Evan Greer’s new album was recorded right in Jamaica Plain, her neighborhood for the 17 years, and it quickly gained attention from Rolling Stone, WBUR, and more.
Greer answered questions about her new album, creating queer anarcho-indie-punk music, police, gender assignments at birth, and more.
What does the title of your new album AMAB/ACAB mean, and why did you choose it?
Greer: AMAB is an acronym for “assigned male at birth,” a term some trans women and transfeminine people use to describe ourselves. ACAB stands for “All Cops Are Bastards,” a perhaps profane but pithy slogan often used by protesters, punks, dissidents, and abolitionists around the world.
I kicked around some different album titles for this project, the close runner up was “Weaponized Nostalgia.” In the end, AMAB/ACAB felt a little tongue-in-cheek and like it perhaps brings a little levity to these heavy times, especially for trans people and those actively being targeted by a fascist administration. Working with my friend Vasjen Katro, a brilliant graphic designer, to unite the artwork with the title kind of sealed the deal for me.
How would you compare this album to other albums you’ve made?
Greer: For better or for worse I am known for writing protest anthems. And sure, this record has a few of them. But I think AMAB/ACAB is significantly more introspective than a lot of my previous work. Maybe that’s me getting older. Like I told WBUR, this is a punk album made by a 40-year-old mom. Musically, it’s confident and a big leap forward from a lot of my previous work. But politically it’s perhaps doing more looking back at how we got here and trying to figure out where to go than it is giving people marching orders. I think that reflects what it feels like to mature as an activist — when I was young I was just so damn sure of myself all the time. Now I know a lot more, and perhaps that also means I know a lot less.
Do you have a favorite song on the album? If so, which one and why?
Greer: All of these songs are really special to me, and getting to collaborate with 90s alt-rock heroes Eve 6 for “$5” was a dream come true that I still can’t quite process, but the one that I always think of when someone asks me this is “Bunker.” It was one of the first songs I wrote for this record, and it kind of took me on a journey. It’s a song about how we keep our relationships together and love each other carefully as the world falls apart around us. But it also sort of follows my own evolution of thinking around a relationship challenge. The start of the song maybe sort of me complaining or asking for something, but then you as the listener get to come along as I sort of realize I was wrong, and come to think about the situation in a new way. Between the pandemic and the political tumult of our times it feels like so many times our relationships are being tested, whether they are romantic, familial, roommates, communities, etc. I hope this song helps other people take a step back and question their own narratives and thinking. Writing it was useful for me.
With percussion from Rachel Blumberg (The Decemberists), features from Eve 6, Liz Berlin (Rusted Root), Victoria Ruiz (Downtown Boys), and keys from Boston Red Sox organist Josh Kantor — you collaborated with numerous people on this album — what made you want to include those particular musicians? Did you write the songs and think they’d be a great fit? How does that work?
Greer: I’m an organizer, but I’m not terribly organized. Most of these collaborations came about pretty organically. I became internet-friends with Eve 6 a while back and boldly asked if they’d let me open their Boston show at The Wilbur a few years ago. They graciously said yes and then kept saying yes when I asked if they’d collab on “$5”. They were perfect for that track since it was very much a look-back/reflection on the DIY punk shows of my youth, and they were one of the bands I was listening to on repeat during that time.
I don’t have a dedicated band that I play with all the time. My process is mostly me sitting alone in my basement squinting at a busted old laptop adding a seventh guitar layer to something over some fake garage band drums. Once the songs are written I decide whether I’m happy with them as “bedroom pop” projects or whether they need more collaboration. Mostly I just asked people who I really admire and have always wanted to work with, and they all shocked and honored me by saying yes.
You describe yourself as someone who creates queer anarcho-indie-punk music. Which came first in your musical life — being queer, being anarcho, being indie, or being punk?
Greer: For me, music and politics were always inextricably linked. I describe this a little bit in the song “Spray Paint,” but I was in high school when 9/11 happened. At that time I was mostly into my parents’ music: Simon and Garfunkel, Neil Young, Joan Baez, Phil Ochs, that kinda thing. I was just starting to learn guitar. The first song I ever wrote was an anti-war song about the US government’s rush to invade Afghanistan and Iraq. I felt like I couldn’t go around singing it unless I was going to actually try to do something about it, and that’s when I got involved in activism and helped lead a student walkout against the war.
I ended up helping organize a bunch of major protests and rallies, including one on Boston Common that the Globe reported was the largest since the Vietnam War. But it didn’t work. We still went to war in Iraq and Afghanistan, and here we are 20+ years later still dealing with the fallout. Seeing the anti-war movement struggle to build power was what pushed me to ask deeper questions about the social and economic systems this country is built on. That’s when I started connecting more with anarchists, socialists, anti-authoritarians and others who were questioning the very foundations of US imperialism and the economic systems driving it.
So you could say I found punk rock through folk music, rather than the other way around.
You’re also the director of digital rights group Fight for the Future, writing about the intersection of tech policy and human rights. How does your day job intersect with your music?
Greer: I’m very fortunate to have a day job that allows me to be my full self. And there’s a lot of crossover between the issues I speak to in my music and the advocacy work we do at Fight for the Future. I named my last album Spotify is Surveillance, and we actually used it to help launch a Fight for the Future campaign targeting Spotify over a patent they had filed to use voice recognition software to listen to your conversations and use them to recommend music and advertising. There are so many ways that the surveillance capitalist business model that dominates the tech industry is impacting musicians, artists and creators. Having had the experience of supporting myself for nearly a decade playing music full time gives me a better understanding of how these issues around technology and the rules governing it impact artists’ day to day and bottom line.
Are all cops bastards?
Greer: Yes and no. To me, ACAB is a useful paradox. Of course all cops are not bastards. Some cops are friendly. Some cops are good parents, siblings, sports coaches, community members. But all cops are part of a system of policing that fails to keep us safe while using violence and incarceration to uphold brutal systems of injustice and oppression. All cops are part of a system that upholds white supremacy, a system that tears families apart, a system that prevents the type of meaningful change needed to ensure every person on this planet has enough food to eat and a safe place to sleep at night. So, maybe each individual cop is not a bastard, but All Cops (as a group, or as iconography for a system) very much are.
What else would you like people to know about yourself, the new album, etc?
Greer: Most people around JP probably know me better as a community organizer/event curator than as a musician. Maybe they’ve been to my Queer Stage at Porchfest or come to Break the Chains, the all ages queer dance parties that I organize. I used to tour pretty much constantly so even though I technically lived here in JP, there was nearly a decade where I rarely played shows here or did much in town.
It’s actually been really lovely for me to be more rooted here as I’ve had to slow down my touring schedule to focus on parenting and other responsibilities, and it has allowed me to be more active in organizing events for the community here.
Maybe folks have heard me play a couple acoustic songs at one of my events, or at a picket line or protest or something like that. But I’m really excited to now have the opportunity to share a bit more of my musical self. This album is a lot more layered and musically complex than what people see when I hang on my porch playing covers. I hope folks will take a listen!
