Love Is Wherever Elizabeth Moen Is
Words by Sarai Warner
Photo by Alexa Viscius
Elizabeth Moen’s throat was emblazoned in rhinestones. They spelled out, in all caps, ‘LOVE.’ Surrounded by musician friends onstage before the wall-to-wall audience at Chicago’s Schubas on a mid-December Friday night, she was celebrating the release of her fourth album Wherever You Aren’t. There truly isn’t a more appropriate emblem Moen could have sported for the occasion. The word melds with her earnest grin which streams towards her friend as he croons the second verse on an old single of hers, and brims in a tearful gaze as she serenades us with her signature velvet resonance in a ballad for the heart-mending. Love was electric that night, in the slow buzz of electric guitar that lives as one of seven layers of sound crafted by a bandstand filled with friends, and was laced through gut-punch lyrics showcasing the feeling in ruin and in reflection, in chaos and gentle compassion. Moen’s love spills from her, and how lucky we are to experience her music as part of the overflow.
This was Moen’s first set of shows performing her own music since before the pandemic (the Friday before, she had played through the album at Empty Bottle). Standing in the back of the venue in a sound bath of the violet tones of Moen and her band, and listening back through our interview she was generous enough to have with me, I felt the love radiating through both her work and her actions. The following is a non-exhaustive list of the ways I recently learned lessons of love from Elizabeth Moen, even when it seemed all she could find was its ghostly absence.
“When you're in moments of change—and hopefully growth—it’s messy...it's almost like a constant map, a constant trial and error.”
There is love in asking someone else to play your song.
I first chatted with Moen during one of her final break days on a seven-month-long tour as a support vocalist for Kevin Moby. It was her second full-scale tour in the band of another artist; In the autumn of 2021, she was traveling with indie witch rock project Squirrel Flower on lead guitar. Pre-pandemic she was on the road in her beloved Honda Odyssey (christened ‘Vanny DeVito’) for two years, responsible for everything from the music to the merch. This hired gun tour is quite different from traipsing across the country with the whole show on Moen’s back. “I’d never been on a tour bus before. There’s a tour manager, there’s someone hired specifically just to set up and count the merch, [and] there’s someone hired to pack up the gear. So all these things I’m used to doing, that the band does. It’s such a big team.” Without the mountainous to-do list that accompanies running your own tour circuit, one challenge alone is bared: “You don’t wanna fuck up someone else’s song. But aside from that, there’s no pressure with organizing, logistics, or ticket sales. Nothing but playing the show and playing it well is a stressor. Whereas, when you’re doing your own music literally everything stresses you the fuck out.” Despite the constant pressure to perform well, Moen shone in every single set. A regular feature saw Moen closing a number a capella, eliciting waves of cheering from each star-stricken crowd without fail. “This is my first vocal hired gun thing but so many other people who do this thing are like, ‘this is not common.’ It’s really special that [Kevin] gives me opportunities like that in the set. He wants to see people in the band shine. Being in the role of uplifting someone else's song is a special and important thing that hopefully, all front people can experience.”
Hearing this gratitude, it was no surprise to watch Moen follow suit while directing the Wherever You Aren’t release show at Schubas. She frequently stepped back to beam at her supporting bandmates. A highlight was the artistry of vocalist Danielle Jones (Living Thing), sweetening the melody of the second verse of “Headgear” through a moonbeam smile: “I thought my buzzing on the bad times wouldn’t come back in the evening / but when it does I let myself go through all those shit feelings. / Well how about that?” In the penultimate encore of the night the band even played sans Moen, launching into a solo-speckled arrangement of “Studio Apartment” off her 2020 album, Creature of Habit. Even without her, the ensemble was locked in and excellent, each line of harmony and instrumentation finding space to soar despite how cohesive the sound was. A collective solo ascended to greet Moen as she took the stage having changed into Bruce Springsteen drag for a finale cover of “Dancing in the Dark”, complete with the star-is-born introduction of Courtney Cox (Alex Grelle). The seamless chemistry of everyone onstage both sonically and physically was a testament to the trust, respect, and love built into Elizabeth Moen’s music and band . Everyone was in it, having a blast and feeling seen by the sound, and the movement. It’s heartening stuff to come across in an otherwise tough industry.
There is love in accepting and supporting your own timeline of growth.
Long stretches on the road provide a unique set of challenges. Dating (if you are someone in the touring community Moen has a query for you: “How the Fuck Do You Date?”), staying in touch with friends, and the security found in being home begins to thin. In Europe, Moen tells me, she began to feel it kick in on a day off. “This is very honest, I haven’t really told people this but I would get really lonely.”
In an effort self-doubters can recognize, she kept the emotional effects of isolation to herself to avoid becoming a burden to others on their day off or her loved ones at home, confiding, “I definitely pent up a lot of feels on the first couple tours. But, sometimes really sitting in loneliness can be good. There were a couple of moments where I would feel [it] and I'd be like, okay, where is this coming from? What if I just sit in it and figure out how to self-soothe or get myself out of the feeling? I definitely had some of those hard feelings on tour and I showed myself I could get through them, you know? I talk about it in songs, but like in actual conversations, it's hard for me to admit that.”
Descriptions of loneliness in Moen’s album are composed with empathetic candor. The seventh track of her new LP is called “Differently,” and it follows a reflection of how Moen has handled empty spaces left by heartbreak, and how she’s approaching the new edition. While Springsteen-esque brush-stick drumming (Abby Black) and sparing guitar picking drive the cool ambiance, in the foreground Moen slips in and out of the paralyzing sting of the past, recognizing there has been a change with her signature vocal blend of molasses and grit: “I always say my loneliness / is at its strongest now/ but this time, I swear / it’s getting on somehow /a little differently.” By the end of the track, Moen is strumming and belting in full body, before elegantly pulling back into an acknowledgment of moving past the itch to call when things have ended, and leaning into her growth in the face of unease (‘I stopped calling all the time’). Moen told me that she uses songwriting as a therapeutic tool to turn inward and celebrate herself for the victories of changing habits that once hindered her. “I spent so much time being a bully to myself, and I think looking back at a lot of these songs on the record, it's like patting yourself on the back through growing. And when looking at yourself through a negative lens, try to look at yourself in a kinder way and be like, okay, you made this mistake. How are you gonna push through that? What are you gonna do differently next time? In our culture, so many things are trying so hard to make us feel bad about ourselves. And I did feel bad about myself for a long time. Sometimes I still [do], I say some mean shit to myself. It's like, why? A lot of these songs are, in hindsight, me trying to stop doing that.”
There is love in taking a break to show up for yourself.
The third track of the record is saturated with Moen’s steadily maturing self-compassion. Where’s My Bike” is an uptempo speedwalk of a rock song built around the bleak realization that small mistakes are piling up. Moen sheepishly admitted that it’s “the most self-deprecating, mean thing I’ve ever written about myself. But by the end of it, I'm admitting, I'm realizing I'm in a rut. I'm realizing I'm depressed, I'm realizing I'm having panic attacks ‘cause I'm living in my parent’s house because I don't live anywhere. What am I doing?
But by the end of the song, it's like, okay, I've let it get this far. How can I move forward?” Moen’s lyrics remind listeners that growth isn’t a linear path and can leave a lot of scraps. “When you're in moments of change—and hopefully growth—it’s messy...it's almost like a constant map, a constant trial and error.”
She looked up to try to remember her lyrics, taking us back to the image of her dead-tired on a tire swing: “My arms are dangling back and forth / almost touching the hot sand / I'm sick of singing songs about my exes / should join somebody else's band, play songs about their life instead of mine / be part of a very marketable brand / or I could keep wallowing all afternoon / only think about my own problems.” For the majority of 2022, Moen’s desires materialized into a variety of creative projects supporting other musicians. Though it’s afforded a big escape from putting her heart on a platter for sharp-eared audiences, Moen’s ready to rest this winter. She recently declined an invitation to tour, for the next cycle of her own music, “but more importantly my physical and mental health.” Moen plans to spend January at home, writing, enjoying the local Chicago music scene, and spending time with her loved ones. “I've learned [through] touring in the last chunk of my life that being back home is really important, [as is] allowing yourself to decompress. I always interpreted downtime as wasted time, like ‘I'm lazy if I rest.’ And now, [I have] grey hairs. I have to rest. I have to just be home in January. I need to go home and shit out some songs and hang out at my house, maybe attempt to go on dates.”
There is love in letting someone go and allowing yourself to leave.
When asked what qualities Moen looks for in a partner, her answer was expectedly straightforward. “I think past me would say the number one thing for compatibility would be like, are they funny? But now based on all my trial and error, I just may be like, are they emotionally available?” Her song by the same title demands honesty accompanied by percussive bossa-swung guitar. An almost apologetic flute descension preps the chorus of “Emotionally Available” to stun with a hard boundary blared over a sustained single-chord chorus. Vocally, Moen leads another masterclass in control. Her brazen request in the chorus follows a light yet full lilt.
Moen joked, “if you're a 10 out of 10 avoidant attachment style, touring [is for you]!” She explained how the fast pace of touring and leaving the tableaus of former relationships protects from ruminating in a break up. But, it also could be a temporary block of the processing that breakups demand. “You really get space, but then you come home and then all of a sudden you're right back in that place where you have those memories or they live down the street or that fear of running into them comes back that you haven't had to deal with for five months. So it's confusing, honestly kind of a 50/50.”
The record’s title track, “Wherever You Aren’t” may be the post-breakup song of the century; written to soothe the incessant burn of missing someone while wondering how they are. During the ballad’s live debut at Schubas, the audience was audibly moved by the way long-time friend and collaborator V.V. Lightbody’s floaty harmonies melted with Moen’s. I was comforted by the realness of the chorus, which differentiated between the typical roles of heart’s what-ifs and the head’s reason. When they met in Moen’s lyrics, it was a devastatingly healing concoction. And I was particularly moved as the band crept back into play with the vocals’ determined mantra, ‘I will smile and leave’ poured over the swaying crowd. It reminded me of the visceral nature of love, its tight embrace and the shaky freedom of being released into a fresh start, however uncomfortable and necessary to begin. In an album reckoning largely with relationship splits, standstills, and righting soured perceptions of the self, Elizabeth Moen skillfully sifts through discomfort using grounded, bluesy rock. Somehow, I’m still always lighter after a listen.
There is love (and loss) in being yourself.
The humanity that emanates from Moen’s songwriting requires a hearty deal of vulnerability. This openness carried into our November conversation. Moen met each question I had for her with thoughtful consideration and some unexpected trust in sharing the moments that had inspired her art. I felt relief in the silliness in our banter. I was so appreciative of her willingness to walk through a detailed itinerary of her last three years on and off the road, as well as some insights into the new record. She was personable, cheeky, the kind of person that would ask me about my life and let me match her tangents with mine. I feel lucky to have had such a comfortable talk with Moen, who shared with me, and listeners of “Wherever You Aren’t”, some insight into her own experiences with contorting herself into a version of herself that she thought others might enjoy more.
“Clown Song” is Moen’s favorite song on the record, a rambling classic folksy ballad sailing along on a dreamy beam of pedal steel (Jodi). It’s the sonic equivalent of a lone tear falling down an artificially blushed cheek. “The whole song is about...putting on this act to convince people that you're worthy of love. Then you turn around and there's this storm of your own shit you need to get through. Or, like, realizing that constantly putting on [a front] and trying to convince people to love you denies your actual lovable self to come out. If you constantly try and prove that you're this cool person, eventually you're gonna fall apart.” She continued, “The line I'm the proudest of is, ‘It’s a downpour and I’ve got water balloons / they don’t have the same effect they once did / and the rest of my bag of tricks / to find a love that sticks / has a hole in the bottom / and doesn’t even zip.’”
The contrast between the jovially chaotic circus-themed imagery and the steady country tempo makes so much sense, a magic march to cover the hellbent desperation of being perfect enough to be the recipient of a smile. Moen once again leads the way with her heart. She emphasized that it’s taken a while to start shedding this insecurity in favor of being herself, a la “I’m not putting on any airs, I’m just being Miley. I've spent so much time learning the hard way, forgetting it, and doing it again that a lot of this record is about trying to actually grow. I think self-awareness is the first step in emotional maturity. I've dated a couple of people who are very self-aware [about] their shortcomings or like their emotions, but then they don't change. And I was guilty of that too. Actually doing things differently helps you be the person that you wanna be, and also hopefully find the person you wanna be with. That's also the beauty of it, you can have so many growth and many epiphany moments and like, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! And it'll still not work out and you can't control that. And if the other person doesn't wanna keep trying or if the other person doesn't leave, that's another part of growth, [knowing] there's nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can change about myself in the hopes that that’ll make you love me.”
Community builds medicinal love.
I’m quite happy that Moen knows the value of the work she puts into her music and out into the world, even if she’s still shocked that people take the time to listen. Many times have folks reached out via social media to tell her how they had connected with songs of hers, whether or not their interpretation was true to her intention. Growing up in Iowa City, music played a vital role in her own self-expression while navigating a culture of restraint. “I'm from a small town of less than a thousand. And it's very much like, be small. if you're feeling a certain way or if a certain something's going on, don't let anyone know. It's all about pretending to be okay. And I think music was my safe space when I lived [there] where even before I taught myself guitar, I could listen to music and feel things when I felt scared to feel at school or whatever. And now, as a songwriter, when people tell me that they felt something through something I wrote, it really means a lot.”
She admitted, “Sometimes being a musician feels so self-involved and it's like, I should actually be doing something that's helpful. But musicians, myself included, are intentionally trying to make things to help people feel.”
Connecting to one another through music is easier when the dominant culture of the Windy City’s indie scene is like one big warm party. Everyone plays in each other’s bands, shows up at each other’s gigs, buys each other’s merch, and is on the lookout for new music to help bring into the world. Many of Moen’s dear friends are also Chicago musicians, and she supports them at every turn.
Tenci, Michael Damani (opener for the Schubas show and provided deeply intuitive guitar lines for Moen’s set), Finom, Free Range (who opened for Moen the first release show and who Moen adores, often using the chorus of their song ‘All My Thoughts’ for show mix checks), Kara Jackson, Jodi, V.V. Lightbody, Babe Hoven, and Horsegirl are a handful of artists Moen listed from the local scene when I asked her about who she’d been listening to. “It’s community versus career. It’s ‘How can my music community thrive’ versus an LA-esque ‘how can my career thrive?’ I think realistically you have to have some of that if you want to be a long-term musician, but if you’re only career-focused you’re really missing out. In Chicago, you’d really be missing out if you’re not tapping into [the] community. Just go to a few shows, I swear that’s all it takes.”
Elizabeth Moen may take Wherever You Aren’t on tour in the new year. It may lead her to grow sick of singing songs chronicling her life, running off to lend her bold musicianship and enormous heart to someone else’s band. But until that cycle renews, if you see Elizabeth around town this winter, know this: She has many, many Scorpio placements. She may be taking walks in the headphone-malfunction-level cold. Comedians need not apply for aforementioned potential dates, “but also, do.” She embodies love in a gazillion different forms, so be prepared to open yourself to its transformational ways. If you do, chances are you’ll understand what she’s all about.
Listen to the full album Wherever You Aren’t here and keep up with Elizabeth Moen here.