the sound comes down to the physical way you play the guitar?
ZA: I don’t know. I have a weird, nasty right hand – which is my goal, just make it nasty.
PT: Is bending pitch (which happens when you play the guitar this hard) something you think about when you're approaching the guitar?
ZA: I don’t. Your sound is like a birthday wish; if you talk about it, it changes. But the thing is, I haven't even thought about the birthday wish. I kind of don't think about any of it, because I feel like the magic is gonna go away. It’s like God. My relationship with God is like with the most funniest fucking friend that pranks you, teases you. I feel like I'm just always on my best behavior with God, you know what I mean?
PT: I don’t (laughs). When you say God, what do you mean?
ZA: Just a friend that you feel is in your heart all the time, that's what it feels like for me. But also very motherly, like a sweet mother and a sweet friend.
PT: You mentioned devotional books earlier. What is inspiring you right now?
ZA: My deep friendships that I’ve had a long time. I've fallen in love recently and got my heart broken. I never fall in love or get my heart broke, so it's been really nice, but hard. Also, how sacred and fragile life is. I've definitely been feeling it recently, with different relationships with my family down south that are really hard.
PT: Do you think if the people in your life you wrote about hear the album that there's potential to repair relationships that may have been strained in the past?
ZA: No. No, I’ve tried my whole life. Some are just taken by the system. My dad's about to be incarcerated, probably for the rest of his life. There's no repairing that. Things like that that are beyond my control. Healing and growing up isn't always the same. You have to take it slow and surround yourself with people that love you. I can say for the first time in my entire life, right now, at this age, I've finally found a few people that I know love me as much as I love them and have my back for life.
Eyes Full is out now via Matador.