Carrie Brownstein on Her Early Family Life, Sleater-Kinney’s Sound, and the World of Portlandia.

Key Takeaway

Build creative momentum through small, low-stakes collaborations before demanding a major outcome. Carrie Brownstein and Fred Armisen made short videos for fun over several years—without a business plan, money, or pressure to monetize—and those experiments became Portlandia. Today, invite one person whose taste you trust to make a tiny prototype: a three-minute video, demo, sketch, or idea session. Focus on enjoyment, repetition, and learning rather than scale.

Episode Overview

Carrie Brownstein traces how family upheaval, the Olympia music community, and a love of performance shaped her work with Sleater-Kinney and Portlandia. She explains how experimentation created the band’s distinctive sound, why mental-health support required stepping away from touring, and how long-term collaboration became central to both her creativity and personal growth.

Full Transcript

Transcript of Carrie Brownstein on Her Early Family Life, Sleater-Kinney’s Sound, and the World of Portlandia. from How I Built This. Auto-generated from episode audio; may contain minor errors.

One thing I've realized with both Sleater-Kinney and Portlandia is that they are so unique that recreating that is almost impossible. Hello everyone and welcome to "The Great Creators". I'm Guy Raz and this is where I talk to some of the most celebrated actors, musicians, and artists of our era. We talked about creativity and the creative process. And on today's show, one of my favorite people, in every sense of the word, a legend of indie rock and comedy, Carrie Brownstein. It is not uncommon for a famous actor to venture into the world of music or for a rock star to try their hand at acting.

And, you know, often the results, well, aren't so good. That is, unless you're Carrie Brownstein. Carrie founded the band Sleater-Kinney in the 1990s in Olympia, Washington. She was named one of the 50 greatest guitarists of all time by Spin magazine. She is also a composer and, sometimes, the band's vocalist. He has written about music. She has written about art for magazines and publications. He is also one of the creative forces behind one of the funniest TV shows and one of my favorites of the 2010s, Portlandia.

So , in my conversation with Carrie, you'll discover how Sleater-Kinney found the key to his sound in out-of- tune guitars. They will discover the moment of crisis that led the band to take a year-long break and how they overcame their nerves and found their place in the Portlandia writers' room . So, before we get into my interview with Carrie, here's what you need to know. She grew up in the suburbs of Seattle in the 1980s. It was a suburban area. It was almost rural. There was a feed store right across from the bookstore downtown.

But when I was about 10 years old, a business park emerged where there used to be a forest, and a new company called Microsoft moved there. A few years later, another change occurred in Carrie's home that would change everything in a similar way. You were 14 years old when your parents separated. Yes. And you and your sister went to live with your dad, right? Yes. Or we stay with my dad, actually. Yes. My mom moved. What did that mean? I mean, did you see your mom on weekends or regularly, or was she out of the picture for a while?

She was still present for a while . You know, now that I'm an adult I have a lot of empathy for her and her experience. And, you know, I can probably see the ways in which being married to my father, who didn't know he was gay but was and came out later, must have been a lonely existence for her. And she was, you know, battling an eating disorder and, um, depression. And that's why I feel a lot of empathy for her. But as a child I was angry and confused, you know, by, um , feeling that she was choosing herself over us, you know, and it's more complicated than that.

But as a child, all you think is: I need Mom, and now she's leaving. So we didn't see her much. Um, once she moved out, she was working on herself and trying to improve. So yes, after that it was really just my dad, my sister, and me. And you were, like, as a kid, kind of, um, like you were comfortable performing in front of other people, right? You've talked about how you did plays with your sister and , and you just acted. And you didn't ...

you didn't have, like, anything, I don't know, um , just, like, any fear of, of just standing in front of people and? It's so strange because, yes, I was watching this video that my dad found that we had made for my grandparents, for his parents, for their birthday, one of their birthdays. And you know, they were recording us on this VHS camera. Everyone was kind of giving this message of, you know, happy birthday, grandma. My voice has the volume of a football coach. It's like I'm wondering, why am I so fired up right now?

It's like everyone else is doing something normal and I just walk into the frame, you know, like cheering on the team, and I just couldn't stand it. I thought I must have been super annoying. But I think for me it was, you know, and I wrote about this in the book, just a way of it being easier, I think, to operate in that mode in my family. You know, it was harder to be vulnerable, and, you know, the silent moments were filled with fear and uncertainty , but taking action simply drew this boundary around everything that was happening.

And, you know, I kind of understood the assignment. It was like, okay, this is my job. This is my task. I'm here to perform or I'm here to entertain or I'm going to, you know, get my sister or all the neighborhood kids to join me in this, you know, madness or this Duran Duran cover band or whatever it was I was doing. Like that structure , I think I really needed it because it didn't really come from my parents. And so I think it was just a way for me to communicate and to survive.

And it was... it was the other moments that were much more difficult for me, just sitting in the stillness and sitting in the strangeness and just not really knowing what was going on . I think he was quite scared. Yes, but I... I would call it bordering on unbearable when I think about it. But it was fun. I mean, you shouldn't judge me, but it was...it was noisy. Yes. I mean, and I think... I mean, did you grow up...? I know you got your first guitar when you were about 15 , but did you grow up taking piano lessons or playing any other instruments?

Yes, I took piano probably when I was eight or nine years old for maybe five years. I was really ready to quickly switch from Bartók and Beethoven to Madonna's "Like a Virgin," you know? I mean, I always...had the sheet music for "We Are the World" and "Like a Virgin" and, you know, I'm sure my piano teacher would say, "Please, let's work on this, you know, Bach." And I was like, "No, can we...can we play Like a Virgin ?" Uh, but I really enjoyed learning, it was a good foundation for learning some basic music theory , you know, and uh...

I didn't love practicing, but I loved playing, you know, the formality was difficult, but I loved it as a form of expression. So when...uh... you got your first guitar, uh, it was...it was...I mean, both my sons play the piano and I think they started with the violin, uh, and that didn't last very long . And they've adapted well to the piano , although we have to keep an eye on them to make them practice, but did you like it...did you connect with the guitar in a different way than you did with the piano?

Yes, I think there are a couple of reasons for that now that I think about it. One was that the piano was, you know, in a common area of ​​the house. There was a sort of feeling that it was an audience and, you know, people were listening to me because I was practicing. You know, it was as you say, we have to insist that the children practice. And I, I did feel that. Whereas the guitar, it was like taking it and bringing it to your room and you're in...yes.

You're in this kind of private sanctuary, and even though it makes noise, just having the walls around me and this feeling of privacy, which you really need for creativity and expression, and I also think it just aligned with the music I was listening to at the time. You know, by the time I got a guitar, it was, you know, the early 90s. I guess it was probably 1990, and, you know , some of that keyboard and piano music was leaving behind. radio waves and, um, the guitar simply has a different mode of expression .

You know, the notes are bent to evoke something like sadness. They can kind of moan, you know, depending on how hard or softly you hit the strings. It was like it just felt physical in a way that it really needed. And, um, also yes, it just aligned with the music I was listening to. So it was definitely different. What were you listening to? I remember that time so well, obviously because I was alive and I just heard, by the way, I just heard "Everything Counts" by Depeche Mode on the radio and it's all synthesizer, but man, it's so good.

They were totally revolutionary and don't get enough credit for what they did because they were doing so much; they were basically an electronic music band in the 80s and made amazing music. Yes, those records are still relevant. I believe they are undoubtedly still relevant. Very good. So, what do you remember hearing around 1990? I think it was right when I entered high school and changed my friend group a little bit at that time, you know, like I looked around and thought, I guess I'm not, you know, just trying to figure out who your people are.

Yes. Especially in high school because it's like grades, suddenly everything counts in high school. You say, "I don't think I can keep up with these popular kids," which I definitely wasn't counting on. Then I started looking for these groups of people who at that time were called "bat cavers". And the " bat cavers", well, I guess they were a sort of mix between rockers, goths and punks. And well, in the end, we all had to get together because, you know, we were. Yes. Even though we listened to different kinds of music, it was like, well, we're the guys who wear black eyeliner, dye our hair, wear cut-off denim shorts and combat boots , and...

Doc Martens. Yes. So, since I had all these friends who listened to different styles of music, I started—it was like a huge tutorial for me, you know? And it was like: "Okay, discovering The Church, Ministry and Depeche Mode, but also, you know, the Ramones, Patti Smith and The Clash." You know, I had a voracious appetite... I suddenly realized that there was all this music that was happening at that time, but that I had also missed out on it because, of course, in the 80s I only listened to the radio and, well, there was great stuff on the radio.

I mean, that was the era of Michael Jackson and Madonna, and there was amazing pop music, but I didn't realize that at the same time there were bands like Dead Kennedys, or that band called Television from New York, or well, all that music that I had missed. So I spent my sophomore and junior years of high school alone... completely immersed in learning music and, well, and then of course , things started happening in Seattle. Yes. Mudhoney, Nirvana, smaller bands like Hammerbox, and Fastbacks and Beat Happening, things that came out of Olympia.

And that's when it all started for me. And I could really hear that. Sorry, go on. No, no, you go ahead. Yeah. I mean, the year you graduated high school, it was because Nevermind came out in the fall of '91 and ... I mean, the year you graduated, '92, like... they were the biggest band, they were the biggest band of... They blew up. Seattle was about to become the music capital of the world for the next few years. Yes. Do you remember the movie Hype? Yes.

I mean, that was so...us...Yes. You know, basically it was all these big record labels descending on Seattle and just signing anyone with a pulse, you know, with a distortion pedal and a pulse. They were like, "You're next." Yes, I remember driving to school the morning " Smells Like Teen Spirit" came out. I was a senior and station 107.7 said, "This is the new Nirvana song," and of course to us they were just a local band. Yes. That DJ played "Smells Like Teen Spirit" on repeat. He didn't stop.

I mean, and this is a commercial radio station. She played it, then played it again, so all the way to school the soundtrack was just one song and I remember thinking the weather had just changed, I didn't know what was going to happen but it was something unprecedented. When has a song ever been so popular ? It was a shock to the system and, of course, they completely imploded. But I also remember that year a small ad in the Rocket, which was Seattle's music newspaper , announcing a concert by Bikini Kill, Mudhoney and Nirvana.

And of course, it had been reserved before the album came out. It was at the Moore Theater, which has a capacity of about 1500 people, and that was the show that would take place that fall. And then, in early 1992, when I started college in Bellingham, at Western Washington University, Mudhoney played in September, right at the start of classes, and then we heard that Nirvana would be giving a surprise concert. So I went to a show basically in the university gym where Nirvana opened for Mudhoney just because everyone was friends.

Wow. And it was probably one of the best experiences of my life. You know, this was a band that was taking over the world. And there they were, hanging out with their friends in Bellingham, a small town right on the border with Canada, playing for a group of college students who, of course, had no idea what it would mean, or that Nirvana was about to become the biggest band in the world and one of the most influential in history. But yes, they played and then Mudhoney came on after them.

It was very strange. It was an incredible time. Did you like the music that was coming out? Did you like it, uh, because you know , obviously there was Soundgarden and obviously Pearl Jam and, uh, God, I have a lapse, but, uh, yeah, Mudhoney and, uh, so many others? So, did that music appeal to you? Did it resonate with you? Yes, it reached me. I don't know. I mean , I think I just had that permeability, that openness at that moment to try anything, you know, like, yeah.

If I was going to see a band, you know, Treepeople, which was the band Doug Martsch was in before Built to Spill, you know, you know, they played, or, uh, I remember this band called Crevice from Vancouver. They had about eight guitarists, only eight female guitarists, a total cacophony. But I was just, I was willing to experience anything, and I bought the 7-inch records. And you know, 7 Year [ __ ] or, uh, The Gits, there were just a lot of great bands. But, uh, yeah, like, Soundgarden, it's weird because I remember at that time, even though these bands were certainly amazing with, you know, amazing singers like Chris Cornell or Eddie Vedder, I was still looking, like, I was like, "But where are the women?" Like I still wanted to, you know.

So I was drawn to Olympia, where, you know, Bikini Kill and Heavens to Betsy and all these other bands were happening concurrently with the Seattle scene. So, even though I loved Soundgarden and Nirvana and knew they were great. At that moment, no, you don't know that these bands are going to disappear. You don't know that a tragedy will happen to them or that they won't be there forever. So, I was like, "Yeah, yeah, Nirvana , Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, they're great, but what about this super obscure band called Ratmobile from Olympia?" So, you know, I just, yeah , I liked everything, but I was definitely looking for something that spoke directly to me at that time, like when I was 18 or 19, like , you know, Bikini Kill.

When I first heard their music, I just thought , "Oh, like, someone is saying out loud the things I've been feeling for so long." And that is a much more radical and life-changing feeling. I want to ask you about that. Uh, and about getting to Olympia and Evergreen State College. But before I forget, in high school, I think definitely in senior year, you were like a theater girl. You were kind of a drama nerd, weren't you? You were the star of the high school play, right?

And, like, when you say the word star, we should explain that, you know, being the star of a school play written by the English teacher, which, looking back, I love the arrogance of that. Like: "Oh, there are all these works we could do, but I have one work." Let's do mine, let's rehearse it. Did you know? And yes, so I was in that play and I was the lead actress. But yes, I really enjoyed it. And in high school too, I loved theater and did drama and improvisation, and all of that was a lot of fun.

But when music came along, it had a more immediate gratification and also lacked that formalism where, when making a work, there is still a top-down hierarchy , you have the conductor and all that, which of course is great, but I just wanted to do things my way, in my time and as loudly as possible. That was very appealing to me , so music took over for a while. One of the things that I'm curious about is that you ended up going to Evergreen State College. You transferred there and arrived at a time you didn't know then, but which we now know was a historic moment in the history of music .

I mean, you had Carrie Brownstein, Kathleen Hanna, Toby Vale, Becca Albee, all those people you would collaborate with . Everyone was there. Kathleen Hanna, of course, from Bikini Kill, who started this whole riot grrrl movement . But before I ask you about that, I'm curious, because in our generation, right? The most heinous sin you could commit was being honest, right? It was like the worst thing you could be. You had to be ironic or just, you know, be dismissive of everything. Do you know what I mean?

It was as if that were something real, especially at that stage of our lives. Do you remember that? Yes of course. I mean, you know, if you watch "Reality Bites", for me it's the essence of what you're talking about, that character of Ethan Hawke or Winona Ryder, you know, the character. But yes, there was definitely so much rejection of things, you know, including yes, sincerity was almost anathema, you know, you really moved around the world with a certain distaste and rolling your eyes. Yes, it was just Yes, it's strange to think about it now because I feel that sincerity and authenticity are so valued today.

Mmm , but back then, you know, you didn't feel like it was something you could really adopt. Although, ironically, I suppose, there were certain rules for that. You know, you had that sense of irony, but you had to take other things seriously, like "selling out" was something, selling out was the worst thing you could do, that was the worst thing you could do, and now that concept, I mean, it barely exists, if it exists at all , in fact, it's actually worse, every celebrity has a cosmetics line now , so I guess there were a lot of rules to follow when you arrived in Evergreen State in '95, I'm sure a lot of people were saying, "Nirvana has sold out, right?" As if it were something people were saying, or as if all those bands had sold out.

Yes, sure. And well, you know, it's interesting because Nirvana had very close ties with Olympia. You know, they grew up in Aberdeen, which is much closer to Olympia than to Seattle. Kurt had, you know, girlfriends and friends in Olympia. You know, they played at the " Mods", which is a residential complex in Evergreen. You know, so I think there was a lot of sympathy for Nirvana. I don't think so, I don't actually remember people calling Nirvana sellouts. I think it was more of a cautionary tale.

As if everyone knew how special they were and how special their music was. And I think it was more about witnessing the pain that it could cause someone, you know , someone who was so sensitive and suddenly found himself facing people, or had the feeling that his audience was different from him and didn't understand him. And I think, yes, it worked more as a kind of warning that, well, it's not that I did n't receive criticism, but there were certainly bands that emerged later and, you know, if you signed with a major record label, suddenly you were too commercial.

Yes. And you know, the goal wasn't to be commercial. I mean, I remember when Sleater-Kinney wanted a publicist, there was a woman, Julie Butterfield, who had moved from the big city of Minneapolis to Olympia. And you know, people who come from bigger cities say, "Hey guys, we could be doing this. You could hire someone to try to get your songs on the radio or to send your album to a journalist." And we were afraid to hire a publicist because, you know, Riot Grrrl had basically gone into a media blackout.

It was like, "We're not going to talk to the media." Yes. So, even the very idea of promoting oneself was selling oneself. I mean, it's hard to explain how strict and strident those rules were, how codified they were, and like, this was a constant and treacherous conversation. Um, yes, it was difficult. I lived in Washington, D.C., in the late 90s, so there's a Riot Grrrl connection between D.C. and Olympia. Because I believe Kathleen Hanna spent some summers in D.C. And he played with many musicians there, so that whole movement was very present , especially in the alternative weekly magazines and newspapers that I wrote for.

Um, tell me about that. I mean, you arrive at Olympia and Kathleen Hanna is there, Bikini Kill is there, you're a musician, and were you immediately drawn to those women, to being around them and what they were trying to build? Yes. I mean, that's half the reason... well, not really. It's 99% of the reason I went to Olympia, because when I was in Western, Heavens to Betsy, which featured Corin Tucker and Tracy Sawyer, but it was with Corin that I formed Sleater-Kinney. They came to Bellingham to perform.

I approached Corin afterwards and she literally said to me, "You should move to Olympia." And I said, "Yes, I suppose I should." So I, you know, was really moving there, yeah, for college, but also because I felt like I'd find my people there and I wanted to be , you know, immersed in this music scene. So yes, when I got there, I got there during the summer. I had about two months before classes started and I just tried to go to all the concerts, which were literally happening all the time.

And bands that were like a Rancid-type band, who, well, were getting pretty big at that time, or Jawbreaker. Yes. Maryl Lord, Elliott Smith, they used to play these basement gigs, you know? So they were doing it, or you know, Beck was recording an album with Calvin Johnson at the time. You know, people would stop by Olympia despite playing big venues in Seattle or later in San Francisco, and they'd just stay for a few days. They played these gigs in basements and, you know, maybe recorded a 7-inch record with Calvin in his studio.

And so I just had access to so much great music, all in a basement . So yes, I really did spend a lot of my time just as a student , really, of performance and sound. You know, I was looking, I was so close to, you know, what someone's amp setup was or how someone played guitar. It was, you know, I was under the tutelage of this kind of collective force of art. And yes, I mean, he was like a lapdog. I really just followed people everywhere.

You know, you talked about me being somewhat sociable and confident as a child, but really, this was definitely the shyest and most self-conscious moment of my life. And I think that to some extent, after my mom left, there was a big drop in my confidence and self-esteem. So when I entered this world, I was really looking for some kind of foundation, solidity, and just guidance. Um, so I was just an observer there for a long time. Um, and eventually I formed a band with Becca Alby, sorry, but I just spent a lot of time watching and listening.

So it wasn't like, um, you didn't just walk up to people you knew and say, "Hey, do you want to just, you know, play some music together?" You just didn't do something like that. You literally can't imagine walking around town with your guitar hoping to find people to jam with. You just watched other people. Well, oh, sorry to interrupt you. I was...no, I was making friends, but, you know, you had to find people who weren't playing music anymore. That was difficult. Everyone already had one band or five bands.

So I remember , uh, yeah, when I met Becca, who was a visual and conceptual artist, and you know, but she played music, she played the guitar; He was from the East Coast, so he brought all these interesting influences, like Throwing Muses or, you know, just stuff like Mission of Burma; Each one contributed their own field of musical expertise. And so, yes, I don't think I would have ever approached Kathleen and said, "Do you want to play music?" But, you know, I found people who were young and promising, and I was less afraid to play with them.

What did it mean to be , I mean, was there a movement called Riot Grrrl? It existed, there was a manifesto. There was a kind of spirit and aesthetic. And what did that mean to you? Did you feel like you were formally part of something? Did you spend time with those people? Did you feel like you were in that world or that scene, or was it something less...specific and more abstract? I think for me it was the second one, but, you know, Corin Tucker, who at that time was in Heavens to Betsy and would later be in Sleater-Kinney with me.

She was much more a part of Riot Grrrl. There were, you know, there were fanzines and meetings and things you could participate in more directly. And that had happened a little before I arrived in Olympia. So when I arrived, the Riot Grrrl spirit was definitely there, but it had already become something that the media, the mainstream media, had picked up on. And again, at that point, once the mainstream media got hold of something, it was dead to us. Well, you know, we were trying to move away, to move away from something that had been , in a way, poisoned, you know; and also, I think there was just that, that sense of, uh, just the rejection of this idea of ​​Riot Grrrl being a musical genre, because it actually described very little about how the various bands sounded.

You know, it was difficult to define precisely what a Riot Grrrl band is. So people were starting to find an alternative, but I think it definitely influenced the way people thought about politics in Olympia. You know, there was a very matriarchal theme running through it. You know, there were many women even before Kathleen, Lois Maffeo and Stella Marrs, uh, who had, you know, really, yes, made their mark in terms of, just, you know, how Olympia would be structured. Candace Peterson, who directed K with Calvin. So, it was a very special scene.

So that was already there in a way , it was brewing, but it wasn't as well described within the scene as Riot Grrrl. It was simply part of the politics and how we talked about things. When you and Corin Tucker joined forces to form Sleater-Kinney in 1994, uh, it was a side project for her, I think, for both of you really, but how did you start to form the sound that you would eventually, you know, express in your music? Because certainly, I mean, especially in the 90s, it was very distinctive.

I mean, the guitar and her voice and your harmonies and the backing vocals, it was just very different. How do you remember the workshop process? "Workshop" might not be the right word, but just like the hard work to achieve the sound that would unite them. Yes, that's a good question because there definitely wasn't much prior planning. It wasn't something we sat down and said, "Okay, these are our influences. Here are our skills. You have this voice. I can more or less play the guitar." You know, it was just really pure alchemy.

I think, uh, when it really started to take shape more intentionally was, oddly enough, when we went to Australia, which, as a listener, I'm sure people are thinking, "Why did you go to Australia? " And that's a question I can't quite answer, but we, you know, Korin was graduating and I was able to basically take a term of independent study, so I went to Australia supposedly to study, but actually Corin and I just went there and started Slater Kinney more officially. At that time, our other bands were breaking up, and it was in Australia.

Yes. That we had never...So, in Corin's previous band, Heavens to Betsy, he didn't have any other guitarist or bassist. It was just her and a drummer. So she only tuned herself according to her voice. He never had a tuner. So, you know, I'm sure that some days I was in my head. Other days, you know, I'd potentially tune to D, or who knows where. Simply. Um, so obviously when you start playing another stringed instrument, you have to tune it, or with any other instrument if you have someone else playing with you, you have to figure out the tuning.

Um, so in Australia one day we just thought, well, we're really out of tune. So let's see what the accidental tuning is , or how his guitar was tuned that day. It was C sharp. So that's it, you know, a tone and a half below standard E tuning. But it definitely creates this dissonance, this kind of darkness. And I think a little bit of mystery. It simply has a different feel, no doubt about it. And I think that was one of the first things that really created the Slater Kinney sound.

You know, it forced Corin's voice to be in a much higher register . And at that moment we...Yes. We simply put together two different guitar parts. But there was that moment and then a moment in our rehearsal space where we were...I had been writing this which would become "I Want to Be Your Joey Ramone", which was a song from Call the Doctor. And I remember we were standing face to face in the rehearsal space , which by the way was a warehouse, a warehouse lined with carpets and mattresses for soundproofing, and she started singing the chorus and I started making this kind of squealing sound like "woo" and it was a weird back-and-forth thing and suddenly we realized, oh okay , well, it's just that I really couldn't sing.

I still can't really sing. I'm kind of a punk singer in personality, but you know, I was just trying to find my way in song. And we just realized that we had this weird dynamic that we could use over and over again . And then we really got into it as a way of, you know, working on the song. So those were the two most important moments, that Joy Raone and then the tuning to C sharp. When you, um, released your first record, um, the first record called Sleater-Kinney.

It was reviewed by Robert Christgau, who gave it a really good review. The first one, the namesake. Yes. Oh, I didn't know that. Didn't you know? Didn't you know he gave it a good review? Perhaps he did it years later. Don't know . I mean, it came out years later. I know he was a fan because I remember meeting him during the Call the Doctor tour, but I didn't know he had actually reviewed the first album. So, when you returned to Olympia, I mean , you still had two more years of college left and you had this band.

Now you were in a band that was getting some attention and that people were talking about. Were you suddenly like a campus celebrity? No not at all. Uh, no, not at all. Oh really? No. I mean, again, it was almost scary to draw attention to yourself there. It's kind of a high poppy syndrome where you know, so much, you know, you'd know it too from DC, like there was always a sense that everything had to come back to the community, you know, back, you know, like we were all part of this movement, nobody was more important or, you know, more, I don't know, crucial than anyone else there, um, so I think if anything, we just kept our heads down and yeah, it didn't seem to affect anything at Olympia, I think, except maybe make me feel a little more self-conscious.

And at that moment, Corin left, you know, she went to Portland, which was the big city at that time. And I think part of that was just that feeling that Olympia was small and could have that kind of detrimental effect of just not allowing one to, you know, even enjoy, you know, these moments where you should feel proud or celebratory. Um yes, so I guess it was scary to have any kind of attention on you . You made three albums in three years. You made, I mean, basically three albums while you were still in college, while you were getting your degree.

Yes. So you would come back? Yes, we record in advance. No, I was going to say that I think we recorded Call the Doctor in 5 days and Dig Me Out in 10. So, you know, it doesn't take that long . Well, but you were writing music and trying to work out the songs. So, I mean, recording is one thing, but putting those albums together is something else entirely . Oh, and K was coming from Portland because she had already graduated? She had already graduated. Yes, she came around when we were doing Dig Me Out.

She lived in Portland and came to Olympia so we could write. Uh, and then yes, and we were also doing some writing in Portland. I'm curious about the commercial aspect for a moment, because, you know, we listen to music from artists we love and I think we assume a lot of things: that there's wealth, that there's nothing to worry about, and that everything is sorted out. But I wonder, how did that work? Did they have, I mean, were they signed to a label and, I guess it's like a book, where you get an advance and then you make the records?

Did they think, I don't know, feel like, "Okay, we're ready, we've got a record deal, everything's fine "? I like that you imagine we had a record deal, because I don't think we ever had a formal contract with Kill Rock Stars. Uh , yes, we had a 50/50 profit split , which is rare, but it was more common on independent labels and was one of the things that created that dichotomy between independent and commercial, where apparently, at that time, if you were on an independent label, you felt like you had a little more control and could make a little more money.

Uh, so basically we split the expenses upfront, but what it meant was that if we started making a profit, we'd get 50% instead of just points, which is, you know, 1 or 2%, maybe up to 5% of the profits. Sure, if you get points, you also get an advance, which is good because you get a check and you can live for a while and use that money to, you know, pay the rent while you write songs. So, you know, there are advantages and disadvantages, but back then, people did buy physical albums and CDs.

And that's why , even for us, you know, I think Dig Me Out, when it first came out, sold out immediately. I mean, they didn't press enough, but it did sell, you know, it started selling 50, 60 thousand records, which I think sold almost 100 thousand copies. He finally did it, but that, you know, suddenly we were getting checks and they weren't huge, but at that time for someone who had never earned money except in mediocre part- time jobs, it was incredible. And it wasn't much, but it was definitely surprising.

And yes, it was, I mean, just the fact that you could make money recording and touring , which I think is much harder to do now at any level. Yes. So, when you graduated , they already had three albums released. You were in a band that was getting a lot of attention, and you were on tour. And what do you remember about that? I mean, you were like 23, you know, probably 24 when The Hot Rock came out, which, I mean , that album is...all those albums are amazing.

And by the way, I have one, I'm curious about this because The Hot Rock, for example, comes out when you're 24, right? And when I go back and read things I wrote when I was 24 for the Washington City Paper, I think, "Oh, God, this is awful." I'm sorry, but at the same time, I'm very proud of it on a certain level because it was what I was doing, it was the best of my abilities at that time . But I'm listening to The Hot Rock now.

I think this album could be released today and it's incredible. When you listen to that album, do you hear yourself as a less evolved version of yourself, or do you listen to it and say it was a great album? Well, to be honest, I haven't listened to that album in a long time, but I guess if I did, no, I'm proud of that album. There's something very strange and mysterious about The Hot Rock to me, because it was so different from Dig Me Out. And yes, I do remember that we did that on purpose, despite, you know, what I said about there not being many things we planned at the beginning.

We didn't have , we didn't have like a five or ten year plan. You know, we didn't think about a lot of the things that bands and artists have to consider now, or, you know, there was always something a little reserved about things in the Pacific Northwest. You know, there weren't many logos necessarily, you know, we were just different from the bands in Los Angeles or New York. So, but I will say that we did have, I think, enough determination and we felt a lot of pressure after Dig Me Out, so we just made a very different record.

And it was because of all the ways Dig Me Out had this kind of condensation, it was so fast and just relentless, you know? Hot Rock was simply, it was like two conversations at once. It was as if we had taken all that energy and made it diffuse, strange, and more focused on exploration. So I don't really know how we made that record, honestly. For me, all his songs are a mystery. Like Get Up, it's such a strange song. I don't know how. Um, but yes, no, yes I like that album.

I think it's really difficult to play it live. That was never an album we could play very well live. I think there are only about two songs on it that were suitable to play live because it's too labyrinthine. Um, so yes , I'm proud of it. I do n't know, but no, it's like I don't have a clear idea about it. It seems strange to me that I was 24 years old when they started to attract attention for their music. I mean, even before you graduated from college, um, I mean , and you write about this, like there was an article in Spin that talked about a song on Dig Me Out and in that song, you referenced a brief relationship you had with Corin, and then Spin wrote about it, and that was like the first time anyone knew about it.

And your dad called you, I guess, and said, " Hey, what's this?" It's like, tell me first when you started getting attention for, you know, making music and getting mainstream attention from Spin, Rolling Stone and other places. Um, what do you remember about it, about your dad or your mom, or just how they reacted to it? Were they just impressed by it? Did they think, wait, what, this is amazing? You just graduated from college and you're in Spin magazine . I think for my parents, particularly my dad, and my grandparents who were still alive at that time, I think they were still a little confused by this choice.

You know, I grew up in one, everyone, you know, everyone was a professional, you know, and I think my dad especially kept waiting for me to get past this sort of, you know, musician phase. And I think at that time I was still pretty sure that I would go to graduate school and do something else. Um, so I can't remember what actually confirmed it for my grandparents. It must have been something like being featured in USA Today. You know, you have to, you have to appear in USA Today, right?

Or in Time magazine. I think there was, yes. Things like that . Those are the things that really helped translate for your, for your parents at that time, you know, because it was before the internet. Um, so you needed those old-school publications to give you that validation. So yes, I mean , everyone supported me. Nobody, nobody in my family ever said I needed to quit or anything, but I think they just weren't sure about how long this would last. Although everyone came to the shows and was excited.

I don't know how much they liked music, but they supported me. It's curious. A couple of days ago I interviewed Issa Rae and she said that the first time her father, who was a , um, pediatrician, ever, you know, just acknowledged her work, was when she was interviewed on NPR. He said, "Were you on NPR? I heard you on NPR." Like she'd been on HBO for two years, you know. Yes. No, that's very true. He says, " You have to be in one of these five things." And then your parents say, " Aha, I understand." Do you know what it is?

It's something they need to be able to tell their friends. That's what I realized. Like, NPR is something that, you know, someone... My daughter was on NPR. Yes. They say, "Did you hear Robert Siegel talking to Carrie?" Exact. Yes. Oh, man. Yes. When I started at NPR, my parents were like, "Oh, why did n't they? I didn't grow up listening to it. We did n't grow up listening to it." They were saying, "When are you going to be on television?" Um, which they were asking me in the early days.

Um, so, okay, this is interesting because this is like in '97, this article comes out, you know, where you talk or it's talked about this brief relationship that you both had and then, like a year later, your dad came out of the closet, like all these things were happening. So, um, first of all, I mean, when your dad came out to you as gay, was it like a relief, like, oh my God, this is it, or was it a surprise to you? Were you shocked? What do you remember about it?

It was very surprising. You know, I think people assume there would be clues or that , you know, right, we would have always , you know, guessed it. Uh, on one hand, like in the suburbs and like when I was in school, nobody came out of the closet, you know, as a kid. It was like , if you even knew what it meant to be queer, and a lot of people didn't. I didn't really even understand what that was. Um, it just wasn't talked about .

So that vocabulary did n't really exist. Uh, obviously by the time my dad came out of the closet , you know, I was already immersed in an environment where there were a lot of queer people and that was, you know, much more like normal and common. But yeah, anyway, so with my dad, you know, he had been this very suburban , corporate lawyer type in a suit and tie. Um, you know, like I said, big Duke Blue Devils fan, football coach, uh, you know, as classic and archetypal dad as you can get.

Yes. And even after he and my mom separated, he had girlfriends, you know, and in fact, when he came out , I think maybe he was still dating someone, a woman, um, or he had just broken up with her. There were no clues at all. Nothing. Yes. I mean, you know, looking back, I can definitely see moments like when this catalog would arrive at the house. It was a men's underwear catalog called International Mail. And I don't know why we had it, but it was all it was, and for me, as a teenager, it was exciting.

They were just, you know, men with bare torsos and wearing little swimsuits and things like that. Swimwear . Yes. And I was like: damn, how did this end up in the house? Like, um, and I honestly don't know. I don't know what my dad or whoever asked for, but that's it for me... And then, you know, just other little things that make me think: well, maybe I remember once saying the word penis in the car, which is obviously, it's a normal thing, it's an anatomical word, it's a thing.

It's a part. It is a part and it is actually the, it is actually the most. Scientist. A word you could use, you know, and well, my dad got so mad at me . And for saying it, as if I had said, you know, a swear word or something. So looking back, I can see that , oh, my dad must have been there. Very unconsciously struggling with something . Um, but yeah, I don't know. People always think: Oh, you must have been so excited when your dad came out of the closet.

I was saying: well, not really, I was like...first of all, it's strange, I think, or surreal when. Basically, someone reveals to you that only now is they the person they wanted to be. You start to think. Oh, well, then, who were you when I was a child? You know, it really has this way of reshaping your own sense of history and your family's narrative. And there is almost a sadness in thinking: oh, this person I grew up with wasn't herself. They weren't their fully realized selves, you know, or able to access all the parts of themselves that helped them feel alive or connected.

And yes. So there's almost a collective grieving process where you just think: oh , well, okay, if you weren't you, then who was I and who am I now? So, really, um, I don't know, there's a kind of existential questioning and crisis that's been set in motion. And also, you know, he was just a different person, he started to become a different person. And, in the end, in ways that were only better for, you know, his relationship with his friends and his relationship with his family, including me.

But even so, I had to let go of the version of him I knew, but also find ways to draw a thread between the old version and the new one. And I think he did it too, you know, he had to accept the present without completely rejecting who he used to be, because rejecting who he used to be would also be rejecting the father he was or is. So it was, it was complicated. I think it's easy to just assume, you know, oh, that's so wonderful and so liberating, but I think within the context of families and interpersonal dynamics, it's much more complex and confusing than that.

And you were also 24 when you found out, so you were at a different stage of your life. It's interesting because you alluded to something about your mom a moment ago and I totally identify with it, which is that as I get older, I really understand my parents and how they raised me much more because I do it myself. You know, I understand the things that seemed , uh, uh, you know, hard, or the things I remember that I didn't like. They make much more sense now.

And in your dad's case, you could interpret his decision to remain in the closet strangely as an act of love at a time when maybe, just maybe, he was worried that it had brought harm or discredit or ridicule upon you or something like that , you know, no doubt. But besides that, I really think I didn't know it, I was so repressed. It simply wasn't part of their world at all. You know, he really didn't have the language or anything that reflected who he was. And I think it was a terrifying exploration for him, and obviously rewarding, but it was yes.

So, no, it wasn't easy for him. And I definitely feel empathy for that. Like the fact that, back in the early days of the internet, you know, he was in these kinds of chat rooms, uh, first internationally, you know, just chatting with, you know, men in Europe or Asia and then eventually in the United States and then eventually in Seattle. And I just think about what that trip must have been like, you know, even though you're seemingly anonymous when you enter those chats, but the simple fact of exploring something that must have felt so terrifying and forbidden to him.

I think it's very brave, because I believe she could easily have continued denying it, or not even allowed herself to look for it. And I'm glad he did, that it found him and that he found himself. Very good. Meanwhile, you're, you know, you're part of this band. I mean, you're in this group that's really having a lot of success and this is going to be, and I know you said before that you didn't have a plan. Nobody really has a plan . I mean, I guess some people do, but most of us don't.

But still, it was like, well, you know, in '89 "Hot Rock" came out. You have this band, you're on tour. So, were you sure that this was your future? You were only 24 at the time, but I think when I was 24, I was working hard at the Washington City Paper trying to be a freelance reporter for NPR, but I still thought my future would be to be a reporter or something like that . Is this how you saw your life , that this band or making music was what you were going to dedicate yourself to and that it would simply get bigger and bigger?

Yes. I mean, I really didn't know how big it would get or how much more we wanted to grow. Again, there was still this idea that it was antithetical to, I don't know, the ethics of that time or the type of belief of that era. But I did think I would continue playing music. It started once I graduated from college and moved to Portland. I felt that music was what I would continue to do in the near future. And, did you act in high school and were you interested in acting, and did you do some things here and there in the early 2000s?

Yes? Was it just something fun to explore or did you seriously think, "Maybe I'll do some acting"? I would actually say that writing was what I felt was kind of invading or starting to approach from the periphery, and I thought, "Oh, wait a second." You know, other forms of writing are something I want to explore. And what started to happen was that I think people started asking me to write about music or about Sleater-Kinney, and that was fun for a while, but then it almost became too meta for me, like I felt, "Well, I just want to play music," I don't want to also be, you know, simultaneously explaining what it is or, you know, putting on that...

critic's hat and, you know, analyzing it. I just want to do it. And then, but I was like, "But I do like to write." I like, you know, thinking about things. And also, I suppose that sparked my interest in bringing something else into my life besides music. And, uh, but yes, I always liked acting too, but I really think it was writing that simply introduced me to a different world. And I thought, okay, this is similar but different to music and I can work my way into acting or a different sphere by writing.

So , you ended up writing for The Believer. You had a blog for NPR Music for a few years, which I loved. Hey, you, when you first started writing and publishing your stuff, how did you feel? Do you remember ever feeling insecure about what you were writing, like, "Oh God, people are going to read this, it's not good enough," or did you feel comfortable just publishing it and experimenting? I mean , a little bit of both. I think I did feel insecure. I mean , especially less so with the blog.

I mean, you know, that's kind of the beauty of... Yes, of blogs, that there's a sense of impermanence or a sense of: " Okay, this is always a work in progress." You know, there's a kind of fluidity to things that exist in that medium, where you can correct, retract, and engage, I guess, with an audience in a way that feels very alive and mutable. Well, but when something was published in The Believer, you know, I definitely felt that imposter syndrome, of, you know , being, the other writers publishing novels and all that.

I know that around 2003 was the first time you met Fred Armisen. I suppose you were in New York giving a concert. Sleater-Kinney was performing a concert, and what happened? Did he contact you and invite you to a Saturday Night Live party or something? What do you remember about that? Yes, I think Fred and I had been in the same circles for a long time, because he was part of, you know, he was in an indie rock band called Trenchmouth. And I even stayed at his apartment once when he was out of town.

Him, uh, but I knew Damon, his roommate, who was also his bandmate in Trenchmouth. It was as if we were close, but we had never met. And then I think Janet Weiss, the drummer for Sleater-Kinney, knew Fred and was a drummer at the time. Yes. We were invited; he had just started on SNL. He was like a guest actor or whatever the supporting cast was. So we did a concert, I think at Irving Plaza, and then we went to the party after our concert, the SNL party, and Jennifer Garner and Beck were the guests that night.

At the party. Yes. And then, at the party. And that's how I met Fred, and you know, he was wearing a little pin with my face on it. Um, those are pins they used to sell at concerts, like in your right. Yes. Yes. So, which album would that be from? It was either One Beat or All Hands on the Bad One. We had gotten these little Sleater-Kinney pins with pictures of each of us with a koala that we had taken in Australia, and he was wearing that pin.

And did you know he was a superfan? No, I didn't know that. I mean, well, I mean , when I was wearing the pin I guess I started to get a clue that I was a superfan. But, yeah, he, I mean, to this day he still loves Sleater-Kinney. Uh, he 's a huge fan of many things. I mean , he's just, you know, he carries that enthusiasm with him to this day for many things. So you meet him that night and it would be another eight years before they made Portlandia, which we'll talk about in a minute.

But what happened? Did you say anything? What do you remember about that conversation? Was there any plan, like, "We should do something together sometime"? Since we should really do something, come up with anything. I don't think it was that night, but it definitely must have been the following year because it was the 2004 election and Fred had been asked to make a video. It would have been for John Kerry, like that would have been the choice that year, right? 2004. Yes. And well, I don't know if it was specifically for Kerry's campaign or just , I don't even know, it was all uncertain, but he said, "I need to make this video, do you want to be in it?

I'll go to Portland." And I just thought, was it a comedy video or was it like a music video? It was a comedy video . He was playing it, this is so Fred. He played Saddam Hussein who, um, who was hiding in his bunker, but he imagined Saddam Hussein playing him as if he were Paul Weller. He was like a British rock star. Yes, I've seen that video. It's so strange. He is, he speaks like a, yes. And you interviewed him in a serious manner. That was it , so that was the video they asked him to make for Kerry's campaign .

Yes. So, I mean, there's no way that, first of all, I could be wrong about the facts because I also ca n't imagine that John Kerry's campaign would say, "Now this is the video we should use." This is the one. Um, so I played Cindy Overton, a presenter on a show called Boink that was basically like a public access program from a basement. And I got like the first interview in the bunker with Saddam Hussein, who then gave all these public service announcements like don't do drugs and you know, he was just really talking about corporations and how evil they are, like all that stuff .

It's so strange. Very strange. So that's where it started, that was the first thing we did and then slowly we started to do it, whenever we could, whenever our free time aligned, he would come to Portland. Although I think I once went to New York too and we would just make these little videos and call them our duo Thunder Ant and upload them to the internet and send them to our friends and eventually we had, you know, five or six videos and they started to get a little specific, we were developing that chemistry and they had a certain sensibility and, you know, that was the basis of Portlandia.

But when he started doing it, was he like, " Hey, I'm going to Portland. Let's just make some videos," because it was really for the two of them, it was just to satisfy a curiosity, it was just for fun? Mhm. Did he have it? I mean, I know because if you see them, because you can find them online, the production values are very low, but obviously it's Fred and you, so it's a lot of fun. Like there's a sketch where you go to a one-man show in Portland and it's just you, and he says, "Yeah, you'll be on the guest list," and you go to the box office and they say, "No, you're on the list," and then you're the only one in the theater watching him in this one-man show.

Um, but, did you have, did he get someone? He must have found someone to film them. Did they use a video camera? How did they do it? Yes. I mean, it was all very improvised. He would show up, we'd go to Goodwill and get what would be , you know, our costumes. We had an idea. We would ask one of our friends, who is still a friend to this day, our friend Patrick, to take some time out of his day to film us, and then we would have someone edit it.

And it was , I assumed that when Fred first wanted to collaborate with me, we were going to make music, but when we realized that this was something we wanted to do just for fun, I really enjoyed it. It was just a way of saying, I like friendships like that, that are kind of project-based. Yes. How did he know? I mean, if anyone knew about you, they would have thought of you as a musician, right? Unless she knew you in high school and knew you were an actor, and had done some acting, but how did she know?

Because one would have thought that, you know, he's a musician. He would have said, "Let's do something together." "Let's make music." That's what you would have thought would happen. Me too. That's what I thought too. I think what happened was that we made that first piece, you know, the "boink" one or whatever you want to call it. And at that time I wasn't a musician, but I played someone who hosted a music program on public television, because Saddam Hussein, of course, was a guitarist in Fred's logic.

So I think what happened was we did that and then Fred thought, "Oh, you know how to do this, it's something you enjoy and it seems like we have chemistry." So I do n't think so... I think it was step by step, where we did that thinking it would just be something fun and unique. And then we really enjoyed it, and he realized that, at that moment, I was able to keep up with him. And then, of course , I learned to keep up with him better and better as the years went by .

But yeah, I don't think that when we made the first video he was thinking, "Okay, well, you...". He simply thought, " This will be fun, and we'll see what happens next." Because he's always like that . I mean, he's someone who's very willing to help out. He's always, you know ... Yeah... working with Mark Mothersbaugh or doing something with the B- 52s, or he's just involved in a lot of things like that. So I think he just has an appetite for it. He is curious and I think he always seeks out people who are not the most obvious interlocutors.

What's amazing about this is that they started making these videos in 2004, right? And they did it for four or five years and there were no agents, no infrastructure, no complications. It was simply, hey, it wasn't even a " let's develop this and maybe someday we'll make a TV show." It was like, "This is great , I think, right?" In other words, he was saying, "This is so much fun. I like you. I think you're fun and interesting. Let's do some fun things and who knows what the purpose of this will be." Is that how it happened?

Yes. And I think for me that was probably the only way I would have understood how to do it, because it was very analogous to the organic nature of Sleater-Kinney, you know, it came about through friendship. It arose from an affinity. And the same with ThunderAnt and working with Fred, you know, we were friends and we enjoyed doing this and we didn't have , you know, there wasn't that ambition that this was our ultimate goal. Mmm, and I think we were very lucky in that sense, that we were able to develop it outside the reach , the spotlight, or the judgment of, you know, a producer trying to push it in one direction or another.

I mean, that's really weird and I think it's happened with other people too, you know, like Broad City for example, a lot of things have come from a more organic starting point and it's... YouTube. Yes, so yes, I think it just ... Yes, I feel lucky, but it also felt familiar, you know , I think if it had been structured like, well, my agent is going to contact you and there's this chain of producers interested... It never would have happened. It would n't have happened. I would have been replaced in a second with, you know , one of her SNL colleagues, or something, and I still can't believe that Lorne Michaels, who was the executive producer of Portlandia, never said, "Hey, we're glad you have this friend Carrie, but let's bring in Kristen Wiig or Maya, or whatever." I mean, I think it was a leap of faith.

And what's surprising about that is that it gave you the opportunity to practice becoming a comedy actress. What I find so remarkable about this period, because it's like six or seven years, is that you weren't doing it with Fred thinking that it would lead to a show where I would be the star alongside Fred. It was like: this is fun, I'm exploring a different part of myself, I'm having fun and I'm just getting better at this. Exact. That was the only goal, the enjoyment of collaborating with, you know, a director or a friend of ours, or an editor friend, and you know, hanging out a couple of days a year with Fred and learning a bit about how to do this.

And there was no money. You weren't doing it for money. There was no money. You just took it out there. It probably didn't cost much to do it. There was no money. We definitely weren't making money and I didn't have enough, I mean, Fred, it was self-funded by Fred, you know, just...yeah, it was just for fun. And I think you know that's crucial. It's very, it's very rare too, you know, to have the absolute luxury of doing something that isn't about how we can monetize this, or, you know, that does n't happen very often.

I think that almost every time you have an idea now, you think, "What's the next step? How can we make this bigger? How can we increase our audience?" Yes. Which is fine, but it just wasn't what we were thinking about at the time. You know, it wasn't about profiting from it, so the end result, which wasn't part of the plan, was incredible. But before I ask you about Portlandia, what I also find noteworthy is that, around this time, 2006, Sleater-Kinney went on hiatus, an indefinite hiatus, and you were dealing with a lot of personal challenges, I mean, and we talked about this, like depression, anxiety and, um, just, I mean, even to the point of having panic attacks, at concerts, before concerts , after concerts.

What was happening? What do you remember from that time? Because I mean, you guys were very acclaimed, critically acclaimed. I mean, they had such a devoted fan base. They still have it, but really, you know, on the one hand, they had made it as this really recognized indie band and, on the other hand, internally they were a mess. So what was going on? Yes, I, you know, I think a big part of it was just that I'd never taken the time to deal with it. My childhood with my mom, who left us with this anxiety and depression that was so pervasive and, at times, very debilitating.

And I think up until that point, right when I was about 30, music had been a way of getting through those things, you know, that and touring were a way of keeping busy. And you know, I was able to juggle several things at once, and not really realize that there was something... there was a sadness, a tenderness, and an anger that I hadn't really dealt with except through music, which is, sure, a great way to process it, but it's not a permanent solution, you know? And I think that's what finally got to me, that I simply needed a moment...a moment to explore this in a way that didn't involve being on stage, writing songs, or escaping through tours.

Fortunately, I never became dependent on drugs or alcohol, but inside, yes, I was very, very anxious and everything was getting darker and darker. Uh , and yes, I think I really needed a break from the band. At the same time, I think Corin needed it too. She had a child and it was difficult to go on tour, and, you know, the break was natural, but it was also very difficult, because suddenly I was thrown into the world, not really knowing who I was, what my identity was, or if I wanted to continue playing music.

But yes, I started going to therapy, taking medication for depression and anxiety, and working things out in a more intentional way instead of just assuming you could get by with those moments of relief, distraction, or avoidance. Yes. That's definitely enough for you. And I will say that, because I see people with debilitating anxiety and depression, when you are around someone anxious, that is the only energy that is allowed in the room. You know, you're simply at the mercy of that kind of erratic and unpredictable behavior.

And me, you know, I just... No, I find it hard to be around that now when other people are showing it. And I think it was difficult for my bandmates to be around my anxiety back then. You know, it was just very, very chaotic. So, it was good that we stopped. Yes. That point you mention about, um, about how somehow, in some way, it takes over everything for you. I mean , yes. In other words, similarly, I had a similar experience where, you know, for several years, outwardly I was successful, at CNN and as a reporter, but inwardly I was tormented and couldn't fully explain it.

Um, and, and I think what, um, you know, the medication helped. But also, I think that what many people don't know when they're going through that is that , most of the time, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Like, you're going to , you're going to get over it, you know. Yes, sure. And I think it's a common age; there are these periods, you know, like at the end of adolescence and at the end of your 20s. I think it's very common for that depression to show its ugly side.

And yes, I definitely found the other side and it greatly improved my friendships and simply my ability to be present with people, so that was good. You wrote later, as if wondering how sad I was, um, the year we stopped touring, I was also the Oregon Humane Society's volunteer of the year in 2006, because you got really into caring, like adopting dogs , right? Not adopting, but I was, yes. So, I started volunteering at the Oregon Humane Society in Portland and just threw myself into it.

I mean, I went in there and said, "We need to start some new programs." "Let's begin the Big Eight." The Big Eight was me highlighting the dogs, the eight dogs that had been there the longest. And it would happen, I made a whole poster. So, when you entered the shelter, you saw this giant screen. He had these cute pictures of the eight dogs and a short description, and then on his kennel it said, "Hi, I'm part of the Big Eight." And then I was also walking dogs.

I was , um, wow. attending in the lobby. So when people came in, I would take a dog out to greet them. Uh, I started training dogs. Wow. And the strange thing about this was that he was still training dogs when Portland started. Wow. Well, I was, I was a dog trainer's assistant at a private center. My God. And at the Oregon Humane Society. And people would come to class and say, "Aren't you the one on TV? I mean, are you in a band?" And I was like, "Yes.

Now sit down. Make your dog, you know, it's like , I mean, of course, all I can think about is Cath from Portlandia." uncle. Did you know? My friends have been teasing me a lot lately because I've totally become Cath, who was always, like almost every character in Portlandia, a small part of who I am or could be, right? But Cath is someone I unfortunately find myself becoming more and more like . It's this stentorian personality. But yes, Cath was a great dog trainer. Great dog trainer.

Very good. So during that period , I mean, you know, it's not like you weren't doing anything. You did a lot of different things, and you did those things with Fred and those videos, and you wrote a lot. And I mean, even some of the characters who would eventually be in Portlandia were developed during this time, like Tony and Candace. I think that when you and Fred were making those informal videos that you just uploaded, that's how you developed them. For those who don't know, I think most of you listening will know that the owners of the feminist bookstore—that really started in Thunder, right?

Yes, I think it was the second thing we did after that weird Boink video, or maybe the third. We did something about bicycle rights, and then we did Tony and Candace in a bookstore. Yes. And then they became, you know, characters that, you know, we had for all eight seasons of the show. How did the idea for Portlandia come about? I remember interviewing you when I was working at NPR when the Wild Flag album came out, and I read the transcript. It was a little embarrassing.

I said, "You have a supergroup." And you said, "I don't know if I would call it a supergroup." But anyway , it was a great album and it was a fun interview, but that was right when Portlandia was starting out. I did n't know it yet. So how did the idea come about? Was there a moment after a few years of making these videos when one of you said to the other, "Well, I think maybe we should do a show"? I'll give credit to Fred's representative at the time, who later became my representative, Tim Sarkes.

He told Fred, "Guys, this is a program." "You know, they've made six or seven videos." "They have chemistry and a dynamic." "It's starting to feel specific and interesting." " What if you filmed something like a pilot episode, or just made a 5- to 10-minute introductory video ?" And we did it. And what happened was that, since Fred had a contract with SNL, he was obligated to show it to Broadway Video, Lorne Michaels' production company. He assumed Lorne would say, "This is great." "This isn't for me." "You have my blessing." "Go and try to take it to someone else." But instead, Lorne and Andrew Singer, who heads the television department at Broadway Video, said, "No, we love this." "We would love to help them and produce it." So we went to Broadway Video and submitted it.

And yes, I remember we pitched it to Comedy Central and they told us, "Nobody does sketch shows." Which, of course, after Portlandia came out, Comedy Central made Key&Peele and the Schumer show. But that's okay. And then, IFC at that time was just beginning to move away from being the independent film channel that showed Tarantino movies or whatever. And they said, "We're going to do original programming." It just happened to coincide with the timing. You know, them, and again, everything felt so familiar to me, like IFC was some kind of independent label.

Nobody was doing original programming there. We were quite an experiment. It felt so much like déjà vu, you know, and they were great. They supported us a lot and we definitely found a home there. But, you know, we definitely weren't signing with any established network. Everything felt like a startup. And it was a slow process, because everyone knows Portlandia now, but during the early years, this was before viral videos were commonplace, so it took a couple of years before it really took off, although those who watched it loved it.

It was acclaimed, but yes, it wasn't an immediate massive success. No, and I think it's still one of those shows—and many shows occupy that space—where the critical reception was mostly good. It had, you know, somehow entered the lexicon, whether it was with the "put a bird on top of him" thing. You started seeing other article headlines like "put a [blank] over it", you know? Yes. Exactly. It infiltrated popular culture, but I think the actual numbers, the number of eyes on the show, were relatively small , and it wasn't until Netflix started streaming it that it became something more people watched.

I mean, IFC was pretty hidden in the cable package, and yeah, it was a bit of a slow process. Before we continue, it's 11 o'clock. We were supposed to finish this interview 20 minutes ago, but I probably have another 15 minutes, but I don't want to... I want to be respectful of your time. How are things going with...? I only have something at 11:30, so if I could finish around 11:15, so I can eat something or whatever. Fine, thanks. Yes, I'm sorry. No, no, it's fine.

Absolutely, it's nice. It's very natural and normal to talk to you. Also, we were improvising for 15 minutes at the beginning of... I'm sorry. It was my...yes. Alright. Very good. I'm going to be disciplined. So, you know, one of the...I mean, one of the amazing things...I've seen a lot of videos of you and Fred talking about your creative process and how you think about the sketches, but I still find it remarkable when I watch the show all the intricate details and every little bit of detail.

For example, let's analyze, you know, one of the... any old sketch, right? Did you read it? He's a famous one. Anyone who's seen Portlandia knows that sketch , did you read it? Did you read it? You and Fred are in a cafe and you say, "Yes, I just read this article in the New York Times." "Oh, I read it." " Really?" And then Fred surpasses you. "I just read this article in the New York." "I read it" or you know, "Did you read it ?" And then, and then, it just keeps getting darker and darker until finally you 're flipping through the phone book.

"Did you read it?" "Yes." And then you're tearing up the phone book and just like that, and then you get hit by a car. Both end up crushed to the ground, dead. So, how do you do it? How did you help the seed of an idea become a sketch that feels so precise and complete, from the costumes to the location, the dialogue, and the music used? How did you put all those pieces together? That 's a sketch from the first season. I was very inexperienced as a writer and I will always give credit to a woman named Allison Silverman, whom we brought on board.

She came from the Colbert show. She's a very experienced writer, first in that context, but now in a lot of comedy shows that people have seen, most recently Russian Doll. And she, you know, I was very nervous in the writers' room. Even though it was just Jonathan Krisel, our director and co-creator, Fred, Allison and me, I was still nervous. I mean, Fred knew how to pitch ideas and, you know, Allison had obviously been in writers' rooms. So I remember saying, you know, something like, "I have this idea, people are always trying to outdo each other with 'Did you read this?

Did you read that?'" And you know, since I didn't know how to present it, someone wrote it on the blackboard. And I remember Allison came over, you know, we came back the next day and she said, "I think I really like this idea of ​​Carri's," and she was the one who actually turned it into a sketch. You know, I just had the idea and she said it would escalate like that, and you know, she was very helpful and taught me so much in the beginning that I'll always be grateful to her.

So, that's how it went from being just an idea, as is often the case , you know, an observation, an anecdote, a phenomenon we've witnessed, and then, how do we turn that into something? And if there was a formula for Portlandia, I think the most successful one was: a realistic idea that becomes absurd, that becomes surreal. That is, more or less, the best version. And that's exactly what it is , it starts with a very real scenario or a conversation. Yes. We all find ourselves having or witnessing it, and then, yes.

It gets to the point of absurdity and in the end it's simply crazy, bizarre. And I remember that one specifically. It was at the end of the day . We had a grueling production schedule . Sometimes we recorded four sketches a day. And it's a huge task for our production designer, for costumes, hair, makeup and the entire team. It's really difficult . I remember it was around 6:00 and Fred and I were saying, "It's better if we don't do it ." "Let's not do this sketch." " Please, everyone is tired and..." Jonathan, our director, said, "No, no, let's do it." And yes, we just went to that coffee shop and we had...

at that time we mostly did improvisation, very much in the style of Curb Your Enthusiasm, where you just have the narrative arc and... and then it became a little more scripted, but we had these prompts. We had a list of things you could read, and we based it on our own lives and also on this very flexible script. But a lot came together in the editing, you know, we had great editors at that time: Doug Lucenhop, Dan Longino. They really wanted things to be percussive; There was always, I think, a musicality in Portlandia.

especially in the early seasons, whether it's Fred walking around town, or if you read ... There's just this rhythm, this percussion, and that sketch really has that; It almost sounds like a drum improvisation; you can feel that rhythm coming in. Well, that's all. So they would record or film a scene and basically just keep going, and then they would edit it and let those moments just ... Did you read this? Did you read that? Blah, blah, blah. But then, because I imagine that filming something like that, especially in your first season when you're still feeling a bit nervous .

Um, I don't know, did they have to do multiple takes of the sketches? We took multiple takes. Also, you know, we did cross-coverage, which basically means that instead of shooting directionally, like, " Okay, we're going to shoot this actor and then we're going to turn around and the camera will pick up the other actor," right? The problem with that in improvisation is that if you're only focusing on Fred and I say something funny or that works, when we change angles, the script supervisor has to say, " Okay, and then you said this." " Do it again." Yes.

So the good thing is that, you know , everything is digital now, or, well, some movies are on film, but everything is digital. You can do these long takes. So we just did these long takes. We were both in front of the camera and, you know, then we'd cut and we could repeat something or just try something totally different. So there was a flexibility that was nice. Um, and we weren't limited by, you know, "Well, this shot is only going to last 30 seconds." We could, sometimes there were takes, not in that sketch but in others, of 20 to 30 minutes where Fred would just go off on tangents and, you know, suddenly it's like: "Oh, we thought the sketch was about this, but now the sketch is about this other completely different thing that Fred just came up with." I feel like, I mean, we could talk about Portlandia for hours and hours because, um, I just think the show is so smart.

I mean, you know, Amy Mann as your cleaning lady or, um, or like that one where you discover your Uber driver can rate you. And I remember discovering that and thinking, "Oh my God, I get rated on Uber," and you weren't happy with your rating, and then you end up with Steve Buscemi as your driver, and he takes you to a gun store and you're like, "Yeah, right." "I love weapons ." But every moment and every sketch seemed very well thought out. Like , you know, one of the famous ones, what about the men?

It's a music video and you guys are riding bikes. They say, " Yes, there is no movement for men." You know, there are all these movements for other groups, but what about men? And, but in one video there are moments when they wear founders' costumes and there's barely a second where you're holding a birdcage and saying, "We invented this too." And there's a rap with a megaphone and, um, what about Dennis? It's just like, random. What about Dennis? And I'm impressed that the theme of your life and career has also been really about collaborating with smart people, simply finding people with whom there's really an energy, you know?

Whether it's with Sleater-Kinney making that music, or with Portlandia and all those people coming together to create those precise moments, I guess that's how you approach things. It's about finding others and simply building something together. Yes. You know, I think I really love collaborating. I mean, I think that idea of ​​the solitary genius, I think it's a bit strange; I think it's something that people have been questioning and dismantling as they realize that most things, much of our world, is a group effort, you know, a lot of people coming together to create something.

And although there may be a central figure, it takes a lot of people to launch things into the world. And I simply like it as a way to connect with others. You know, there are some things I do alone, like writing my memoirs, but I really enjoy that form of communion, of connection; It's about entering a room, thinking about things, analyzing them, examining them, and also finding joy and lightness in it. And yes, it's one of my favorite things and I really benefit from it. Well, yes, I would say that collaboration is probably the common theme, and it's also...probably, I think, when we were talking before about that time in my life when I was very anxious or depressed, I think there's a vulnerability...

artistic collaboration was the first time I was able to be really vulnerable, you know? I spent much of my childhood building a wall around myself to protect myself from a lot of sadness and pain. So, when I was making music with Sleater-Kinney or, you know, working in the writers' room at Portlandia, that was when I could be sensitive, show who I was, and let people in. And, of course, now fortunately I can do it for the rest of my life. But I think she really valued it as a sounding board, a way to test how to be more human, more compassionate, you know, just more open.

And that's why I turned to collaboration time and time again , because I think you always discover something about yourself and you also learn that sometimes you need someone else to improve your idea , and that's okay. You know, that kind of cooperation is really, I think, the ideal way to move around the world. We are simply not autonomous beings. We need each other . And I don't mind making art from that place, you know? I think that's it ...yes, I don't need to be alone on a pedestal.

You know, I prefer to have a lot of people around me and feel like I'm part of something and feel like I belong. One of the most remarkable things you've managed to do, and very few creative people get to do this or figure out how to do it, is to embody completely different worlds, right? I mean, if you're an amazing musician, people think of you that way, or, you know, but you have this Portlandia world, right? And then you go on stage, and I mean , you're on tour now and people go to those shows and they see you as a performer, a guitarist, a musician, but then you can see yourself in a completely different context as a comedy actress and also as a writer.

First of all, did you have any weird transitions with fans or people like, "Wait, is that you too ?" Or did they simply find it natural? What do you remember about how people reacted to seeing you in this role in Portlandia? Well, to begin with, I think I chose the right path. It's easier to go from being a musician to working in film and television than the other way around. People, I think less so now, because you know, people are very, um... Just understanding and accepting of things and, you know, polymaths.

But again, that mindset I come from, which was a bit stricter, you know, was like: "okay, you can go from musician to actor, but from actor to musician, no." You know, there's a lot more skepticism, you know, when people go down that road. So I had that . But I think there was a bit... especially Sleater-Kinney, it means , you know, one thing I'm really grateful for is that it's a band that means a lot to people, that they have a very personal connection with and almost a sense of ownership, you know, and it's something they feel, yeah, they feel protective of.

So I think there were some people who were a little worried that by venturing into a different context or world , that might, you know, affect that sanctity, I suppose, of the music. But for me, it wasn't just that , it was simply exploring two sides of myself. I mean, I do n't think there's a version of Sleater-Kinney that, you know, revels in the absurd. You know, there's always something serious about it and something that's very sacred to me. But yes, I also think that, you know, the lens of absurdism is sometimes how I have to process the world.

And I think a lot of people, you know, have to make sense of the world through the ways in which it doesn't make sense; which is surreal and strange and defies our expectations. And, you know, so that comical part of me, I think , was also important simply for understanding and making sense of things. But I still encounter many people who are just now realizing, "Oh, you're the same person," which doesn't bother me. I mean, it's fine, you know, everything makes sense to me , but it's okay if it does n't to others.

I know you were involved in directing a film and, um, and you were writing something, maybe working on a Heart biopic. I know, I don't know if we're all aware , but could you tell me a little bit about...? I mean, can you imagine doing another comedy series , like another TV show? Can you imagine it, or is that even an ambition of yours? Or, when you think about some of the other things you want to do, where does that lead you? I think something I've realized, with both Sleater-Kinney and Portlandia, is that they're so unique that recreating that is almost impossible, and I feel lucky to have had both, you know?

I think being able to do a TV show for eight seasons is incredible, you know? And that it started the way it did and that she met so many wonderful people. I feel like I don't think I'll ever have that specific experience again. I'm not someone who's trying to build an empire, or who needs, you know, a general agreement somewhere, but I am drawn to things where I can work with people I admire and, um, like. And I would like to do another television show eventually.

But I've also been directing television and supposedly I might direct a film. I like being behind the camera or a little in the background. No, that doesn't bother me . I like the rigor of it and I like working with a team of people, you know, a working group. So I 'm not exactly sure. I mean, honestly, I'd be fine living on a farm and, um, you know, doing dog agility or something. I feel that as I get older, I'm content almost returning to that place of being an observer, you know, being a witness, just enjoying things and not feeling like I 'm alone, you know, trying to reach the next rung of the ladder.

That 's not as interesting to me as simply connecting with the people around me and trying to be a better person and do good things. That's just as important to me. And that simply means being where I am, outside of Los Angeles or New York. So yes, I'm not sure, but I'm convinced there will be something more, but I want it to have meaning for me and not just be for creating content. I love that, Carrie. Thank you so much. Thanks to you, Guy. It has been a real pleasure.

Hey, thanks so much for watching my conversation with Carrie Brownstein. In the program notes we will include links to some of the music and comedy sketches we discussed . Just go to thegreatcreators.com/brownstein and I highly recommend you check out the two-minute Portlandia sketch called "Did You Read It?". It's a lot of fun. Believe me. Alright, for more videos like this, be sure to click the subscribe button below my fingers. And if you want to receive notifications when we publish a new video, adjust your notifications on YouTube as well.

Tap that little bell icon. Thank you for listening. Thanks for watching. Check out all our interviews at thegreatcreators.com. I'm Guy Raz. You've been watching The Great Creators, and we'll see you here next time.