Tone Glow 115: Kazu Makino (Blonde Redhead)

An interview with Kazu Makino of Blonde Redhead about the intimacy of playing piano, taking inspiration from the musicality of horses, and the band's new LP 'Sit Down for Dinner'

Kazu Makino (Blonde Redhead)

Blonde Redhead. Photo by Charles Billot.

Blonde Redhead is a New York City-based indie rock band that started in 1993. The group originally consisted of Kazu Makino, Simone and Amedeo Pace, and Maki Takahashi. In 1995 the band released their first two albums, Blonde Redhead and La Mia Vita Violenta, the latter of which saw Toko Yasuda taking over Takahashi’s role on bass guitar. Unwound’s Vern Rumsey would fill in as bassist for the group’s third album, Fake Can Be Just as Good, which was released in 1997 on Touch and Go. By their next album, 1998’s In an Expression of the Inexpressible, Blonde Redhead would solidify their lineup as a trio, with just Makino and the Pace brothers.

Throughout the course of their career, Blonde Redhead would evolve from noise rock to dream pop, finding major critical acclaim with their sixth album, 2004’s Misery is a Butterfly. Released on 4AD and produced by Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto, the album saw Makino exploring ideas related to an incident involving a horse, an animal that has informed much of the band’s music and Makino’s own life. The group has released four studio albums since: 23 (2007), Penny Sparkle (2010), Barragán (2014), and Sit Down for Dinner (2023). Joshua Minsoo Kim talked with Makino on November 15th, 2023 via Zoom to discuss the band’s newest record, the life that her grandma lived, the beauty and intellect of horses, her approach to singing, and the Blonde Redhead albums that felt like major breakthroughs.

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Joshua Minsoo Kim: How’s your day been?

Kazu Makino: Pretty hectic. We’re leaving tomorrow for tour and I have so many things to do—I don’t know where to start.

What time are you guys leaving?

We have a 7PM flight and, you know, it’s not just us but we need all the equipment. It’s a big move every time. And once we get on the bus, it’s too late and everything happens no matter what. Right now, there’s this impression that there’s something I can do to prepare yourself, but I’ll never feel like, “Okay I’m ready, I can just chill until the time comes.”

Right, I get that. There are so many times when I have to do something and I’ll only feel comfortable and relieved once the thing starts.

Yeah! (laughter). I’m feeling that right now.

You were born in Kyoto. What are the most precious memories you have of your childhood? What comes to mind?

The most precious memory is probably when I lived with my grandma. She had a tiny, one-story home, and the garden was almost bigger than the house. It’s not that she was always sweet with me—she was kind of rough at times—but I think that her love for life and her execution in detail really made me appreciate her. She had such a passion for garden bonsai, and the way she consumed food—it was never excessive. She would make me go down to the shop and get the smallest amount of food so we could share it between the two of us. She’d be like, “Get five sardines” and we’d share that. It sounds like a miniscule amount of food but it was perfect. It’d be really cozy. I still value living from her point of view.

Did she actively try to teach you life lessons?

No, not at all. Kyoto is a tiny town where people are quite conservative and judgmental, but she did things on her own terms. Nothing outrageous, but still. She also did tea ceremonies, flower arrangements, and haiku; she was a real learner, and kind of a nerd. I think I got that from her too. She never taught me that I had to do things this way or that way. And she could be a little bit paranoid—she would accuse me of things I did not do—so things like that were a little bit lopsided. But in general, what I appreciated most about her was that instead of saying things, she was doing things. And in a way, it made me into the same type of person. I’m not good at showing people how to do things; I just do them. I think that was a very good lesson to learn. She was pragmatic. She would make a bonfire and put three sweet potatoes on the bottom so that when the bonfire was done, with all the dead leaves on top, we’d have cooked sweet potatoes (laughter).

I love that. What’s your grandmother’s name?

Masako. But in Japan, we’re so polite that we never call an older person by their name—it never happened. I just called her grandma. So I nearly forgot her name, but yes, she did have one (laughter).

It’s the same thing for me too. I only call my grandma the Korean word for grandma.

What’s the Korean word for grandma?

It’s 할머니 (halmeoni).

Halmeoni?

Yes, it sounds a bit like “harmony,” as in melody and harmony.

Wow, that’s incredible. It’s so nice. What is “sister”?

There are multiple ways you can say sister. If you have an older sister and you’re a boy, you would say 누나 (noona). If you’re a girl, you would call your older sister 언니 (eonni). And then a younger sibling is called 동생 (dongsaeng).

(repeats each Korean word after Kim says them). And you also can call strangers 언니 too, right?

They don’t have to be your biological sister to say that, yes.

That’s very nice.

You said you loved the same things your grandma did. Did you also love writing haikus?

I love writing songs, and I think that’s a similar thing. I don’t practice tea ceremony, but I don’t compromise on good tea—I make really good tea. And I like flower arranging. So yeah, I like all the things she liked.

Flower arranging and tea ceremonies in general are so distinct because I feel like both really require you to stop everything you’re doing and focus on the moment. It requires tenderness, thoughtfulness.

I wish there were more things where we could stop, put down what we’re doing, and surrender. I wish we had more of that. That’s why I look forward to getting my hair done once every two months. I can’t wait for it. You have to put everything down and sit in the chair for two hours. It’s such a relief, you know?

And you have the apron in front of you so you can’t go on your phone or anything.

Yeah! I became such good friends with my hair stylist. She schedules me for a time that nobody else would want to come in—either really early or really late. And when I’m there, I speak with her about everything. It’s just so helpful to talk, not just about your life, but things in general.

I know that you have a musical family. Your father and grandfather played and enjoyed classical music. And I know that you took piano lessons when you were young. Do you have any specific memories of playing the piano that you cherish? Were those happy times?

I was already quite obsessed with piano but I wouldn’t call it passion. I had a very strict piano teacher who scared me a lot. She would hit me, and I didn’t like that. But I liked playing piano and I suppose I was a little OCD, because I had this problem where I couldn’t stop playing and I would become a nuisance to my neighbors. I don’t remember feeling emotional but I was just at it constantly (laughs). I had the smallest room. Looking back, I’m not even sure how they got the piano inside. Even the stairs into that room were so tiny—they must have made a great effort to get it up there.

I had a tiny TV on top of my piano, and I had a desk, too. I remember doing homework, playing piano, watching TV—and it all happened on my piano. When I had to do things other than play piano, I would close the cover and sit on top of it. And when it was time to sleep, I put out the futon and the remaining space was so small that I had to tuck it underneath the pedals. I was sleeping under the piano! (laughter). When you’re little, you have nothing to compare things to, so you just think everything’s normal. But now, when I’m asked about my childhood, I realize that the relationship I had with my piano was strange (laughter).

The piano was everything for you! It’s funny—I took piano lessons growing up and my teacher would also hit my hands.

Yes, it was so painful!

My teacher would hold a sharpened pencil underneath my hands to make sure my fingers would stay curved.

That’s so mean! My teacher didn’t do that but I remember locking myself in the bathroom because I didn’t want to see her. It’s funny how your parents let a stranger get away with such abuse. You’re called a teacher and they respect them, and then it allows for this abuse—it’s weird.

Going back to your relationship with the piano, I’m reminded of how intimate of an instrument it is. You’re using so much of your body, and I suppose you’re doing the same when playing the drums, but it doesn’t feel the same. I was always a lot more emotional when playing piano compared to drums or guitar or bass or anything. Part of it feels related to the size of the piano.

Yeah. With the piano, it almost feels like a horse—it’s big.

Can you talk about when you first started riding horses?

It first started in Kyoto. I was invited to live with these people who trained and lived with horses. I declined because I didn’t want to be separated from my parents. I wish I took on that opportunity, but anyhow, when I came to New York I really dedicated myself to 24/7 horse management, to learning the craft and training horses. It’s my biggest passion besides music.

What was it like to ride horses in New York versus riding horses in Kyoto?

Japan is not really big enough to cater to horses’ needs. A happy horse is a horse with a big field. And so in that sense, the management of equines is a lot more advanced in certain countries. America is pretty good, England is really amazing, Germany is good… certain countries just have such a history, so they know. And certain countries, like Japan or Italy, they have horses but they’re not so horse-friendly, environment-wise. Whereas in England and Ireland and Scotland, it’s a horse haven. They really put their priority into horsecare. I’ve never seen horses in Arab countries but I think they know how to spoil horses too.

Do you feel like your experience with horses has impacted the way you think about music?

My rhythm—the things I want for a groove—are often inspired by their cadence. When you ride a horse, you have to pay so much attention to them. Your ears are dedicated to hearing their breathing, their footsteps, their movement. So inevitably, horses are musical. These grooves and sounds and their breathing—everything is so rhythmic. Those sounds become so transcendent and beautiful. A lot of my songs are dedicated to that and are inspired by them.

Do you remember when you first wrote a song that was taking influence from the musicality of horses?

I mean, I have so many (laughs). There’s “Defeatist Anthem (Harry and I),” “Black Guitar,” “Here Sometimes”—it’s countless. It’s almost like I’m sampling the way that horses move. And the lyrics are all about horses, too.

It’s interesting to hear you talk about the attentiveness required to ride a horse. It’s similar to playing a piano—you have to be really sensitive to the instrument itself. You have to think about the way your finger touches a key and how it impacts the sound that’s produced. Your senses are heightened.

Yeah, totally. You become this being. You become so sensitive and react to anything that happens, and you create an environment so you can complete your song. It happens on stage too, because any one thing can throw you off balance. I’m sensitive to a point where if a microphone stand loses tension or makes a weird noise, I’m thrown off. That’s why you really need to surround yourself with acutely sensitive people who can sense your need. And it’s the same with horses. There’s so much to learn from horses. And in competing, too, you watch other riders. I never understood how people could put in earplugs and ride horses. You’re not listening to your horse? How? How do you even enjoy this? How are you working on your partnership with your horse if you’re listening to music or talking on the phone?

I know in 2002 you had an injury while riding a horse. That’s such an intense thing to happen. You were just talking about this intimacy and attentiveness that’s needed to have a horse. What was it like to have this injury when horses require so much care?

Like people, not all horses are the same. Some horses come with so much baggage and have a really difficult temperament. Sometimes it’s really hard to detect what’s going on. And this particular horse that I had an accident with, nobody liked to ride him because he was really difficult. Somebody was assigned to ride him and he was dreading it and said, “I’m really scared, I don’t want to ride him. If you wanna swap, we can swap.” And so we swapped and then I had an accident. My trainer was so upset that he wanted to put him down.

It sounds cruel but when you live in the horse world, you have equal respect for horses as you do humans. And sometimes you meet horses that are truly dark, that truly have no concern for anyone else. It becomes a game of patience—are you gonna put faith in him and believe that you can change him? Or are you gonna take him out and put him out of his misery? That kind of thing happens once and a while. But it did work out; there was this woman who came and he catered to her well.

Have you ridden a horse recently?

I lost my horse during the pandemic and I suppose the last song I wrote about a horse was “Rest of Her Life” from the new record, Sit Down for Dinner (2023). That was the last time I touched a horse. He was mine. I said goodbye to him and ever since, I have not ridden a horse. Just knowing my love for horses, it has to be all or nothing. So I might not be able to go back… (pauses). But you never know. I’ll do it again if I’m able to live on the premises with them.

The name Harry is mentioned on “Rest of Her Life.” Was that your horse’s name?

Yes, Harry.

Talk to me about Harry. How long did you know him? How did you first meet him? What was he like?

(laughs). He was the most dashing, gorgeous horse. I still remember him coming out of the trailer and telling myself, “Oh I’m done. It’s over for me.” (laughter). I fell so hard for him. He came out with this swagger. He was chestnut but his tail was so full and blonde. He had such beautiful eyes and a beautiful demeanor. When he came out I thought, “I’m in trouble now.” (laughter). He was seven years old when I started riding him. Everyone wanted him, and somebody bought him but she didn’t want him… I knew she wasn’t ideal for him, and then he became available again.

Even though I was riding him since he was seven, there were a lot of questions. He was a really big horse, and a really, really powerful horse—and I’m so tiny! Everyone thought he was too overpowering, that he was too big for me. So I had to work really hard—well, actually, he had to work really hard to be light in his movement. I think he knew his destiny so he was willing to put the work in. So when I’d sit on him, he would be so powerful. But then we would communicate and he would become featherlight in my hands. So there was no issue. He became mine when he was around 11 or 12. After that, we were like one person until he passed away at the age of 23.

That’s a long time.

Yeah, they can live a long time. I learn from horses all the time. There’s another horse called Penny Sparkle, which I wrote an entire album about. She was a genius horse that told me so many things. She made me hallucinate that I was a good rider (laughter). It wasn’t me though, it was her. She was extremely talented; you didn’t have to tell her what to do, she would do the most miraculous things on her own. I’d be like, “Oh, I’m a good rider, I’m a talented rider!” But that was not the case.

What’s the most important thing that Penny Sparkle taught you, that still sticks with you?

She had so much integrity, you know? I watched her raise her ponies and she gave them side-eyes and they would be sitting in the corner in total fear (laughter). She had such a way of being like, “This is the way it is.” And you’d follow her. She had power over everybody without being authoritative. I don’t know how to explain it but her way of executing was so excellent that nobody could say anything. She didn’t have to lay down any law.

She was really disciplined, too. You’d have to leave her alone before and after any competition. She’d be a total pig—totally maniacal with food—but when she had to focus for competitions, she’d stop taking any treats. And even after she won, she wouldn’t either. She just knew when to relax or be silly and when to focus. She was magical. I felt like she wasn’t really from this world. I remember going down to her stall when things were tough and I would just sit by her and look at her. Even just standing close to her, I thought she’d be able to help me, to hear me out. She was just one of those horses who could move the needle with minimal effort.

You’ve mentioned in a different interview that with the new album, Sit Down for Dinner, you sort of intimidated Simone and Amedeo Pace. It seems like you were the Penny Sparkle in the band.

(hearty laughter). I really was like Penny! I was acting like her. I was like, “If you don’t like this, then…” (laughter).

You mentioned how Harry was accommodating to you, that he had to be a lot lighter in his movement for you. Do you feel like you have been able to do the same thing for other people in your life? This can be with Blonde Redhead or with anyone else in your life.

Hmm. I hope so. I won’t be the sort of person to show anybody how to do something, but if I can execute things well, if I can stay focused when I have to, then that may be the best example. I work quite hard. I don’t tell people that I’m doing this or that—I just do it. But after all these years, your work really starts to accumulate. It was never a big deal for me to write songs or make cover art, or do interviews or make t-shirts. I’d just do it because I could and because it’s fun for me. But when you keep doing it, you have so many records and t-shirts you’ve designed and covers you’ve made that you don’t have to explain to people that you’re a hard worker; they can see it. It’s nice.

I got this medal from the Ministry of Culture in France. It’s not like I have a huge respect for any institution, but it’s just one of those things that is so astounding, so alarming, that people were paying attention to my work and that they could differentiate between what I did and what the band did. They wanted to give me a medal, not Blonde Redhead. They called me, out of the blue, and were like “Are you sleeping Kazu Makino?” And I was sleeping (laughter), but they told me, “We’d like to nominate you for this award.” And it was the highest honor for an artist! I literally said, “Are you sure there’s not another Kazu you’re mixing me up with?” And they said, “No, it’s you. We’ve been watching your career for a long time and you’ve done well for yourself.” That was so surprising to me. I kind of took it as me having permission to keep going, that I didn’t really have to think about this anymore. I can keep making music, this is what I do, and I’m allowed to do so. That was really nice.

That makes sense. It was affirming that what you had been doing was good.

Yeah, and I’ve also done many things but I feel now that the clock is ticking. You never know how much longer you’re going to live. I want to keep doing this, and I don’t want to slow down. How many more songs can I squeeze out of myself? How many more songs are worthy of people’s ears? It’s like, chop-chop! (laughter).

Something I’ve always loved about the music you’ve made and written is the way you approach singing. I still remember when I first heard “(I Am Taking Out My Eurotrash) I Still Get Rocks Off,” and loving how the melody of that titular phrase was arced. There’s a sharpness to how you sing it, and it becomes more than just melody, there’s texture too. And it catches your ear. How did you get comfortable with singing in the way you do? Were there other singers you were inspired by early on?

I think it’s the only way it can come out—I have no choice. Of course it’s subliminally influenced by everything I’ve heard since day one, but I’m still trying to deal with, “Can I just hit the note head-on? Do I always have to have this arc?” It still feels like the only way I can do it. And I like to have variety and a fresh approach, but when I listen back to something it can be a disaster. Why can’t I ever go straight-on with a note? It seems like it’s in my DNA to do it like that (laughs).

I think it’s beautiful because when you listen to the whole Blonde Redhead discography, there are melodies on the earliest Blonde Redhead songs that you can find traces of in the newest ones. It’s sort of like how you can tell who is walking around a house just based on how their footsteps sound. Listening to the new album brought up that image for me. You don’t really know that you know people in that way until it happens.

That’s a really nice analogy. It’s so true that there’s true character in the way people walk.

I loved your solo record, Adult Baby (2019), because it felt like your voice was able to take on a new dynamic since the instrumentation was so spacious. Were you thinking about your voice a lot with that album? Were you thinking about it differently?

I was just so excited about making my own music. I didn’t have to fight about any element (laughter). I thought it was the most exciting thing I’d ever heard. I didn’t even think it was so laid-back—I thought it was quite brutal (laughter). I was in it so deeply that nothing about me was able to see it objectively from the outside. I was just living in it. It was good because I was in love with the process and I felt like a little kid the entire time. I was giddy! And I had so much fun. I had nothing to fear; it was all a blessing.

I think all your lyrics are incredible, and part of it has to do with how you write them. Since English is not your first language, I feel like they’re written in a way that has me rethinking language itself (laughter). I’ll often have to relisten to songs because lyrics end up turning into pure texture, as I said earlier, and then at other times I’ll think about how sly and mischievous they are. There’s this lack of care for “correct” grammar (laughter). What is it like for you to sing in English? Why did you decide on that versus singing in Japanese?

Immediately, it was so much more comfortable singing in English because you have a bit of distance. You can’t say the same thing in your own language without being a little embarrassed. In English, it’s almost as if it’s not me actually saying the words. It’s like it’s someone else, you know? It’s a full-on exploitation of your mind. You can say obscene things in a language that you don’t know entirely. Like, if someone asks you to say something in a language you don’t know, you can just say anything as long as you know the words.

Right, and it’s because you don’t have a personal relationship with this other language.

And the Japanese language, it’s as if we’re constantly embarrassed (laughter).

Oh, that’s interesting. I know that I feel like a completely different person when speaking in English versus speaking in Korean. They definitely have different personalities.

Amedeo always used to tell me that when I spoke in Japanese, my pitch would go up. Apparently I speak in a higher range in Japanese, but in English or other languages, I speak a little lower. It’s really funny to me. And you know, with Japanese you automatically become a lot more polite. There’s a lot more formality that comes in, and I think that makes me speak like I’m naïve or something.

Do you think you’ll ever write songs where you sing entirely in Japanese?

I may. I love songs in Japanese, and there are amazing songs, but I don’t know if I can pull that off. With my solo album, there are some parts I sing in Japanese on “Salty.” So I did that a little bit, but it’s hard. I get really shy.

I wanted to ask about the song “Kiss Her Kiss Her.” Earlier, when talking about horses, you mentioned being all-or-nothing about them. And this song very much feels like being an all-or-nothing person. Do you feel like that’s true of you when it comes to romantic relationships?

Yeah, I am. Well… I’m not quite sure. I’m not the type of girl to devour men. You know how there are those “crimes of passion”? I don’t have that sort of intense jealousy. And I guess I’m not the right person to ask; you’d have to talk with my ex-partners to see what I was like (laughter).

How do you feel like you’ve grown as an artist when looking back at the Blonde Redhead discography? Are there specific albums that felt like important breakthroughs?

Misery is a Butterfly (2004). I was very much banged-up when writing the songs; I was still quite injured. I had pneumonia, too, so I was just really hurt and sick. I had a lot of time because I was still recovering. Inevitably, so much of myself was projected onto those songs; I had no outside influence. I was stuck in my own room and just worked on music while I was recovering. I think that may have been the turning point for me, to realize how far you can go.

23 (2007) was the album where I embraced my own voice. Up to then, I hated my voice. I hated that it was so pretty. And with 23 I owned it. I asked [mixing engineer] Alan Moulder to make me sound as angelic as possible, to make me sound out of this world. I really went for it with that and wanted to sound totally ethereal. That was definitely a turning point for me. I also think Sit Down for Dinner was the album I really liberated myself. There is always this phase of self-loathing that comes with songwriting. Before, during, and after writing songs, you get this hatred, and I don’t have so much of that anymore. I take it easy. I just go with the flow and let things be. If I like a song I try not to touch it as much as possible.

Is this self-loathing a result of you wishing songs could be better? Where is it coming from?

Yeah, things could be better, and I could be better. There is also always this fight about what I think we should sound like and what others think we should sound like. I hated that. This album was like, “No fighting! We’re just gonna do things my way!” And that was the end of that! (laughter).

Does that mean you dislike songs on all your other albums?

Yeah, there are so many songs that I think are misproduced. They didn’t come out the way I thought they should. There are songs I listen to where I’m like, “Oh, we could’ve done things differently.” But at the same time, I let them go. It’s just about feeling, you know? You have this feeling in you and you know how far you went and you want to get as close to your core as possible. When you lose sight of that, when you lose that sensational path… then yeah.

With Misery is a Butterfly, was there a specific song you felt was really challenging to write because you had to put so much of yourself in there?

All of them, actually, were quite hard. “Misery is a Butterfly,” “Magic Mountain,” “Melody”—none of them were easy, and there was so much suffering. It’s nothing compared to how bad things can really get, but I was physically in so much pain. I can barely listen to those songs now.

With the new album you said you were going with the flow. Is there a song on Sit Down for Dinner that is emblematic of this new process, that was a true representation of yourself?

Of the songs I wrote, everything except “Before.” I don’t think I produced that quite right. But “Rest of Her Life,” “Kiss Her Kiss Her,” “Sit Down for Dinner,” and “Melody Experiment”—they were all close to how I imagined them.

I really love all those songs. When I was listening to the album, I kept getting so excited because it really felt like this was some of the best stuff you’d ever written.

(laughs). It’s a blessing when that happens.

There’s a question I always end my interviews with: Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?

About myself?! Oh my goodness… (pauses to think). I have this mole on my upper chest and when I see it I have this feeling of tenderness (laughter). I keep forgetting that I have it there, and when I see it it’s like, “Oh! How long have I had that?” I used to have a tiny mole on the back of my ankle. When you start riding horses, your heel goes in real hard into the boots, and so I developed a callus, and my mole disappeared. I got really sad because I used to say that it was the best thing about me. It doesn’t make any sense—it’s just a tiny mole—but every time I saw it, I thought it was really cute. Fortunately I have another one.

Blonde Redhead’s Sit Down For Dinner is out now via section1. The album can be purchased at the label’s website and at Bandcamp.

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Thank you for reading the 115th issue of Tone Glow. Look tenderly upon your moles.

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