Ani DiFranco learned (and cried) a lot during her first year in New York


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In the late ’80s and early ’90s, I began reading Audre Lorde, Alice Walker, Judy Grahn, bell hooks, Adrienne Rich, and Lucille Clifton. These poets, philosophers and writers seismically opened me up to myself. I grew up in a man’s world and was taught everything through a man’s eyes and with a man’s words. It wasn’t until I read these women that I realized: “Ohthere is more.”

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When I started getting legit gigs at folk and roots music festivals, they would put you on stage with other artists. There might be a singer from Guam, some throat singers from Tuva, some African guys with guitars, and a choir from Eastern Europe. We didn’t share a verbal language, but we could talk to each other through music and become friends that way.

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The first time I played Jazz Fest I was like, “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Whenever I wasn’t on tour, I would go to New Orleans because I wanted to go wherever I felt inspired. Then I started renting an apartment, then I fell in love with a local and he was my reason for staying and making a home. I’ve been there for about 20 years and the shine hasn’t faded one bit.

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I’ve smoked a lot of marijuana in my time and I know it’s a really instrumental element in my awakening. I haven’t gotten as involved with fungi, but I feel like they are also fundamental to human evolution. Entire musical genres and artistic movements have evolved and advanced hand in hand with these gifts of nature.

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When I moved to New York, I was studying at the New School and found myself reading books and talking about them. It’s like, Oh my God, this is a really important thing. The format of a book is a path into the depths of another person’s mind and life, into a completely different way of being, into other worlds, which I find no parallel in any other genre of art.

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