On How Music Can Take You Back To “Giving A Boyfriend A Blowjob"

"The other day I found some old White Lung 7"s and listened to them," says Mish Barber-Way. When White Lung singer first moved to Los Angeles from Vancouver, two years ago, she couldn't bring her record collection with her. Her husband finally hauled it over, in a trailer, in 2016, and she's still going through the records, and the memories.

"It took me back," Barber-Way says. "I could remember exactly what was going on in my life: which boyfriend I was singing about, which heartbreak I was thinking about, which drugs I was abusing. I could remember the house I lived in, all that stuff. I love that about music. You can listen to a record that you listened to every day when you were 19, and it takes you back to that shitty job you went to every day. I used to do a column in Vice called Remembering The Dumb Moments Through Shaped Me Through Song, where I would take a song and write about the experience that happened with that song. Everything from giving a boyfriend a blowjob and having him film it on his flip-phone to your saddest birthday, or driving in my mom's Astro van blasting Hole. Music has always done that for me. It's just strange when you do that with your own songs."

"You can listen to a record that you listened to every day when you were 19, and it takes you back to that shitty job you went to every day."

White Lung formed in 2006, and their early singles were fast, furious, thrashy lo-fi. But, with each of their last two LPs, 2014's Deep Fantasy and 2016's Paradise, they took a notable step forward, the latter having a pop-sheen. Barber-Way's vocals are foregrounded, she and producer Lars Stalfors "made a pact" to "really make them the star".

"I grew up a dancer and a competitive figure skater," Barber-Way offers. "So, I'm used to having a coach. I'm not one of those people who says, 'Okay, everyone buzz off and leave me alone, I know what I'm doing.' I need discipline, I need a coach, I need someone to push me to be better than I would be on my own. And Lars was an excellent, excellent coach."

The press release for Paradise found Barber-Way flagging this ambition in the face of punk orthodoxy — "words like 'accessible' scare rock musicians" — but her defiant words were born out of her insecurity about having "two radio singles". "Everyone has their insecurities," she shrugs. "When they come out depends on the day, the time, how much sleep you've had, how much liquor you've had, your period; what's going on in your love-life, your friendships, your work life — it's a rollercoaster."

Compared to Paradise, the early singles Barber-Way spun sound primitive, a sure reminder of how far the band has come. "When you're starting out [as] a touring punk band, your job is just survival. You're young, you're green, you're excited about sleeping on floors and making just enough money to get to the next town. But, things are just different now. This is our job, we have schedules. We're not 20 and slutting it up on the road anymore."