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December 12, 2007 4:01 pm
“Love songs bore me.” Jesca Hoop lays down summary judgment on pop music’s most cherished genre in a soft voice that’s almost a coo. Talking to her, you can understand why the L.A.-based singer-songwriter was an effective nanny prior to recording her debut album, “Kismet.” And listening to the LP,
it makes sense that the person whose kids Hoop was keeping an eye on were
none other than Tom Waits’. At once wide-eyed and Kurt Weill-inflected,
“Kismet” is a collection of surprisingly stern lullabies, the kind of songs
that sing you into a sleep of haunting dreams. As she prepped for her last
gig of the year, a hometown show at the Troubadour tonight, Hoop spared a
few minutes to talk to Style.com about playing for money, the relationship
between cleaning and writing, and growing up in Eden.
Anyone who reads your bio must immediately seize on the fact that you
were the nanny for Tom Waits’ kids. Does it ever get frustrating to be in
that shadow?
I don’t consider it a shadow. Tom’s more like a light; that’s always been
his intention in calling attention to my music, to shine a light on it, and
because he’s a legend, the light works. I guess people might read that I was
his kids’ nanny and wonder if there’s some nepotism thing going on, if I’m
not the “real deal,” whatever that means. But that’s none of my
business.
Is his work an influence on you?
There are a few artists I put in the category of “hero songwriters,” and Tom
is definitely up there at the top of that list, along with Kate Bush. But I
don’t think I’m really influenced by either of them in terms of my sound.
It’s more like I’m drawn to the part of their nature that they write
from—their songs, in such different ways, are both highly descriptive
and surreal. They find ways to unhook the imagination, if you know what I
mean.
I’m not sure I do. How do you “unhook your imagination,” as it
were?
Well, OK. So I’ve always been a person who writes in my head. Walking to
school, driving, cleaning the house—any rote activity that engages the
body but leaves the brain free, that’s the natural occupation for my mind,
making up songs. And there’s something about that—about not being at
the piano, trying to write—that lets me play with ideas without judging
them.
When you do sit down to write to formalize the cleaning/driving/walking
ideas, where do you typically start? At the piano?
Actually, I usually start with the vocals, and then once I’ve got something
I’ll go to the guitar. I’m least adept on the piano.
You’re based in L.A., and you’ve got the love of KCRW and the “Morning
Becomes Eclectic” show. Do you feel a part of the music community out
there?
I’m not sure there is a music community here. Ugh, that sounds harsh, but
what I mean is, there’s not a community in the way I’ve traditionally
understood that word. L.A. is a working town; people come here to work and
make money, and most of the time when people collaborate, it’s on a job. I
grew up playing music for the hell of it, and to me, that’s what a music
scene ought to be about.
Where did you grow up?
Sonoma County. On an apple orchard.
Was your childhood more or less idyllic than one would assume, hearing
“Sonoma County” and “apple orchard”?
Somewhat more idyllic, if you can believe it. The landscape there is
just…gorgeous beyond description. I experience a lot of nostalgia for
that place, which maybe explains why I return to childhood so often when I
write songs.
But your songs aren’t typically autobiographical.
No, not at all. It’s more a feeling of childhood, a feeling of nature. But I
write fiction.
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