Neko Case, the singer-songwriter, had a challenging upbringing in rural Washington, where poverty was the norm. She never questioned her parents‘ actions or lack of concern towards her as a child. When her father informed her of her mother’s death from terminal cancer, which she had kept a secret, Case believed him without hesitation. It wasn’t until later, when her mother miraculously reappeared after faking her death, that Case realized the extent of the deception. This revelation came when she was an adult, highlighting the self-deception she had to endure to survive her tumultuous childhood.
In her memoir, „The Harder I Fight the More I Love You,“ Case delves into her complex past, from poverty and neglect to finding solace in music through the Seattle punk scene. Despite initially not wanting to write a memoir, financial difficulties during the pandemic led her to accept the offer. She has no regrets about sharing her story, as it helps her cope and feel heard.
Case’s music career, both as a solo artist and part of the New Pornographers, showcases her unique voice and gothic Americana style. Her lyrics often draw on folklore, wildlife, and natural imagery, creating a world where human logic takes a backseat to animal instincts. Through her memoir and music, Case reflects on her challenging upbringing, finding solace in animals, music, and mythology.
Despite the hardships she faced, Case approaches her past with honesty, heart, and humor. She recounts stories of poverty and trauma with a touch of levity, recognizing the resilience she developed as a result. Through it all, Case acknowledges the trauma she endured, including a traumatic experience in her teenage years, and the impact it had on her relationships, especially with her mother.
Music played a significant role in Case’s life, offering her a lifeline during challenging times. It was her salvation long before she considered pursuing a career in the industry, showcasing the power of art in healing and self-expression.
She immersed herself in the punk scenes of Seattle and Portland, teaching herself to play the drums and joining bands. After moving to Vancouver for art school, Case founded Maow, a pop-punk trio known for their unique homemade fur bikinis. In 1997, she released her debut solo album, The Virginian, and began playing with the New Pornographers. Despite her success, Case believes that the idea of suffering for art is a myth. She reflects on how a stable upbringing may have made her a better musician, allowing her to start earlier and have support to experiment.
Case’s father passed away in 2004 from a heart attack and alcoholism, while she cut ties with her mother in 2010. She struggles with trust and anxiety due to her upbringing, and has chosen not to become a parent. She identifies as non-binary, feeling neither fully male nor female.
Although Case has faced challenges, she remains hopeful for positive change. She is critical of the exploitation of artists by the creative industries and is inspired by younger generations pushing back against traditional gender roles. She refuses to succumb to fear or depression, instead choosing to fight for what she believes in.
Case recalls a pivotal moment performing at the Grand Ole Opry in 2001, a dream come true for her and a tribute to her grandmother’s love of Opry stars. Despite the sweltering heat and challenging conditions, she persevered and delivered a memorable performance. The Nashville sun shone through the roof of the stage, casting shadows at different angles as the day went on. After a soundcheck, we retreated to the air-conditioned Opry building to prepare for the show. I was told my shirt was inappropriate for the family atmosphere, which embarrassed me. Despite this, I was excited to meet Little Jimmy Dickens and Jan Howard backstage. The heat on stage was unbearable, and I struggled to make it through our set before feeling like I might pass out. I was forced to continue performing, even pulling my shirt over my head in a desperate attempt to cool down. The manager was furious and declared that I would never play in town again.
Feeling sick and ashamed, I later wrote a letter apologizing for my actions, but it was met with a smug reply. I reflected on the incidents that had led to others being banned from the Opry, realizing that my situation was far less severe. Despite the setback, I eventually had the opportunity to perform at the Ryman, where I felt welcomed and appreciated. This experience made me realize that the strict rules of the country music industry were not worth my time, and I vowed to continue making music on my own terms. No one could stop me from being myself and pursuing my passion for music, despite the challenges I faced along the way. Wenn es darum geht, neue Dinge zu machen, können sie dich nicht aufhalten, weil du Schwarz bist oder ein Mädchen oder schwul oder geschieden. Das ist der einzige echte „Kann nicht“ – und lass sie es nicht vergessen.
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