quinnie’s assertion that she’s “too young to be feeling so old” on her recent single “baja bird” feels like a reasonable summary of the artist, whose songwriting allegiances seem perfectly balanced between the contemporary bedroom-pop movement’s most impressive success stories and a more traditional element steeped in ’70s folk-rock. Her second album paper doll on which the track falls straddles this line in a number of fascinating ways, not least of which is the ultra-personal lyrical terrain she covers while paying homage to creative voices of past generations. “I’m a bit of a retromaniac, so I’ve definitely internalized the experiences of some lonely legends of music past to a point where I’ve glamorized dying in a ‘museum’ with them instead of being surrounded by loved ones or something,” she shares with us. “It’s tough.”
In her track-by-track breakdown of the LP, it isn’t Clairo or Beabadobee who get namechecked, but rather Patti Smith, Paul McCartney, and the cult modern introspective-pop songwriter Grouper she most relates to—and never on any level but an intellectual one. Additionally, the personal philosophies of Richard Bach, the intimate fictions of Clarice Lispector, and the psychoanalytical experiments of John C. Lilly informed the base of ideas she approaches common relationship issues with here, helping her to provide a totally unique take on well-worn pop song tropes— “heading full throttle into love even if grief is the outcome,” as she succinctly summarizes it.
Having self-released paper doll yesterday, check out quinnie’s full breakdown of the LP’s 15 songs below, along with a stream of the record. You can also catch her on her North American tour kicking off in September at the dates listed here.
1. “a new shade of blue”
I run into the limits of language a lot. There are feelings that aren’t completely describable. The word “love” is awesome, yes, but at times it seems so overused/misused that it’s empty. There’s some other transcendent emotion there that doesn’t have a word, and I tried to scratch the surface of that. Maybe it’s a kind of sadness attached. I don’t know. I wanted this song to feel hushed and sexy in some sort of mystical way, like making out in a confessional or something.
2. “ripple”
I wrote this song about the anguish of wanting to be with somebody who I couldn’t be with. The first line about opening a mirror is in reference to the Grouper song “Heavy Water/I’d Rather Be Sleeping.” That song has carried me through the beginnings and ends of relationships—it’s about fear of love, and hoping for some tidal wave to just take you to the silent sea floor instead of confronting things. To me, the fear of ending something, at least in sensation, is pretty congruent to the fear of starting something new. I wanted this song to speak to both a relationship you desire but can’t obtain, but also a relationship that ends, and having to make the decision to grieve somebody who will ultimately just be out there living their life. The whole mirror metaphor plays into that, how every beginning has its equal end.
3. “baja bird”
Despite stereotypes about teenage girls, growing up gave me an insatiable thirst for adventure and exploration. In my most cherished female friendships, it’s a trait we’ve always secretly shared, this hunger for more of the world. There’s a quiet understanding among many young women, I think, of how much power we actually wield. There are these pockets of our character that no boyfriend will ever be able to understand, but there’s a sweetness in knowing that it’s a language only we speak.
4. “angel song”
I was in some sort of infatuation-induced trance for quite a bit when I started to write this record. It was as if there was a golden haze around everything. I believed that I could move the clouds away from the moon with my power. I wrote this song in that state. The angels told me to sing!
5. “baby rockstar”
I entered into a relationship and was reckoning with the fact that it could come to an end one day. I saw myself in the women who came before me, and realized that we’re all the same in some way—you’re either the new, exciting woman or the old ball and chain, but only time differentiates us. This song was me accepting of all of those factors and recklessly falling into somebody, regardless of the consequences. I borrowed the “beatnik ballerina” thing from a Patti Smith quote. There’s a sort of cool elegance in that phrase that I wanted to be able to see myself in, but couldn’t. I put it in contrast to Neil Young’s “Cowgirl in the Sand.” It’s a clunkier descriptor. The most common interpretation of that song is that it’s about this sort of rambling woman that he wishes he could pin down. I saw myself in that, in the way I was processing commitment.
6. “run around the block again”
A new spark can make you feel just like a child again, like when it was the summer and you’d run around the block and end up out of breath.
7. “for u”
I never really understood the desire to procreate, until one day I sort of felt it. I often wonder if we choose to be with people who we envy in some capacity, and if maybe being adjacent to their admirable traits is just the closest we can get to having them for ourselves. I wrote from that perspective—this strange craving to actually turn into the person you love. I was also thinking about my parents, and envisioning how much goodness they saw in each other to want to start a family. I imagine there’s a heavy grief that comes with parenthood. You love someone so deeply that you do this sort of insane spiritual collaboration, and you do it despite the fact that your creation could one day leave you. I touched on this concept a lot on this record—heading full throttle into love even if grief is the outcome.
8. “absence of”
I felt desired for the first time in a long time and it made me weak and reinvigorated my faith or something. There’s a massive relief in being reminded that somebody else could be completely and utterly overwhelmed by you. In that moment, it feels like the antidote to everything, even if it’s just an amalgam of all of those happy and lustful chemicals in the brain. Biology is crazy. It can make you feel like God’s hands are pushing you toward fate. “Clinging to the muck” was in reference to the foreword of Richard Bach’s book Illusions. It’s a passage about not resisting the things that are meant for you.
9. “hate fuck”
I like to write about sex because it’s a really accessible thruway to loftier emotions. This song is about the lengths one goes to to be close to somebody. The first verse is a Frankenstein of some of my early memories of sex, which influenced how I related to intimacy moving forward. The pre-chorus flashes forward to a rough part of a long term relationship. Here, I’m fully aware of how my value fluctuates in relation to sex, and I’ve grown accustomed to how idealization fades with time. The chorus could be directed at a partner, but also could be internal dialogue. In terms of addressing a partner, I’m just trying to understand how we’ve strayed off the path so far that intimacy has become a medium for hostility. In addressing myself, I’m trying to understand how I’ve learned to seek out hostility as a form of pleasure and validation, despite this illusory magical path I dream of following. Not to get all woo-woo, but sex and aggression are both dictated by Mars in astrology and I find that interesting. Something animalistic ties them together.
10. “rain machine”
Love can be kind of like a sedative. This is about wanting to release yourself from the monotony that can come with being too comfortable and settled with somebody. I was inspired by the walk down chromatic thing that “Junk” by Paul McCartney does. Obviously very different vibes, but I adore that song.
11. “forgiveness”
I was picking fights to ruin a relationship before it became too serious so that the fallout would be less intense later on. There was frustration when all of my attempts to sabotage things were diverted by patience and forgiveness. I wrote about that. I was really into the scientist John C. Lilly for a while. He was this legend who tried to talk to dolphins and would take a bunch of drugs and go into sensory deprivation tanks (which he invented) and contact beings out in superspace and whatnot. Some of that showed up in the bridge, where I’m setting the scene of being reincarnated as cetaceans who echolocate to find each other again in the ocean.
12. “public domain”
There’s an inherent self-love in wanting to see half of yourself in a child you create that I think would be really difficult for me. I’ve always felt guilt for not having motherly desires built into me, and though I’ll never say never, I always imagined a legacy for myself that wasn’t carried on by children, but rather some garage sale mess of all my journals and drawings and photographs and trash and stuff. I’m still young, but it can make relationships difficult because there’s always the impending reality that I’m somewhat disinterested in starting a family. I’m also a bit of a retromaniac, so I’ve definitely internalized the experiences of some lonely legends of music past to a point where I’ve glamorized dying in a “museum” with them instead of being surrounded by loved ones or something. It’s tough. Women are expected to choose between parenthood and career. You feel like you’re not allowed to have both.
13. “paper doll”
It’s intoxicating to be idealized by somebody, but it only lasts so long. Sometimes the ideal wears off—or sometimes it doesn’t, and you’re left wishing they could just accept you for who you really are. The latter leads you to feel just as unloved as the former, because it’s as if this person is avoiding looking at the fucked up parts of you that you wish could be accepted as well.
14. “marble”
This is a love song. It’s just about remembering that whoever you’re with chooses to be beside you, and how that’s got to count for something.
15. “my secret”
When I write a song, it’s the closest I feel to being understood. But there’s a limit to how well you can know someone due to the nature of our separate bodies. I’m trying my best to talk about that in this song, the parts of yourself that no one can possibly know. It’s a feeling I thought I would grow out of, but haven’t—a sensation that goes beyond restlessness. In Big Sur a few years back, there was this true vagabond-type guy who was telling of these abandoned opal mines out in Nevada that he’d passed through. The image of that place really captured my imagination and I thought of it as some utopia where everyone understands each other completely without having to communicate. I was also really obsessed with Near to the Wild Heart by Clarice Lispector around the time I wrote this song. Joana, the main character, speaks about her solitude and inner world with this abstraction that kind of transcends the traditional use of language. It made me feel seen in my sort of vibrant and inexplicable loneliness for the first time. This “secret” I’m talking about isn’t really supposed to be graspable, it’s just that part of myself that I’m the keeper of—it’s a feeling that I can’t fully put to words and I might like it that way. When I drive alone at night is when I feel it the most.
