On her new solo record Hole in My Head, the folk-punk singer and Against Me! founder gets back to basics: her voice and her guitar against the world.
Laura Jane Grace’s schedule from last December through the first month of the new year was, to put it gently, busy. She performed with Dinosaur Jr. at Brooklyn’s Music Hall of Williamsburg, then spent some time in the studio working on a top-secret cover project. She got married in Las Vegas, and flew to Mississippi for a week of recording with Drive-By Truckers’ Matt Patton. She hopped up to Memphis for Lucero Family Christmas, then played solo dates in St. Louis, Denver, Omaha, Minneapolis, and Lawrence, Kansas. In early January, she performed at a star-studded fundraiser in Wisconsin before jetting to Greece for a string of solo shows. Grace doesn’t take the intensity for granted. Over her 25 years as a professional musician, she’s learned the value of momentum.
“When things are moving, just keep moving,” she says. “I’m not trying to jinx anything, but I’m really looking forward to this year, and the future.
”Grace, who is best known for fronting iconic punk band Against Me!, has spent a good piece of the past four years trying to get her momentum back—the sort of energy that feels like a trademark for the singer and guitarist. Since she was a teen, her life has revolved around the seasons of music work: writing, recording, promoting, touring, repeat. Against Me! was three shows into a tour leg when the Covid pandemic slammed the brakes on that 20-year routine, and emotionally, Grace went flying through the windshield.
“My world was just completely turned upside down and shaken around,” she says. Since 2012, she had built her off-the-road life in an apartment in Chicago, but a shift in her personal life meant she had to split her time between there and St. Louis. There were some benefits: Grace couldn’t crank her amps in her apartment, and finding spare private space to play and record would be cheaper in St. Louis than Chicago. She found a studio there called Native Sound, which used to belong to Son Volt’s Jay Farrar, nested above a bar in downtown St. Louis. “I was like, ‘Shit, if Jay can make that work, so can I,’” says Grace.
Laura Jane Grace - "Birds Talk Too"
“When things are moving, just keep moving. I’m not trying to jinx anything, but I’m really looking forward to this year, and the future.”
That studio is where Grace recorded Hole in My Head, her third solo record, which was released on February 16. It’s a lean, uncomplicated folk-punk joyride. Though the opening, title track jolts the LP to life with a full-band punk-rock crush of melody, harmony, and abandon, the rest of the album is primarily about Grace’s vocal cords and her acoustic guitar. “I’m Not a Cop,” a fuzzy, crust-punk, doo-wop ditty, mashes together Modern Lovers’ off-kilter tone with a ’50s rock ’n’ roll shuffle. Then, “Dysphoria Hoodie” pares it back to just Grace and her acoustic for an ode to a baggy Adidas sweater—her greatest protector on days when she doesn’t want the world sussing her gender. Drums and a gritty electric check in again on the short, sweet firecracker “Birds Talk Too,” but otherwise, it’s all acoustic, propped up by a handful of bass lines and some good old handclaps, a tambourine, and shakers for percussion. Why did Grace pull back from years of full-band chaos?
“I mean this in the best way possible, but this record’s coming from a place of fear,” Grace explains. “Fear challenges you and makes you grow, and takes you out of your comfort zone. I think artists are most prolific and do their best work when they’re coming from a place of survival.”
Hole in My Head’s cover art, captured by Dave Decker and illustrated by Annie Walter, shows Grace behind the State Theatre in St. Petersburg, Florida. The recognizable cobblestones remind Grace of being a teen, doing “deviant shit” in that very alley with friends.
Entering her 40s in 2020, Grace was back in survival mode, a familiar place for her as a teen in Gainesville, Florida. Longtime fans will know this story well: After moving around the world with her family, Grace landed in the inland college town, a military brat turned anarchist punk. Between benders and doing “deviant shit” with friends, she started performing solo as Against Me!, with just an acoustic and her powerful, pitch-perfect roar. She played alone in dives up and down the panhandle before Against Me! solidified into a band. (Even then, their first recordings were as DIY as you can get: Original drummer Kevin McMahon played a bucket drum on the first two Against Me! EPs, and you’d be forgiven for thinking it makes an appearance on their first full-length, the now-iconic Against Me! Is Reinventing Axl Rose.)
“I think artists are most prolific and do their best work when they’re coming from a place of survival.”
Against Me! went on to sign with a major label and release two hi-fi punk-rock records, both produced by Butch Vig: 2007’s New Wave spawned their biggest hit with “Thrash Unreal,” and 2010’s White Crosses dipped further into arena-rock waters, an anarcho-Springsteen hybrid. This era famously cost Against Me! a good chunk of their earliest supporters, who felt burned by the band’s “selling out.” Their van’s tires were slashed on tour, and Grace was cussed out on plenty of occasions. But the band cut things off with corporate and went independent again for 2014’s scrappy Transgendered Dysphoria Blues, the first Against Me! record that explicitly detailed Grace’s experience as a trans woman.
That was 10 years ago. It’s as if Grace hit some uncanny peak with the major-label signing, and has since been slowly retracing her steps back to her crust-punk origins: After two solo records accompanied by her backing band, the Devouring Mothers, she’s back to just a voice and a guitar.
Laura Jane Grace's Gear
With Against Me!, Grace ascended from crust-punk streetnik to major-label star. But after two corporate records, the band went rogue again.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
Strings & Picks
- Ernie Ball Everlast Coated Acoustic (.010–.050)
- Ernie Ball Regular Slinky (.010–.046)
- Dunlop Tortex Standard .66 mm picks
Other similarities appeared over the last few years, as if some cosmic clock had been reset and she were back at square one. As a kid, she had spent summers and winters going up to Missouri, where her father lived. She always hated it, and this current era, where that state came back into her life, offered a chance to reconcile with the past. She decided to start working on music again on her own to minimize the risk of greater financial losses—if one week of solo shows got canceled, it would just mean she personally was put out, rather than four band members and five crew. But after decades of touring with a group, going back to just six strings and a voice—something she’d not done on a regular basis since her teens—took some finessing. “You feel afraid in the same ways, but again, a healthy fear,” she says.
“If the whole house burns down, if I can make it out with my acoustic guitar, worst-case scenario I’ll be busking on a street corner and hoping people throw change into the guitar case—but I can feed myself.”
“It’s an exercise in self-reliance,” she continues, “and it’s a comfort to always have that there. That’s what I think is beautiful about the acoustic guitar, is that you’re stripping it down to the bare minimum, and I know, ‘Okay, as long as I have that, I’m okay. If the whole fuckin’ house burns down, if I can make it out with my acoustic guitar, worst-case scenario I’ll be busking on a street corner and hoping people throw change in to the guitar case—but I can feed myself. That’s a comforting feeling. Those barebones tools as an artist; that’s self-reliance and that gives you self-confidence and self-esteem, and then you build from there.
”Plus, just like the modest recordings of early classic rock ’n’ roll songs, Hole in My Head never feels wanting in its simplicity. Grace notes that we don’t listen to Buddy Holly or Dion’s “The Wanderer” and wish there were more modern flourishes or a more discernible kick drum. The aesthetic works, and since she was going it mostly alone, it’s what Grace chased.
When it comes to acoustics, Grace prizes one criterion above all: Does it break strings?
Photo by Travis Shinn
Her coconspirator on the record wound up being Matt Patton, mentioned earlier, who provided bass and backing vocals for six songs. Grace had never met Patton before when he drove from Mississippi up to St. Louis in February 2023 for the sessions—X, then Twitter, brought them together in a moment of “total kismet,” says Grace. The two became fast friends, and Grace says the connection with Patton is her most cherished part of the album. “He took a total chance coming to St. Louis,” she says. “His contribution is immeasurable.” Patton returned the favor last December, hosting Grace for some sessions at his Water Valley, Mississippi studio.
“Those places that people refer to as ‘shithole’ cities, or the places where no one wants to be, I have this natural urge inside of me…. I’m like, ‘I dunno, maybe I want to go there.’”
Grace and Patton worked with engineer David Buzzbee at Native Sound, and Grace brought along four guitars to get the job done. Her all-black Yamaha LJ16 was—and still is—her acoustic of choice, a guitar with which she says she shares “a total soul connection. When it comes down to acoustic guitars, the thing that I’m most concerned about onstage is, ‘Does it stay in tune and does it break strings?’” she says. “That thing does not break strings, so I fucking love that guitar.”
Her 1963 Fender Jaguar and ’70s silver-panel Twin Reverb—both of which she bought off of original Heartbreakers drummer Stan Lynch—were in regular rotation, as was a handpainted Gretsch gifted to Grace from her longtime tattoo artist. Her signature blackout Rickenbacker 370 can be heard on the record, too. But no pedals at all were used, and the low-rent grit of “Hole in My Head” was coaxed not from Grace’s Twin, but from a Rickenbacker TR7, a dinky solid-state 1x10 amp. Grace remarks that she’s obsessed with making records with tiny amplifiers these days. “Maybe it’s cause the studio was upstairs, and I’m like, ‘Fuck, I don’t wanna carry a big amp upstairs,’” she chuckles.
Grace loves her new part-time homebase of St. Louis, Missouri, even though it’s not exactly a prime destination. That’s part of the appeal.
Photo by Tim Bugbee
Over a year on from her introduction to the city, Grace now feels a fairly legitimate affection for St. Louis. Unlike Chicago, which always overwhelmed her, St. Louis is manageable: You can get just about anywhere you need to be in 15 minutes, and rents haven’t spiked to unlivable levels the way they have in other cities. Grace fell in love with the city by bar-hopping, starting with the Whiskey Ring, right under Native Sound. Grace is sober, but that made bar-hopping all the more doable. She could slug nonalcoholic beers, then drive to check out another corner of town.
St. Louis is an underdog city, which endears it to Grace. “Those places that people refer to as ‘shithole’ cities, or the places where no one wants to be, I have this natural urge inside of me that if I hear someone talking about a place like that, I’m like, ‘I dunno, maybe I want to go there,’” she says. “Maybe it’s just a rebellion against the opposite of, that place that everyone else wants to go, I don’t want to go.”
YouTube It
Grace leads a rip-roaring acoustic set last summer in Southern California, captured here in stereo audio by a dedicated fan.
From pitch and dynamics to how to play well with others, the lessons you learn from school orchestra are the perfect prep for pro gigging.
In 1986, Robert Fulghum published a book of short essays entitled All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten. The book became a hit, then was widely criticized as a trite, saccharine oversimplification. That may be the case, but the truth is, if everybody followed these 11 kindergarten rules, the world would be a better place.
Play well with others. Listen when others speak. Don’t interrupt. Share everything. Play fair. Don’t hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don’t take things that aren’t yours. Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat.
While that’s an excellent start, I needed a few more lessons before I was ready for the world. Luckily, the Montana public school system gave me basically all the tools I needed to be a professional musician by the end of ninth grade.
Grades 1 through 3 were pretty blurry. But in the first week of fourth grade, things got interesting when the traveling orchestra instructor did a demonstration in the school cafetorium and I signed up for violin.
In the school orchestra, I learned how to zone in on pitch, how dynamics change feel, how to adjust tone with my hands, and, most importantly, I learned that music is a conversation between instruments, so you have to listen and follow. I also learned that space is music too. And, although I almost never need it today, I learned how to slowly and poorly read music. If you understand the basics of your instrument and go into a gig listening, taking cues, finding your spot, and watching your intonation, you’ll be fine anywhere. Orchestra taught me all of this.
“If you understand the basics of your instrument and go into a gig listening, taking cues, finding your spot, and watching your intonation, you’ll be fine anywhere.”
I was the worst kind of orchestra student; I played terribly and felt ashamed of being part of the nerd herd. I was a self-loathing nerd trying to pass for normal. I desperately wanted to quit but stayed from fourth grade through ninth, because as poorly as I played, being able to be part of a string section, or better yet, a full orchestra, was a deeply moving experience. Also, my parents laid out $120 on my used violin and wanted a return on their investment. By the end of ninth grade, guitar won the battle when I started jamming with friends and dropped the school orchestra for a garage band. But I’m glad I was able to build on that classical base.
Most guitar players start by learning the basic “how” by memorizing scale patterns, riffs, and chords. The last bit of the puzzle is to determine when you play. Learn the blistering run, but if you’re shoehorning those blistering runs where they don’t belong, you won’t accomplish your goal. Some players never really get that, because they get focused on the “how” and never learn “when.” The cool thing about orchestra is, you’re part of something bigger than yourself, working together, ideally in harmony. What a beautiful, spiritual life lesson.
The other great lesson I learned came from my ninth grade speech and drama class. I’ve referenced this before, but dammit, it’s worth repeating. One day, a professional actor came to our class and asked for volunteers. I walked to the front of the class and the actor said, “Okay, pretend you are all monkeys.” We all became monkeys, doing the simian, knuckle-dragging bounce, and loudly “ooh ah ah”-ing as we jumped around.
The actor then said, “Pretend you’re swimming.” We all happily, animatedly swam around. “Now, just be yourself.”
I don’t know what the other kids did, but I quietly freaked out as I stared at the floor, horribly uncomfortable as kids giggled. It only went on for a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity of anxiety.
The actor said, “It’s really hard to be yourself when you’re standing in front of people watching you. You feel like they are judging you, and sometimes, they are. But if you get in character and become that thing you want to portray, you can do anything without judgment. It’s just fun.”
I’ve used that trick ever since, and probably will for the rest of my life. If I’m playing a big show, I just pretend I’m Keith Richards. If I’m walking into a party, I pretend I’m well-informed and charming. If I’m filming a Rig Rundown or a gear review, I pretend I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been fooling the public with this trick for decades and have bluffed myself into a cool little career. I highly recommend it.
Although I did end up spending a lot of time in school, I can honestly say that everything I learned or accomplished was built on these few simple lessons. I utilize them everyday. Play well with others, listen, share, don’t interrupt, mind your intonation, and with great pretend-confidence, carry on like you know what you are doing.
Beginner
Intermediate
- Develop a deeper understanding of the sound of each mode.
- Learn several different ways to create modes.
- Improvise over simple vamps that outline the defining characteristics of each mode.
This lesson assumes you already know your way around the diatonic scale and its various fingerings. Hopefully this will provide myriad tonal colors you have yet to utilize from within those same patterns. Most of us go through three steps before modal knowledge is of practical use.
Three Phases to Understanding the Modes
Phase 1
This is the introduction to the modes many of us receive:
The Ionian mode is the major scale.
The Dorian mode is a major scale starting on the 2nd degree.
The Phrygian mode is a major scale starting on the 3rd degree.
The Lydian mode is a major scale starting on the 4th degree.
The Mixolydian mode is a major scale starting on the 5th degree.
The Aeolian mode is a major scale starting on the 6th degree.
The Locrian mode is a major scale starting on the 7th degree.
While this is all true, once you memorize that the obvious question becomes, “Yeah, so what?” And that’s an excellent question. Since we’re always referencing a “parent” major scale, you can recycle your diatonic fingerings. You’ll also arrive at the correct answer on your test in guitar school—but it’s not anything that you’ll likely use to make actual music.
Phase 2
This phase provides a little more clarity. This explanation compares the difference in each mode from the basic major scale. In fact, most all scales are described relative to a major scale. For example, a major pentatonic scale is a major scale minus the 4th and 7th degrees.
The anatomy, or intervallic structure, of each mode is more clearly described via this explanation. It goes like this:
The Ionian mode is the major scale. (Old news from Phase 1.)
The Dorian mode is a major scale with a b3 and b7.
The Phrygian mode is a major scale with a b2, b3, b6 and b7.
The Lydian mode is a major scale with a #4.
The Mixolydian mode is a major scale with a b7.
The Aeolian mode is a major scale with a b3, b6 and b7.
The Locrian mode is a major scale with a b2, b3, b5, b6 and b7.
All of this is also correct but knowing this is still little more than a badge of honor in a round of Trivial Pursuit.
Phase 3
Phases 1 and 2 are useful for attaching these fancy names to collections of notes and knowing where to place your fingers. Phase 3 turns these abstract concepts into sounds that don’t require a slide rule or decoder ring to figure out what notes you’re supposed to play.
In Phase 3, we don’t trace each mode back to a major scale. Each mode is now its own thing. It’s its own key. It’s its own sound.
To get to this place of modal nirvana we need to be able to hear these scales as chords versus bothering with all of this math contained in the first two phases. Let’s make a chord progression, or vamp that aurally represents each modal sonority.
For our examples we will use an A pedal tone in the bass. A will be the tonic of each of our seven modes. We’ll begin with the A Ionian mode (A–B–C#–D–E–F#–G#). We’ll now take the IV and V chords and play them on top of the A pedal as in Ex. 1. (The written examples show a simplified version of what’s on the audio track. The point isn’t for you to copy my rhythm parts, but to easily understand the harmonic movements.)
This is a tidy package that you now play your major scale over. Record yourself playing this and then play the A major scale over it. This won’t require much ear stretching as you’ve likely heard this sound your entire life. This is a nice progression that is an effective chordal representation of the mode.
Ex. 2 utilizes the same method to achieve an A Dorian sound (A–B–C–D–E–F#–G). A Dorian’s parent scale is G Major. The IV and V chords of G major are C and D. Play the C and D triads over our A pedal tone and relish the Dorian vibe. Some might catalog this in their mind as having a Santana sound. While the notes are the same as those found in the key of G Major, we’re playing A Dorian. A is the root—not G. That is part of what we’re doing here: Relate to the scale on its own terms. Improvising on this vamp will reinforce that in your ear and you’ll have a recognizable sound vs. a formula.
The parent scale of A Phrygian (A–Bb–C–D–E–F–G) is F major. Seeing the method unfold? Take the IV and V chords from F (Bb and C) and superimpose them over an A bass note to arrive at Ex. 3. Assign your own adjective to the sound you’re creating.
Each of the modes has a distinct mood doesn’t it? It could be argued that the modes should be called the moods.
Next up is the A Lydian mode (A–B–C–D#–E–F#–G#). A Lydian is the fourth mode of E major so let’s take the IV and V chords, A and B, and play them over our A bass pedal (Ex. 4). You may associate this sound with the theme song from The Simpsons or Tom Petty’s “Here Comes My Girl.”
Have you noticed that even though our “bass player” has been playing a single note this entire time we are arriving at drastically different A sounds? This is how players like Joe Satriani and Steve Vai keep solos interesting over longer periods of time while the harmony is static. The harmony is changing via the soloists’ note choice and requires no one else playing chords.
Moving on to A Mixolydian (A–B–C#–D–E–F#–G) in Ex. 5. A is the 5th degree of a D Major scale and the IV and V chords of D are G and A. Jeff Beck’s “Freeway Jam,” the Beatles’ “Day Tripper” or just about anything from the Grateful Dead or other jam bands exemplify this sound nicely.
Next is the A Aeolian mode (A–B–C–D–E–F–G) or natural minor scale. This is another one with which your ear will be immediately comfortable. This is the relative minor key to C Major. The IV and V chords from C are F and G. Let your cat walk across the white keys of your piano while playing Ex. 6 and even that will sound great.
Last up is A Locrian (A–Bb–C–D–Eb–F–G). This key is derived from Bb Major, the IV and V chords are Eb and F respectively and we get the introspective Ex. 7. Play the A Locrian scale and finally enjoy this mode that may have seemed so ugly before. It’s a beautiful sound—use it!
Hopefully this lesson provides a different, more useful way of hearing the modes instead of memorizing a cryptic note formula. Each mode is now its own key, not just a major scale starting on a different degree. Spend time with each of these examples and really listen to each note. Sure, blasting scales at hyper-speed can be fun, but this is more of a listening thing. Go slow and enjoy your new-found mastery of the modes. Oh yeah, you can also recycle or give away all of those books that keep describing Phase 1.