Eleanor Friedberger
Eleanor Friedberger is one of the most singular voices in indie rock. Best known for her work with The Fiery Furnaces, the avant-garde group she founded with her brother Matthew in 2000, Eleanor is a singer, songwriter, multi-instrumentalist, and solo artist with an incredibly distinct sound and style.
The records Eleanor makes with her brother are adventurous, often conceptual works full of unexpected sounds, abnormal structures, and absurdist lyrics that make little fever dreams out of indie-rock songs. The band has always made the kind of rare albums that seem to give you something new with each listen. While Eleanor’s solo albums rein in that free-wheeling nature and lean into her brilliant sense of melody, they still apply the same art-first approach that’s made The Fiery Furnaces’ work so interesting (and often polarizing).
The Fiery Furnaces recently reissued their ambitious second record, 2004’s Blueberry Boat, and have resumed playing live for the first time in years. Filmmaker and Chance Operations collaborator (and longtime Eleanor Friedberger admirer) Jessica Edwards recently saw the reinvigorated band perform at the Old Dutch Church in Kingston, NY. Jessica sat down with Eleanor to discuss how her process changes between projects, how constraints can actually work for you, and the magic trick to staying inspired and motivated to create.
Jessica: Let’s start at the beginning.
Eleanor: When we started the Fiery Furnaces, I had actually recruited Matthew to be in my band, which I had already started with a friend. Our first album, Gallowsbird Bark, is a classic first album in that we had our whole lives to make it, so it was perfect. I would’ve been happy if we had just stopped there, but with the second one, Blueberry Boat, my brother saw the potential in what this thing could be. He really took it and ran with it once he saw how people were responding and he treated me like an actor in whatever he created. The real win was that I could translate and put across whatever he came up with to the listener.
We talked so little about where the elaborate stories in those albums even came from. I was always reluctant to ask him more about them because I wouldn’t have been able to do my job if I knew too much. Sometimes when I’m performing, I have out-of-body experiences where I’m like “What the fuck am I saying? How does this sound?”
We were rehearsing yesterday in New York City in this amazing place in Midtown, where every kind of music was happening around us. We were in this little room with just an upright piano, and someone next door was playing classical music, and someone else was playing jazz. I wondered what they must’ve thought; they probably assumed we were doing some kind of wacky musical.
Jessica: When I saw you guys play in Kingston [New York] last week, I was struck by how present the arrangements of your songs were. How did arranging become such a big part of what you and Matt do together?
Eleanor: Practically speaking, we always wanted to make records we couldn’t necessarily recreate live—mostly because we didn’t have the resources to do so. That’s just a cold fact. Some people will do anything to recreate what’s on the album, but that was never a consideration for us. Now it’s become an ethos. You can stay home and listen to the record, but if you’re going through the trouble of coming to a show, we want to give you a different experience. The live arrangements are almost a problem now because we can see our songs in so many different ways. We treat them like pieces of music that could be written on a page and interpreted a million ways. That just comes naturally to me, but it started from a practical angle: We had a lack of resources and instead of seeing that as a detriment, we turned it on its head. We were like “No, we’re not going to give you exactly what you think you wanted to hear.”
Jessica: It’s like the constraint became the opportunity?
Eleanor: I think so.
Jessica: Feels very Dylan.
Eleanor: I couldn’t love him more. I’ve got so many different phases in my life tied to different periods of his music, but I’ve only seen him play once. He’s the only other artist I can think of where you’re hearing a song and you’re like “What is this?” I know that’s how people feel when they see us perform, and seeing Dylan was the only other time I’ve had that experience. I can’t say I loved it—which is funny—but I thought it was really interesting.
Jessica: So when you started writing solo, did your approach to flexible live arrangements shift or stay the same?
Eleanor: Of course I was like “I’m going to do everything differently.” I’d never just written a song and then played the song as it was recorded, so that was a novelty at first. I did that for a while, then became a little freer about it as I went along, while still maintaining the same restraint. I did two tours with a five-piece band, which felt very luxurious; I had a keyboard player and a guitar player who played separately! That was great, but I wanted to focus more on performing the song as it was written.
Jessica: Returning to collaboration after years of solo work, how did your approach shift? What have you learned now that you didn’t know the first time around?
Eleanor: Because Matt and I are siblings and grew up in the same house, we have such a shorthand. We don’t really have to describe things at all sometimes. Recently I told him I’d been listening to this Captain Beefheart album, Clear Spot, which I didn’t know had been reissued as a double album. There are all these instrumental bonus tracks and I told him “This sounds fucking amazing.” I was obsessed with it.
Matt hadn’t heard it, so he listened to it and I could just tell something clicked. The next time I saw him, he said “I’ve been playing a lot of guitar.” I was like “What?! We’re supposed to be doing piano stuff!” And it was all based on this one comment I made a month ago about Clear Spot.
“I just want to say I have no problem singing something someone else has written. Nothing suffers for it and it doesn’t mean I don’t have a voice or a say in the work. Why can’t you be a great artist singing other people’s songs?”
Jessica: Listening to you sing on the recently re-released Blueberry Boat after hearing you live in Kingston, I realized your voice is such an essential part of that album. Tell me about that process. How do you connect with the words Matt writes?
Eleanor: There have been times when I’ve read something on the page and thought “I can’t sing this.” The first time I read “Straight Street” I said “What the fuck is this?” Matt said “You’re going to sound great.” And I did. I got into the challenge of it because a lot of it isn’t easy to sing, and that comes naturally to me. I didn’t realize that was a skill I had–and I don’t know if he did either–but once he realized it, it was like “Okay, we’re going to go as far as we can with this.”
Sometimes we’d alter lyrics to work better, but you just get better at it. I’ve learned so much in the past 20 years that I feel like I have a better handle on it. It’s simple: It’s about the desire to do it and getting that fire again. People had this funny concept early on about a singer who doesn’t write lyrics. They were confused about what my role was.
Jessica: Do you want to clear it up?
Eleanor: I just want to say I have no problem singing something someone else has written. Nothing suffers for it and it doesn’t mean I don’t have a voice or a say in the work. Why can’t you be a great artist singing other people’s songs? Remember that Jeff Buckley documentary? Who cares that he mostly interpreted other people’s songs?
Jessica: What’s the best emotion for you to start writing from?
Eleanor: It’s so embarrassing, but historically it’s been either wanting to prove something or longing. It’s basic, but that’s usually my motivation.
Jessica: It’s universal in intent and specific in execution. That’s the best part–your version of longing is totally different from Linda Ronstadt’s version of longing.
Eleanor: I wish it wasn’t my main source of inspiration, and there’ve been other factors, but since I got married, set up house, and have been content in a way I maybe never was before, it’s definitely affected my urge to make music.
Jessica: In the years you’ve been married, have you found creative sparks in other ways?
Eleanor: If we want to count rearranging furniture! [Laughs] But yes, in so many places. I say it as a joke, but in another life I’d be a stylist or art director. I love it, and I’m good at it—but I’m a copycat too. My husband Michael [Berryhill] is a painter and for the first couple of years I was like “I want to make paintings.” Then you try and realize “Holy shit! Painting is hard!” It’s so much harder than playing music.
Jessica: I want to talk about fashion. I’ve always connected you with a specific sense of style. Where did that come from?
Eleanor: It wasn’t something I cultivated, it’s been this way my whole life. My grandparents had insane clothes. My grandfather had dozens of suits and could wear a different tie every day of the year and my grandmother loved shopping. My mother inherited those genes, for better or worse. It’s funny that it’s in me too, though not as much.
This is not to throw my mom under the bus because she couldn’t be more supportive, but before a show, the first thing she’ll ask is “What are you going to wear?” Before anything else. I noticed it recently with my niece; we were talking about her first day of kindergarten, and I asked “What are you going to wear?” Then immediately backtracked: It doesn’t matter what you wear. It absolutely doesn’t matter.
Jessica: So your appearance on-stage doesn’t enhance your performance?
Eleanor: I’ve never been a costume person. If I have a fashion skill, it’s that I know how to dress for the occasion–depending on who I’m hanging out with. I literally dress how I think the other person will dress. I’ve always done that.
Matt has always dressed in a uniform, so in the past, I’d contrast that. Now I mostly think “I should look more like him if I can.” Honestly, if I could be naked, I would. I don’t want to think about clothes.
The official video for Eleanor’s track “Make Me a Song”
“If you’re not in that gathering mode, you won’t be making anything. It’s easy to flip the switch and say “I’m in gathering mode,” but you have to mean it.”
Jessica: How did your recording process start with The Fiery Furnaces, and how did it shift when you began making solo records?
Eleanor: It really didn’t shift that much. We’ve never had much time in the studio. The longest we ever spent there was a month, which felt like a lot—but we already had the songs written. When I hear about bands going into a studio to write, I’m just like “Well, they have a lot of money” which is amazing. That’s the dream.
For our first album, we had such a strict plan. We had all the time in the world because it was our first album, so we planned it meticulously. We had lists for each song, outlining every overdub, and we just executed them. The next album was a lot different. We recorded over a longer period and were experimenting with a mix of digital and analog.
A lot of the time, when Matt’s playing so many different instruments, my job isn’t dissimilar to a producer’s. I’m just sitting there listening, and he needs feedback. He’d ask “Eleanor, how does that sound?” He trusted my opinion. New ideas always come from old ideas, so it’s just this snowball of things.
When I started making my own albums, I still had a plan for each song, then I’d step away from that plan when I needed to, but I had a pretty clear sense of how each song would go before ever entering the studio. Again, that’s a constraint—but not a bad one.
Jessica: I actually love a constraint like budget or time. Are there other constraints you’ve put on yourself intentionally to work your way out of them?
Eleanor: Yeah I’ll say “I’m going to write a song with three chords and that’s it” or “I’m going to go the other way and put all the chords in.” I’ll try to push myself. Another basic example is I’ll try to write a melody on a keyboard and then put words to it. That sounds simple, but I usually do words first and then music. Doing it the other way can feel daunting. It’s little things like that.
You have to be in the mindset to want to do the research. I haven’t been feeling that way much lately, but if I were in this restaurant and in the right mindset, I’d take five things from this place—something I’ve written down or just remembered—and use that. If you’re not in that gathering mode, you won’t be making anything. It’s easy to flip the switch and say “I’m in gathering mode,” but you have to mean it.
Jessica: How do you get into gathering mode?
Eleanor: In the past, it was because I always wanted to be in that mode.
Jessica: It was sheer will?
Eleanor: Yeah, and adrenaline. Years of very, very spiked adrenaline. Maybe it’s partly age, or being more stationary since the pandemic, but I used to be in this constant state of gathering and writing things down. At some point, you end up with a massive amount of data to work with. It can be as simple as something in your notebook or on your phone, and you start culling that. That’s how it’s worked for me in the past.
Jessica: You’ve been creating for a long time, and creativity has essentially become your job. How do you feel about balancing the need to sustain yourself financially while staying creatively fulfilled?
Eleanor: Well, I got a job. A real job. Working part-time for BjornQorn has been so valuable to me on so many levels. It uses a totally different part of my brain. I get off on the customer service—talking to strangers, the satisfaction of getting the emails out of the inbox. I thrive on that, and it’s hard to get that from creative work because it’s never really done.
I used to romanticize myself as being the most creative when I first moved to New York and had crappy office jobs. I kind of wanted to get back to that feeling. That balance is really important to me. I think it’s essential to have this push and pull—even though, in this case, my bosses are my friends. Having a little bit of “My boss told me to do this” actually works for me. It’s valuable to have something to push back against.
“The first thing that comes to mind is working in a recording studio—hearing things come together and solving problems. That’s what I love. I love putting things together.”
Jessica: What about the work now required to sustain a life as a musician—marketing, distribution, that side of it? As filmmakers, we spend a lot of time thinking about that now, because nobody else will.
Eleanor: I’m learning a lot. It’s similar to the kind of work I do for my “real” job, so I’m trying to apply that to my creative life. For example, we got the rights back to all our records and put them up on a distribution site called DistroKid. They get the music on all the streaming services and take a small cut—but the customer service is terrible. Right now, four of our albums aren’t appearing on Instagram. So when I try to add music to a post, Blueberry Boat isn’t there. I’ve been battling with them for a month, and it couldn’t come at a worse time. I just can’t get it sorted.
Jessica: How does your relationship with the listener feel? Does it feel collaborative?
Eleanor: I want it to feel more like a collaboration, but I haven’t figured out how to make that happen. I want to interact more with the audience. Matt and I have talked about that—even if it’s as simple as introducing each song.
In the past, we’d go through phases of literally not speaking on stage—which I thought was cool. When I started doing solo stuff, I began talking—and then talking too much, even trying to tell jokes—but it was fun. Now I’m just trying to find the right balance. I wish I could literally pull people up on stage or sit in someone’s lap and be like “What do you need? Tell me. I want to give it to you!”
I wish there were a clearer sense of how to proceed, aside from just singing the songs. Maybe that is enough and I’m overthinking it. That’s part of what keeps me going—figuring out the perfect medium for myself. It’s really the only thing that keeps motivating me.
I’ll hit a peak with singing—and maybe that’ll last another 10 years, statistically speaking. I definitely think I’m a better singer now than I was 10 or 20 years ago, and that feels good. But in terms of the actual medium, I haven’t found the perfect thing yet.
Jessica: The perfect place for yourself?
Eleanor: Yeah, within music, or maybe outside of it. I still don’t really know how to show people who I am. Is it Instagram?
Jessica: It’s 100% NOT Instagram. What are your favorite moments in the work? When do you feel the most connected?
Eleanor: The first thing that comes to mind is working in a recording studio—hearing things come together and solving problems. That’s what I love. I love putting things together. It’s like cooking, and I love cooking. You can see all the pieces come together and then hear it back. If it sounds good, it’s the best feeling in the world.
With the live thing, those really magic moments are few and far between, but when they happen and you’re not thinking about it at all—it’s incredible. If you’re on a three-week tour, by the middle of the second week, that’s the best. You’re finally outside your head. There’s nothing else like it.
It’s the magic of muscle memory—when you completely stop thinking. The only time you mess up is when you start thinking about it. When you can really go into a zone like that—there’s no other place in my life that feels like it.
