“That was really important, because basically I had no aspirations of being a musician or a performer until I had that experience,” White says. “I thought that’s what I wanted to do. I thought I wanted to own a record company. But as I started working there I realised, ‘This sucks. I don’t wanna do this.’ So I started writing songs for other people, and then it was more, ‘Well, these songs aren’t sounding exactly like I hear them. So I guess I need to sing them myself.’
“Sometimes you have to figure out what you don’t want before you figure out what you do. For me, it was very clear that in my wildest dreams I would never have thought of being a singer or a performer. But everything has changed since then in the music industry. That was a long time ago, and every time I put out a record there’s a whole new landscape.”
After working at Epic Records, Santigold left to co-write and produce the debut record for pop-soul artist Res, and her own musical intentions began to flourish. If learning what she didn’t want to do at Epic helped reveal a different path, the realisation that only she could give her writing the voice it needed was the next fork in the road.
“It was hard,” White says. “Especially because I was so inexperienced. I didn’t know how to deal with anything. I wasn’t the diplomatic, seasoned individual I am now [laughs]. Because you’d write a song and just love it, and then you’d give it to someone and they’d change it, rearrange things, it was hard, especially when you thought at any given time they were changing it for the worse. Sometimes for the better, but if you thought it was going in the wrong direction it was hard to step back and let it happen.
“Since then I’ve done a lot of songwriting for other people, and I don’t really care as much. You put ideas out there and if it’s not for your record, well, whatever. They can take and leave what they want, and you move on. But I only feel that way because I know I have my own records. The reason I was led to my own music was because of the frustration of having this idea and not getting to hear it the way you dreamed. That’s what pushed me to be an artist.”
Despite taking a leap into the relative unknown, Santigold has become an artist of significant critical acclaim. 99¢ is a notably more upbeat album than 2012’s Master of My Make-Believe. It’s catchy and contemporary without ever becoming kitsch. You suspect it’s destined to be a crossover album, something that will charm both new and old listeners. Yet Santigold had just one person in mind when she was writing.
“I write for myself, because I think if I wasn’t writing music I wouldn’t be living the life I’m supposed to live. I feel spiritually connected to the process of songwriting. I write because I need to write. But it’s not like it’s this thing where, ‘I don’t care if anybody likes this, I do whatever I want.’ Music for me is a very communal thing, and that’s why I’ve done so many collaborations. I love working with people, I love sharing music, I love performing music, I get energy from that. So when I do my songs, I’m writing it for myself and other people too. Just like a novelist. You want to make sure you’re saying it in the right way, you want to get your intention across.”
As we finish our conversation, a light snow is falling in New York while in Australia the tarmac has melted to sludge. Santigold is wrapped up snug, looking forward to reading her favourite author, Haruki Murakami, and admiring the winter wonderland outside. Yet even in such romantic surrounds, part of her creative soul is dreaming of green.
“I love New York because of the constant stimulus. You get so much inspiration just from being here, because you’re constantly encountering something that’s going to make you feel, that’s going to make you think. But when you need to hear your own voice and ideas, you really have to be silent inside. It’s hard to do that all the time when you’re in such a bustling place, so especially when I’m having trouble with lyrics I like to go to Jamaica. I look out over the ocean, listen to the birds, and the words just come.”
BY ADAM NORRIS
