Voice, activated

>> As tough as she is tender, this Louisiana MC raps about Southern comfort and northern exposure, deflecting triviality and reflecting reality

SPEAKING OUT: Voice

by ERIN MACLEOD

Known simply as Voice, it’s clear that this woman wants to be heard. She may have been born to perform—her mother was a jazz singer, her father an actor—but she’s gotta make sure that what she’s performing makes sense to her. And it’s making sense, not just to Voice but to more folks than she expected. In France, in January, people were already singing her hooks, and her brand of hip hop’s getting respect left, right and centre. The Mirror called Voice up in Toronto, where the L.A.-bred, Louisiana-rooted artist was launching a tour to support Gumbo, her new record that’s as delicious as it is diverse.

Mirror: Over the past year and a half, there’s been a lot of attention on New Orleans, for obvious reasons. How much is New Orleans a part of who you are?

Voice: Without New Orleans, this album wouldn’t have been made. That’s where my musical roots are, that’s where my mother and my father are from. It’s a city that always spoke to me visually, artistically—there is just something in the air down there. The whole situation that’s happened with the hurricane and the recovery and being evacuated for six months, it really made me step up my game, because it made me realize that your comfort could be pulled from under you at any time. If I can get through a catastrophic hurricane, nothing can affect me!

M: What brought you to Canada?

V: In 2001, I was doing studio sessions, doing some writing for artists in Los Angeles. I was meeting some good producers, and I liked the music, but I wasn’t finding anything that really moved me. I was talking in the car one night about how frustrated I was, and a good friend of mine said, “I’ve got something for you,” and she pops in Lal. I said, “You’ve got to link me with these people.” I came up to Toronto and I met Lal, a crop of producers and the Public Transit Recordings family, and it felt like, this is the music I’ve been wanting to make.

M: You seem to connect the South with the north, given your creative connections with Canada.

V: It’s almost like a global tie-in, because for Gumbo, there’s Los Angeles, Toronto, New York, Ohio, the U.K.—I worked on the project all over. I feel that as an MC, I bring my West Coast flavour, my laid-back attitude and my liberal, tough-ass perspective. From the South, I bring the party element, ’cause that’s what New Orleans is about. After I listened to the whole project, it reminded me of a pot of gumbo. You got the real meaty stuff, the filling stuff, you got all these different flavours. You might not think they work together, but when you taste it, it’s like, damn!

No frills, no grills

M: Having your roots in the Southern states, where do you see yourself as regards Southern hip hop? You don’t seem like you fit in with the big white t-shirt, jeans and grills crowd.

V: I’m not a white-T-and-gold-grill sorta person! But my husband seems like he might be turning into one! It’s a different flavour from what I do. That’s what’s successful commercially, but it’s not what everybody is feeling. Many different types of music exist in the South, not just crunk street music, and I’ve been received pretty well, because New Orleans appreciates good music.

M: In hip hop, when there are female MCs, it seems like there’s either the sexed-up girls or the tomboys.

V: In a lot of reviews I read, it’s almost like they want to coin me the feminist rapper. That wasn’t the intention. I can only write about what I know. I am a woman. I’m a mother and a wife, so that’s going to be my perspective. I don’t change who I am for anybody. I’m not downplaying my femininity, but I’m not also up-playing my toughness.

M: Some of the images that you paint are funny and a little bit self-deprecating—laughing about how ridiculous the gulf is between yourself and those women on TV.

V: Thank you! People seem to paint me as super-deep. But if you know me, I’m one of the silliest people. In “Fantasy Pt. 1,” I just wanted to break down how ridiculous things have gotten. To me, I’d turn on the TV and be laughing, asking myself, “Is this for real? Is my life just so out of touch?” I know hip hop is a youth culture, so I’m thinking perhaps this ain’t for me anymore! I’d laugh with other people about the silly shit we’d see, but there’s also ridiculous things I do.

Fantasy meets reality

M: You do complain a little about hip hop.

V: I wasn’t trying, it just came from a place of frustration. I’d have these conversations with my husband, saying, “Why don’t I like rap music any more? I used to love it!” I wasn’t hearing good lyrics, even when the music was good. But I can’t sit through a video that just disrespects me on so many levels. I remember having a conversation with some guys who were saying, “Who just wants to see pretty women on TV? No women are coming out to shows, and who wants to be in a room full of dudes?” I wanted to support this music, but I’d be a hypocrite to support something that looks at me that way. I felt I had to say something. I had to purge my system. I did this with “Fantasy Pt. 1,” “Mediocre,” “Total Eclipse” and “Sign Where?” A majority of the album, however, is more about just being a working-class person.

M: Not many hip hop artists are talking about being a wife and a working mom.

V: In hip hop, everybody’s writing about, or has a desire to be, these larger-than-life characters with all these unattainable things, so I was like, “I don’t know about any of that stuff.” I know about getting up every day, going to work, paying bills, feeding my kids, hustling, loving, living, learning. I can’t play myself out and write about shit I don’t know. I can write stories, that’s wonderful to me. But the minute I try to be somebody I’m not, there’s going to be a whole line-up of people waiting to pull my card. So I thought, why don’t I just bring me to this project? Hip hop has always been so male-dominated, but I was always the female who was respected amongst the dudes because I put my foot down and didn’t take any shit. If it’s worked for me thus far, let me continue with who I am. People seem to like it.

With Moonstarr at Sala Rossa,
Saturday, March 3, 10:30 p.m., $10

Other voices

>> In honour of International Women’s Week, the MC salutes artists who inspired her

by ERIN MACLEOD

Voice’s appearance this weekend kicks off International Women’s Week, which lasts until March 10. It’ll be the 30th anniversary of International Women’s Day. Given this auspicious occasion, Voice came up with a short list of tunes—women’s voices that have meant something, taught and inspired her.

Sarah Vaughan: “Pretty much anything she’s ever done. I can’t even pick a track. Her voice and her style are amazing.”

Björk, Debut, “Venus As a Boy”: “A key track. It’s from a time when I was younger. I must have listened to it hundreds of times. She amazed me musically. I also knew that this was a woman that was behind the scenes, that she led a group.”

Meshell Ndegeocello, Cookies: The Anthropological Mixtape, “Earth”: “This track was from around the time when I was really coming into my own, musically. Each project she has put out, I’ve been thoroughly pleased with, and they just seem to get better. She’s always been somebody who I feel does her thing, whether she fits into the mainstream loop of what’s going on or not. She stays true to herself, and I can hear that.”

Joni Mitchell, Ladies of the Canyon, “Big Yellow Taxi”: “She’s a phenomenal story writer, singer and artist. I went through a heavy Joni Mitchell phase. She made me focus on my writing. I’ve always written, but it used to be a lot more scattered. She taught me that you can paint really intricate pictures with words and music, and make it work.”