Anne Adams is a busy lady. In addition to performing pop whimsy around town as Per Se, she’s also doing scut work for a major fantasy film that’s being shot in Portland. And that made it so difficult to schedule an interview — even a phone interview — for this week’s Per Se profile in WW that we ended up doing it the, uh, Journalism 2.0 way: An e-mail interview. Through MySpace. (Do you hear that sound? That’s the sound of dead music journalists spinning counterclockwise in their graves. If we were in the Southern Hemisphere they’d spin clockwise.)

Adams’ interview ended up being so entertaining and chock full of goodness that we’ve decided to run it here on LocalCut, in addition to a demo of her song “Flapjack Devilfish” and a video of her performing “Paraguay” at Mississippi Pizza on October 17.

One of the definitions of “per se” is “by virtue of its own essence.” In that spirit, here’s Anne Adams, by virtue of her own essence:

Local Cut: You’re from Anacortes, and you’ve lived in Walla Walla and Florida and Canada and other places. When did you move to Portland, and why?

Anne Adams: I lived in Florida first, and actually, at this point, I’ve lived in Portland the longest.

I lived in Anacortes and Victoria, BC, somewhat simultaneously. (If you’re familiar with the San Juan Islands ferry system, this seems less weird.) Then, I lived in Anacortes and Auburn, WA at the same time—I was in a boarding school, and Anacortes was home.

I was in Walla Walla for college, and finally, came to Portland to seek my fortune. Where I found fauns and fairies, and peasants who were secretly kings.

Can you tell me about the course of the band, how it became a three piece and why it’s become a solo project? Has it been you solo before?
My musical endeavors have taken a couple of forms. I started writing songs when I was 16, and dabbled around with coffeeshop performances in college. When I moved to Portland, I wrote for The Rocket and the editor, John Chandler, started a band called The Persimmons. It was very much a bar band, with four older dudes who could, and did, play anything. They worked around my laconically repetitive riffs, which was gracious.

After that, I did solo shows for a long time as Per Se, and then I started getting other people involved. I initially chose to use the moniker “Per Se” instead of my name, because I wanted to be able to put more people in the project, without naming the entity after myself. (“Anne Adams Band” seems totally overbearing. Also, it has three hard “a” vowel sounds, and I don’t prefer those.)

I’ve temporarily tapered back to solo, mostly just to get my head together. I love to have help playing, but sometimes the logistical hassles of involving other people are just too overwhelming. There are times when I can barely muster and master my own energy, let alone others’.

Also, solo shows are such a great performance exercise. A bare arrangement forces me to fully inhabit the songs. I’m not thinking about what someone else in the band is doing; I’m only thinking about bringing the songs across to the audience. When I’m all there is, I have to be all-there.

What’s this job you’ve got, and why are the work days so long?
Okay, it sounds so cool to say this. Here goes: “You know Nightmare Before Christmas? Well, the director, Henry Selick, is making another stop-motion animation feature film called Coraline, and I’m working on that. Seriously.”

So shoot me. I just got this job, and I’m still in the honeymoon phase.

What do you usually do for a living?
I’ve done many things; here’s the highlight reel:

• Freelance Writer
  
• Middle Manager
  
• Energy Drink Can-Car Driver
  
• Print Shop Copy Jockey

Don’t look at me that way; I’ve got an English degree. Besides, low-wage jobs fortify your character.

Do you still wear wings on stage? Can you tell me about them — why you wore/wear them.
Sometimes I wear wings—not always, because sometimes they’re inconvenient for instrument-switching, or I forget to pack them.

When people ask me about them, I sometimes say that I wear them just to make myself larger. That’s not completely true. In addition to the blowfish effect that I achieve by wearing wings, I think they provide some surrealism. The performance world is an Otherworld, and it’s nice to take advantage of that, and be slightly otherworldly if you can.

I worry sometimes that people will call me pretentious for wearing costumes. But if you think about it, live shows are a pretentious convention. For instance, it’s really contrived for someone to sing rather than just speaking. The whole construct of a live show is theater, I just admit it and embrace it a little.

Where you get them?
You’ll think I’m lying, but I used to buy them from an honest-to-God Wingsmith. She has long grey hair and plump pink cheeks, and her shop keeps strange hours. You are welcome to research this; I’m sure she still exists [she’s referring to The Belfry at 3153 SE Belmont St.]. Or, you can think I’m lying. People frequently do.

I had to stop using the Wingsmith, though, because I had pernicious rust issues, and the wings were too costly to replace. I eventually made a pair myself. They’re a very modest design compared to the Wingsmith’s, but they’re clear, so they go with all my dresses.

Can you tell me about your new album? Name, how long it’s been in the works, number of tracks, when it’s coming out, self-released or on a label?
I can tell you that it’s the lost album of Atlantis. That it’s been kicking around unfinished forever. People who’ve been listening to Per Se for a long time, have already heard what’s on the album. For people who have not—which, let’s face it, are most people—I should tell you that the music is slightly hypnotic, and slightly seditious, and extremely melancholy. And it’s pretty, but that’s beside the point.

Here’s what I have: Eight mixed and mastered tracks, and two that we’ll remix this Sunday. And artwork. What I feel like I need next is some support—probably in the form of a label, but if not that, then at least a booking agent. I need somebody else to tell people how fantastic I am, and optimistically project my musical future. When I do these things myself, I feel like a blowhard. If someone else were willing to take up the cause, then I’d feel a little more justified.

Who are your influences? What other artists do you get compared to?
My influences are all old news now. I can’t listen to very much new stuff, or I get overwhelmed. I have a very frightfully efficient auditory memory, and it catalogues a lot of things that I’ve heard, to the point where, combined with my own songs, I feel like my mental hard drive is at capacity. But back when I listened to music, before I’d heard too much, I loved Evan Dando and Peter Gabriel and Morrissey, and also some girls like Suzanne Vega and Liz Phair. But you know what they say–the old Liz Phair, she ain’t what she used to be. Do they say that? I do.

People tell me I sound like Mirah and The Blow a lot, and I can see where they get that. That’s not my fault, though, since I sounded like this before I heard them. I played at What The Heck Fest a couple times in Anacortes, and that’s where I heard them first. I immediately thought, “Yay! I’m not alone!” and then, “Boo! I’m not special.” Frankly, I’m more afraid of not being special, than I am of being alone. So I’ve avoided listening to those two, especially, just to avoid cross-pollination.

Can you tell me about why you write the songs you do? Why these topics, why these approaches to lyrics structures? What parts of songs grab you? What comes first, the lyrics or the music?
I write the songs that come to me. Sometimes they come to me gradually, and sometimes all at once. I can’t take credit (or blame) for all the content in my songs, because their creation is not entirely conscious. Have you ever had a dream in which you’re reading a book? Theoretically, you’re making up the story that’s in the book, nonetheless, you can “read” it in your dream and not know what comes next. If you wake up before you’re done “reading,” you might be disappointed that you won’t be able to finish the story.

It’s a lot like this when my subconscious makes songs without me. When things around me are quiet, I hear melodies that I’m theoretically making. I hear them as though they’re playing on a distant radio. I sing along and put the melody into my tape-recorder or my phone. The melodies are always this way. The words are a little different; sometimes I engineer those more. Or sometimes the songs I hear come with a chorus, but I can’t make out all the rest of the words, so I have to make some up to fill in.

When I first started writing songs, I’d give myself assignments. I’d try to see how many notes I could string into a melody without using any of the telling tones that defined the song as major or minor. Or, I’d build a whole song on one root note. Sometimes, I’d try to start a new phrase with the same word I used to end the last phrase. In short, I’d try to build songs in ways I was pretty sure it wasn’t commonly done. I think these exercises gave me a sort of inherent trickiness to my sensibility, so that the songs that occur to me now have weird patterns or structures without my even trying.

If I have strange topics in my songs, it’s because I’m writing around some lyrics that came with the package. This is the case with a song called “Flapjack Devilfish,” for instance. Some of the lyrics came with the music, and I had to put stuff around them that was semi-coherent. I’m a very sensible person; if I have to write about a Flapjack Devilfish, I’ll at least build a context for it.

In other cases, when I consciously make all the lyrics, they are just about my feelings. Honestly. Although I guess when I say “feelings,” I really mean “feelings, theories, and experiences.”

Can you tell me about how you approach an audience? I know you like to make people a little uncomfortable sometimes, but you’re also really personable and open with the crowd — can you tell me more about that?
I only like to make people uncomfortable if they do that to me. I’m not combative, but I am defensive. I have been heckled, and I’ve retorted, and I’ve made people more uncomfortable than they’ve made me—but that’s not a habit, it’s happenstance.

I like audience involvement; I don’t like complacency. I figure, if you’ve come out to see a show, watch the show, and get the most you can out of it. I try very hard to make myself worth listening to. And, if I feel like an audience has confused me for a stereo, I’ll talk a little, just to remind them that this is live; to pull them back in. Really, it’s that I can’t handle rejection. I’m not tough. I can’t practice up and put on a pretty dress and then get rebuffed. I can’t. I’ll cry.

I’ve heard that you cry on stage sometimes. Can you tell me about that?
This is a funny question. In the theatre, crying onstage is considered a skill. But in bands, I guess this practice is rare. I don’t do it on purpose; I don’t cry on cue. But I bet sometimes it seems like I do. When I’m singing a song, I really try to inhabit the words—to get in the mood. And once I do that, I experience a rush of the feelings that inspired the song—and I cry. I just do. I get it from my mother. A pretty singing voice, and hyperactive ducts.

When did you start working the looping pedal into your set, and what does it bring to your live show? What parts of songs do you usually loop?
The looping pedal is a new toy for me, but it’s really complementary to the way I’ve always thought about songs. Remember when I was talking about writing whole songs on one root note? I still have songs that are structured that way. My doo-wop-style songs that are built on one repetitive refrain also translate well to the pedal. I haven’t totally mastered it in live performance yet, though. It’ll sound perfect in practice, and then I’ll mess it up a little at shows. Of late, I’ve had to charm my way through a lot of little looping mistakes. But I think I will conquer eventually. An old church lady once told me that in heaven, everyone will be able to sing in several voices at once. They’ll be able to harmonize with themselves. I think this lady was crazy; nevertheless, I have found harmonizing with myself to be quite transcendent.

Bonus Video, Per Se plays “Paraguay” at Mississippi Pizza:

Per Se performs Sunday, Oct. 28, with Laura Gibson and Musee Mechanique at Holocene, 9 pm, $6. 21+. Read Brandon Seifert’s original Anne Adams interview here.

Links:
Per Se on MySpace
Per Se’s homepage
More free Per Se demos