The responsibility never goes away

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Last year we hit a detour to Las Vegas and had to drive through Death Valley. It's deceptively beautiful. It was breathtaking as we drove over a hill and suddenly had a wide view of the desert below us. I yelled to a silent van of my bandmates and crew, "Are we all seeing this?!!"

I think of that moment when I feel the silence currently at the other end of the emotional spectrum. We are baring witness to the worst of humanity happening in Palestine, in Ukraine, in Sudan.

There’s been a pit in my stomach as artists say nothing while the world burns. Or when they say just enough to seem like they care, without risking anything real.

I don’t think my answer to "what does it mean to be an artist?" has changed in years, yet it feels like we're still having the same conversation with no real movement towards collective liberation. The silence around me feels louder than ever.

Being an artist has never been apolitical. When I write about love or grief or joy, I’m writing from an experience that’s already politicized. I didn’t ask for that, but I also don’t shy away from it. I grew up learning about injustice through punk lyrics and feminist zines. I found language for my values because someone else put theirs into a song, into a painting, into a book.

I don’t think you get to opt out of “politics” because your art isn’t overtly political. Not when there’s genocide being livestreamed. Not when fascism is knocking on the door wearing a name tag. Not when the algorithm is already working overtime to make you feel like it’s too complicated to care. If you have even a small platform, you have a responsibility to not look away.

Art can and should be a mirror.

That doesn’t mean I think we should only write protest songs or become human megaphones for tragedy. Joy matters. Love songs matter. But I think we’re smart enough to hold two things at once: grief and celebration, critique and comfort, pleasure and responsibility.

Who else feels like the only one at the party saying, “Hey, maybe we should talk about what’s going on outside?”

I’m truly exhausted of being surrounded by folks that pat themselves on the back for being progressive while continuing to center straight white men. I’m tired of the way people say “let’s keep it about the music” when what they really mean is “don’t make me uncomfortable.” I’m tired of bands pretending it’s just business as usual while they take money to play in an apartheid state.

It's a big part of why I chose to hit the pause button on touring after October and a reset for myself as a band.

I hope for new scenes. New co-conspirators who understand that art is a mirror and a megaphone and a lifeline. I want people around me who don’t wait for the trending moment to care. I want people who are still learning, still messing up, still growing, and still trying.

This isn’t about convincing the willfully apathetic or preaching to the choir. It's a wish to have art help shape the culture, to suggest and put forward new ideas and questions, to lean into discomfort and push ideas that should ideally bring us together.

Art and music has helped shape my politics so deeply that anything too easy to digest is just boring and feels complicit to me.

Are we all seeing this?!

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