Mipso’s Libby Rodenbough, on the Chapel Hill Music Scene, Creative Freedom, and Spectacle of Love
Photo by Joseph Terrell
Although best known as a vocalist and fiddler in the North Carolinian folk quartet Mipso, Libby Rodenbough fiercely holds her own on her debut solo album, Spectacle of Love. This 13-track LP features a beautiful collection of songs written by Rodenbough over the years, all indicative of past emotions, observations, and musical inspirations, while remaining remarkably cohesive. Songs like “How Come You Call Me” and “Colors” are full of melodic ingenuity, soothing harmonies, and unique instrumentation, showcasing her endless musical talent.
We recently got to chat with Libby about her music goals, creativity in the pandemic and more!
How did your creative process change as a result of the pandemic? Did you experience any creative blocks and if so, how did you overcome them?
I would say my creative process has been in a state of hibernation these last 18 months or so. I’ve found it very difficult to write about anything mundane without feeling like I’m neglecting the underlying narrative, and on the other hand when I’ve tried to address anything big I’ve found myself spewing cliches. As somebody who’s always thirsting for unbroken stretches of uncommitted hours, I’ve had to sheepishly admit to myself that free time has not actually been the limiting factor on my creativity all these years.
I can’t say I’ve overcome this block, whatever it is, but in the absence of producing new work I’ve tried to get back into the habit of “playing” instruments—like, sitting around plucking/bowing/strumming without goal or intention. Sometimes I do more deliberate practicing, too, but I think there’s a great risk for people like me—i.e. people who always turned in their school assignments on time—of losing contact with the childish joy of making sounds.
What is the difference between writing for yourself and writing for Mipso?
A lot of times when I start writing a song, I have no intended recording artist in mind. I think that sense—or maybe better to say illusion—of wide openness, like you’re standing alone singing your words across the Grand Canyon, is important for me to get the guts to kick off. That said, it often becomes clear to me within the early days of a song’s life whether or not it might have a home with Mipso. Some songs feel to me like they must exist in exactly the form I’ve written them, and that’s not a good starting place for band collaboration. I need to feel that I can give up some control without resenting anybody. Still, there are times when a song might start out in that protective category and migrate over time to the collaborative category.
Also, plenty of the songs I bring to Mipso don’t end up resonating with my bandmates, and, if I still feel connected to them, I have no qualms about taking them back to the “Libby solo” camp. “Colors” is a song Mipso recorded for the album “Coming Down the Mountain” and ended up cutting from the final batch. Back then, it was a totally acoustic kind of minimal thing, but after a few years I started to imagine it as an off-kilter pop song, so I recorded it that way myself. Songs can have many lives, which is a freeing thing.
What song on Spectacle of Love are you most proud of?
My answer would probably change season to season. Today I’ll say that “Tell Me How” is one of those songs that walked right out into the world fully-formed one day, and it continues to feel honest to me. Recording it was a very intuitive process, as well, starting with what might have been a demo guitar-and-vocal-take and eventually culminating with strings parts that were written like pouring a glass of water. I really love the moment in the second chorus when you can hear Kate Rhudy’s harmony note lingering after me.
What is the meaning behind your song “How Come You Call Me”?
It’s about that all-too-common heterosexual relationship model, girl performs the role of a mother but boy likes to think of her as his sweet little child or pet or something to that effect. Some people get around in the world pretty easily, and I mean even beyond the privileges of their race/class/gender, like some people see how you’re supposed to grease the wheels to keep the machines going and are willing/able to do that. I’m one of those. I’ve always felt self-conscious of that skill, and I find myself attracted to people who lack it. The way that works out is that I slide easily into the position of world-navigator on behalf of people I love. It’s my own fault as much as anyone’s, and I’m not entirely opposed to being in that position, but no doubt it can make romantic relationships feel lopsided.
In what settings is the gender divide within the music industry most apparent to you? How do you deal with it and what advice would you give to young women pursuing music?
There are a lot of small ways that it manifests, like sound engineers being skeptical that you understand how your own gear works, or concert-goers asking which of your bandmates you’re dating, or photographers suggesting you do a special pose indicating the singular expression of divine femininity. I think it’s probably not so different from how that divide appears in any old context—you feel both fetishized and underestimated.
But the more profound struggle for me, which is also certainly not specific to the music industry, is the multi-sided struggle always taking place in my head, whether at the forefront or in the background, about what my gender identity means in the context of my work. Is it relevant? Is it essential? Would people like the things I make less if I were male, or non-binary? Would they like them more? Should I be embracing the parts of my voice or appearance that are especially “non-male,” or striving to be essentially non-gendered in the creation and presentation of my work? These questions grow out of ground built up throughout my thirty years, and especially in that precarious adolescent period where you can observe but don’t quite understand the gravitational disturbance created by a tight skirt. I wouldn’t suggest that male musicians experience none of that questioning, but it’s a matter of the scale of its influence. Also there’s the simple fact that women are a minority in the business (as in most businesses). When there are fewer women in the room to compare your experience with, the discomfort and self doubt just camp out in your mind.
How would you describe the music scene in North Carolina and how has it inspired your sound?
There are a lot of people around here who center their lives on the love of music. I mean that as distinct from centering one’s life on the business of making music. Certainly, many of my pals and I are trying to make a living from music, and there’s strategy and attention to “the market” entailed in that, but if you were an extremely commercially motivated musician, it’s likely that you’d leave here for Nashville or L.A. or New York. If you play certain instruments or in certain styles, like traditional fiddle/string band music, for example, you become aware of the number of non-professionals or semi-professionals who are carrying and augmenting the traditions—often far from what people otherwise consider the cultural centers of our country. Hanging around here for more than a decade now, I’ve also come to understand how certain people who host shows or tape shows or sell records or maintain a mental history of the local scene are vital parts of the fabric of that scene. I guess what I’m getting at is that living here makes me feel free to be a creative entity and a collaborator with other creative entities without excessive pressure to be calculating, and with the added joy and responsibility of being a thread among other threads. It doesn’t feel dangerous to make something conventional-sounding or something weird-sounding, or wherever I feel the wind blowing me, as long as I’m giving others that same berth. I suppose it’s the way a good community allows people to be in general, not just in the musical context.
Being a singer-songwriter is a job where your personal and professional life are intricately intertwined. Is it hard to separate Libby the artist from Libby the person?
This is going to sound funny, but I haven’t thought about that very much. I guess because of the conditions of our time I’ve always been much more preoccupied with the difference between Libby the public entity—on stage, on social media—and Libby the person. Maybe somebody in the field of performance studies would tell me there’s no meaningful difference? I think there’s something a little creepy about how successful you can become by convincing people that your Twitter self is exactly—no more than, no less than—your self self. That said, I guess it’s largely just the latest embodiment of celebrity, which has always been about convincing people that you are totally just like them except also very much not. So maybe it’s the same old story. Regardless, it’s probably not a story anybody should want to be a part of. I do feel fortunate not to be very famous.
As far as artist-hood goes, that’s pretty well integrated into my personhood. I get up, drink some coffee, play a little piano, think about my first love, think about how I want the world to be, hum some notes, clean the house, record a voice memo of a new melody in the car on the way to the post office, get home and strum a guitar, watch an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” with my boyfriend, record an album at some point, go on tour at some point, come home and water the dying plants. Making music is a very routine part of my life. It’s a hallowed thing too, but so can be making a meal or having sex or whatever. It doesn’t generally feel like a hat that I don anymore—it’s more like hair.
What is the most important thing you want listeners to take away from your music?
Hm. Here’s what good music does for me, and what I’ll strive for: I go home from a great show and everything around me feels a little charged. The parking lot, the sky, my friends, my memories, my own body—everything’s undergone a subtle metamorphosis. It’s begun to hum with mystery, like a warm evening wind. I want people to believe in and invest in the beauty of their lives and of the people around them and of all creation, and to do this in defiance of the small, mean view our economic and political systems want them to constrain themselves to. I want to make people feel bewildered and rebellious and in love.
What is one bucket list goal you hope to achieve?
To design the perfect playground.
What can fans expect from you over the next year?
I’m going to try to make another solo album. I made a bunch of wandering little instrumental things during quarantine, so maybe I’ll put those out sometime. And I’ll be touring a ton with Mipso, so come see us if you please!
Spectacle of Love by Libby Rodenbough is available for streaming now on all music platforms.