Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ Karen O: ‘The one thing I hold in sacred regard is rockers’ hairstyles’ | Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Yeah Yeah Yeahs in 2006, from left: Brian Chase, Karen O and Nick Zinner.

After almost a decade away, the American rock trio Yeah Yeah Yeahs are back with an urgent, electrifying album, Cool It Down. Front and centre as always is Karen O, 43-year-old Karen Orzolek, the band’s singer and one of the most charismatic and intriguing figures to emerge from the New York indie scene of the 2000s. She now lives in Los Angeles with the British film-maker Barnaby Clay and their seven-year-old son.

Did you ever doubt you could make music again that would be up there with anything you’ve done before?
I don’t know the answer to that question, because I’m a pretty future-oriented person: I think more about what’s next than what came before. But the secret sauce on Cool It Down was just that we waited to be supercharged and inspired and completely swept up in the urgency to enjoy making music again together. So that helps.

Would it be fair to say this record came more easily and was more harmonious with the band than some previous ones?
Well, because of the extreme separation of those two years, because of the pandemic and stuff, there was just this very deep sense of joyous celebration that it was back on the table. Having that choice taken away from me, I really did understand how precious it was. Then on top of that, everything was percolating in a very intense way for the years leading up to that: there was just so much to respond to as a human being and also as an artist.

What are some of the differences making an album in your 40s as opposed to making one in your 20s?
For one thing, humility. You’ve been knocked around by life. In our 20s, it felt freewheeling, devil-may-care, like: “Who cares what happens tomorrow? Let’s celebrate like tonight’s the last night of our lives!” So there’s less self-consciousness in that sense, but you’re also very self-absorbed in your 20s. Now that I’m in my 40s, there’s humility, but also compassion and a deeper care for things larger than myself. I understand that I’m not the centre of the universe any more! The tough period was probably in-between: my 30s.

You still have the distinctive black bowl cut. When was the last time you had a different style or cut?
I did go blond for Mosquito, our last record, so I lived as a blond for almost three years.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs in 2006, from left: Brian Chase, Karen O and Nick Zinner. Photograph: Paul Natkin/WireImage

Did that feel different?
Yeah, it was really important at that stage in my life to disconnect from the black bowl cut and experience the world as a blonde, which at times was more fun, I think. But yeah, I return to the bowl, because I feel like I look weird without the fringe; I don’t even recognise myself without bangs at this point. And that’s one thing that I hold in sacred regard: rockers’ hairstyles.

In the 00s, you used to say: “I want to be successful but I don’t want to be famous.” Do you think you’ve achieved that?
To a certain degree. And that sentiment is still one that I hold. After having my kid in 2015 I was thinking: “I’m going to steer my career towards a behind-the-scenes one now.” But somehow I kept finding myself back in the limelight. But yes, the holy grail is to be successful without being famous.

Is that easier to achieve living in LA than New York?
I guess, yeah. In LA, even if you’re not necessarily antisocial, you can be somewhat reclusive. There’s a lot of privacy in that sense. But then a lot of celebrities seem to have moved to New York, because New Yorkers play it cool and they don’t generally pester people too much.

There’s a new documentary based on Meet Me in the Bathroom, Lizzy Goodman’s oral history of the New York rock scene of the 00s. Do you think the book and the film portray the scene accurately?
Lizzy did a pretty awesome thing with that book: she did capture the essence of the scene and the feeling of what it felt like to be in a band in New York at that time. And the film, it’s like a time warp back to the early 00s. It doesn’t feel like it was that long ago in some ways, but there’s also a realisation – circling back to the age thing – that it was 20 years ago and that’s enough time for people to think of it in an almost historical way.

What contemporary music are you most excited by?
One of my favourite records was Comfort to Me by [Australian punk band] Amyl and the Sniffers. I just love [frontwoman] Amy [Taylor] so much, I think she’s the real deal. And the record is this incredible combo of heart, grace and balls-to-the-wall punk.

What else in culture have you liked recently?
I was a big fan of the show Severance, I thought it was brilliant. It really resonated with me.

There’s some big themes on the new record, especially the climate crisis, but you don’t seem pessimistic. Is that hard to sustain?
The gift of being able to write music is that you’re operating from a higher self that leads past all the noise and the despair. Making music, it’s such a euphoric process: it feels not too unlike what I imagine a near-death experience would be, where you tap into deeper truths. There’s a lot of fear and disconnection and loneliness and despair, but what music helps me to do is tune into this deeper understanding of how interconnected everything is. That buoys me and I hope you can feel that in the music.

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