"Thought I could swim, but I thought wrong," goes a pivotal line on Show Me How You Disappear, the latest album from singer/songwriter Jillian Medford, aka Ian Sweet. In the line, Medford encapsulates the pride that comes with trying to cope with mental health challenges—something she knows extremely well. 

Much of the new album, released in March, was written following her intensive outpatient treatment for anxiety and depression in January and February 2020. Six-hour days of journaling, mantra-based, Emotional Freedom Technique tapping and other forms of therapy helped formulate 33 minutes of self-examination far beyond a passive, New Year’s resolution-style declaration. 

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"I didn’t really plan or set out to write music during [the treatment]," she told GRAMMY.com. "But as I was starting to heal and learn the tools from the program, I was like, 'I need to make a record about this.'"

And on the album, she sounds renewed, with the pains of the past not forgotten but not permeating as they might’ve before. The heart-on-its-sleeves lyricism, blasts of noisy guitar, and Medford’s poignant delivery make the project the kind of album best-suited for decompression in one’s bedroom or vehicle, alternating between singing along to anthemic choruses and just basking in the comfort of someone understanding what you’re going through. Unsurprisingly, Medford says she is eager to return to the stage and share these songs with an appreciative audience. 

The indie artist spoke with GRAMMY.com about her time in treatment, the writing of the album, and the artists who have helped and inspired her. 

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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What sort of anxiety were you experiencing when you started writing these songs?

I’ve always struggled with depression and anxiety and it’s just been a part of my life since I can remember. But, specifically, going into writing these songs, I had been through something kind of traumatic in the last years regarding a pretty abusive relationship I was in. And it had sort of caught up with me, as well as unfolded a lot of the other anxieties I was going through just my whole life and things sort of unraveled all at once. And then I decided to check myself into a treatment facility for it, to get more support, more therapy. But I was dealing with all sorts of things: panic attacks, depression, just really severe social anxiety, PTSD. Mostly PTSD, I would say, was the cause of everything else trickling down, and just causing a lot of issues for my mental health.

Was there a breaking point where you realized you needed to get help?

Definitely. I was trying to get help for a few months, but I was struggling with my insurance, which is just a terrible situation, and things were getting worse and worse. I knew that there was something wrong. I definitely felt like I could not get out of bed. I couldn’t really focus. I couldn’t make eye contact with people and was just struggling to even, like, form sentences. Even day-to-day things that should be easy and come naturally were just seeming like the biggest tasks for me. I was like a shell of a human being, and I missed myself a lot. And I missed my life, and I knew that I wanted to get back there; I just missed that, definitely was having some suicidal ideations. I wouldn’t say I was planning anything else or being really serious about it. But I just didn’t know how to go on feeling that way. And that’s when I knew I absolutely needed to get help. 

How was it balancing being in outpatient treatment with your day-to-day life?

It was a lot. I kind of had to put everything on pause in order to really dive into the outpatient program. So, I moved back to my parents’ house because the treatment center was close to them. I wasn’t seeing any friends, anybody. I didn’t really plan or set out to write music during it. But as I was starting to heal and learn the tools from the program, I was like, "I need to make a record about this." But it definitely was really hard to balance my personal life. It was like six hours a day, five days a week. So, it was really just my full-time job, and I was accepting that. And I wasn’t longing to really see anybody or even interact or socialize because I just knew I wouldn’t be fun to hang out with or anything like that.

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What was the first song that you wrote for the record?

"Dumb Driver," actually. But I wrote that before I was in treatment. There was a batch of songs that I wrote before treatment: "My Favorite Cloud," "Dumb Driver" and "Power." And I think those, they’re just like the lead-up to the breakdown. I was like, really yearning for something, I was wanting help, I was stumbling to get over something. So, I kind of wrote those in kind of a frantic moment. Those three songs kind of came all together at once, like in a week or two. But then, the majority of the other record is written surrounding being in treatment. 

Were there any moments in treatment that especially resonated with you and influenced your songwriting?

There was so much I learned and was processing when I was there. We would go around and share what we were journaling about. That was a big, big process, at least in lyric writing. I was [leaving] the journaling sessions being like, "Actually, I want to make a song out of this. It’s like begging to be a song." That’s just normally how I’m used to writing. I never really write down linear thoughts. I more so just write lyrics. 

A lot of the songs have a very propulsive energy to them. How did that relate to your state of mind?

I have always sort of written in that way, but I was doing a lot of mantra-based practices with therapy and wanting to sort of reach goals, and, like, yearning [for that]. There’s a lot of yearning to get better, to get help, to heal. And not only do the lyrics reflect that but, obviously, the music reflects that, too. I think of both of those things following each other. Also, I’ve always been inspired by bands that "ramp it up" (laughs). I’m a big sucker for Coldplay, and [their] big finale— each song is trying to reach that moment. 

The song "Get Better" seems to be about sacrificing your own happiness for another. Is that something you’ve been able to figure out?

I wouldn’t say I’ll ever have that figured out. But it’s something that was very specific to a relationship I was in, the one that caused me a lot of grief and pain and anguish. I think specifically, in that scenario, that’s something I was doing. And I think as I move forward, and I’m in new relationships and new friendships and everything, I’m learning to not sacrifice my own health and well-being for others. As much as I might care about them, it’s important to draw a line and see when it’s toxic. You can care about someone. You can do everything you want for them, but if they’re just taking advantage, it’s time to let go. 

I really love the contrast between clearer sounds and distortion you have on some of these songs. How did the production reflect your mindset?

I think just like that (laughs). There are moments of clarity in my thought process, but they’re very fleeting. At least in this time of writing music, it was like, I’d have glimmers of hope or glimmers of clarity, but it was always fleeting. And it’d be overtaken by anxiety and depression, and that’s where the distortion and saturated sounds come in. It was like, overtaking me. Not really am I consciously [aware] that my music is doing that, but that’s just how it ends up. It just makes sense to me; it reflects how I’m feeling.

What was your perception of mental health treatment when you were growing up?

Actually, very good. My mom is a big believer in therapy and getting help when needed. She’s always been a supporter of me getting help. I’ve seen therapists since I was, like, 12, on and off. So, as a kid, I struggled with depression and anxiety, as well. My mom made sure I had somebody to talk to and got help for that. So, it’s always been a very prominent part of my life, which I’m very lucky for ... [and am] so grateful for. 

I feel extremely [fortunate] to have had that opportunity since I was young. I know a lot of people aren’t fortunate enough, or it’s not something that’s discussed in their household. For my record, a lot of the early-bird profit sales went to the Loveland Foundation. It helps young girls and non-binary people of color get therapy resources. So, I’m really passionate about that.

What are some unexpected benefits from treatment that you’ve noticed?

Being grateful for little things, like water and food. I just feel much more grateful in general. I was surrounded by a lot of people in treatment who didn’t have a privileged life like I grew up having. And it just made me feel a lot more present and aware of where I come from and the things I have. I definitely didn’t expect to be rocked in that way. I knew I was going there to get help for myself, but I didn’t think that everybody else would affect me so strongly. I think that’s so important, that we all were able to share our stories with each other and have some perspective. 

Who are some artists who have helped you through difficult times, either past or currently?

Well, I’ll say it again: I love Coldplay. As cheesy as that may be, they’re, like, my favorite band, and I always go back to listening to their music. It’s got this hopeful sadness to it, and I think that’s kind of how I try to approach my music, in a way. Like, it always has this tinge of "It’s going to be okay," even though it’s a dark time. And I really appreciate that. 

Björk always helps me through anything. She’s just such an angel, and her voice is like a guiding light. When I was in high school, I listened to a lot of Bright Eyes. Even though it’s, like, the saddest music ever (laughs). There’s something about listening to sad music that brings me into a lighter place. It really attracts me. You’re not alone in those moments. So, I just like listening to music that makes you feel less alone and makes you feel comforted.

What makes you happy?

Well, I got a dog during quarantine. My dog makes me so happy. I find myself laughing so much more. That makes me happy, being around an animal. It’s just pure love, and I love that.  I feel the happiest being outside, being around my dog, being with my family. And also, just playing music so I need to get back out there and play (laughs). I am a very happy person. That’s why I was struggling so much, ‘cause I was like, "I know when I’m happy, I’m so happy" and I wanted to get back to that place. So, things have been good since. 

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Mastodon's drummer and singer Brann Dailor assures you he did not purchase his shiny golden gramophone at his local shopping mall.

“I won that! I’m telling you. It’s a major award,” he says in the latest episode of Where Do You Keep Your GRAMMY?

The metal musician won his first GRAMMY award for Best Metal Performance for Mastodon's “Sultan’s Curse” at the 2018 GRAMMYs.

“‘Sultan’s Curse’ was the jumping-off point for the whole theme of the album,” he explains. “The protagonist is walking alone in the desert, and the elements have been cursed by a Sultan.”

It’s a metaphor for illness — during the creation of the album, the band’s guitarist Bill Kelliher’s mother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor and bassist Troy Sanders’s wife was battling breast cancer.

For the band, the GRAMMY award represented their version of the American Dream and culmination of their career work. Even if Mastodon didn’t win the award, Dailor was happy to be in the room: “We felt like we weren't supposed to be there in the first place! But it's an incredible moment when they actually read your name."

Press play on the video above to learn the complete story behind Brann Dailor's award for Best Metal Performance, and check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of Where Do You Keep Your GRAMMY?

Brann Dailor Talks 20 Years Of Mastodon, New 'Medium Rarities' Collection And How He Spent The Coronavirus Lockdown Drawing Clowns

In April 1993, journalist Stuart Maconie coined the term Britpop for a Select magazine article celebrating the UK's fight back against the dominance of American rock. Remarkably, London four-piece Blur weren't even mentioned in the story. And yet, frontman Damon Albarn, guitarist Graham Coxon, bassist Alex James, and drummer Dave Rowntree would provide the catalyst for the scene's mainstream breakthrough.

Just a year later, Blur released what many consider to be Britpop's defining statement. Parklife served as a colorful, vibrant, and incredibly infectious love letter to all things Anglocentric, drawing upon the nation's great cultural heritage while also foreshadowing what was to come. And it instantly struck a chord with homegrown audiences desperate for guitar music that wasn't drowning in abject misery, and better reflected their day-to-day lives.

Remarkably, Albarn had predicted Parklife's success four years earlier. As he declared to music writer David Cavanagh in 1990, "When our third album comes out, our place as the quintessential English band of the '90s will be assured. That is a simple statement of fact."

Three decades after its game-changing release, here's a look at how Parklife forever changed both Blur's career trajectory and the history of British rock.

It Kickstarted Britpop's Greatest Rivalry

In one of those great rock coincidences, Blur's third LP hit the shelves just 24 hours after "Supersonic" gave a then-relative unknown Manchester outfit named Oasis their first ever UK Top 40 single. And the two bands would remain intertwined (perhaps begrudgingly so) from then on, culminating in the most high-profile chart battle in British music history.

You could argue that Oasis' Noel Gallagher threw the first stone, describing Parklife as "Southern England personified" in a manner that suggested it wasn't exactly complimentary. And according to his manager Alan McGee, Definitely Maybe cut "Digsy's Dinner" was written as a deliberate "piss-take of Blur."

An increasingly bitter war of words then broke out in the summer of 1995 as the "Country House" versus "Roll With It" war swept the nation. Blur emerged victorious, although Oasis had the last laugh when (What's The Story) Morning Glory spent 10 weeks atop the UK album chart.

It Brought Storytelling Back To Indie Pop

Heavily inspired by Martin Amis novel London Fields, Parklife was inhabited by a cast of intriguing fictional characters, essentially doubling up as a series of short stories. "Tracy Jacks," for example, is about a golf-obsessed civil servant who ends up getting arrested for public indecency before bulldozing his own house.

"Magic America" is the tale of Bill Barret, a Brit who commits to a life of excess during a Stateside holiday ("Took a cab to the shopping malls/ Bought and ate until he could do neither anymore"), while "Clover Over Dover" explores the mindset of a manipulative boyfriend threatening to jumping off the titular white cliffs.

Over the following 18 months, everything from Pulp's "Common People" and Space's "Neighbourhood" to Supergrass' "Caught by the Fuzz" and The Boo Radleys' "It's Lulu" were combining classic British guitar pop with witty Mike Leigh-esque vignettes of modern life.

It Originated The Big Indie Ballad

Dramatic ballads aren't necessarily the first thing that come to mind with Parklife, a record famed for its jaunty, "knees-up Mother Brown" ditties. But it boasts two examples: "To The End," an alternate Bond theme featuring a burst of Gallic flair from Stereolab's Laetitia Sadler, and the swoonsome "This Is A Low." Turns out the "mystical lager-eater" the record was designed to embody could also get a little vulnerable from time to time.

This appeared to give all of their laddish peers some pause for thought. Oasis, the most fervent advocates of the "cigarettes and alcohol" lifestyle, later scored their biggest hit with acoustic ballad "Wonderwall." And bands including Cast ("Walkaway"), Shed Seven ("Chasing Rainbows") and Menswear ("Being Brave") all enjoyed UK hits revealing their softer sides. No doubt Coldplay, Travis, and every other sensitive post-Britpop outfit that emerged in the late 1990s were taking notes, too.

It Paid Respect To The Greats

The Britpop scene was renowned for its slavish devotion to the first time British guitar bands ruled the airwaves, the Swinging Sixties. Oasis freely admitted they modeled themselves on the Beatles, while the likes of Ocean Colour Scene, Kula Shaker and The Paul Weller all released albums that sounded like they'd been discovered in a vintage record shop.

And while Blur would later distance themselves from the past with a sense of invention (which Albarn would also parlay into his various side projects, including the virtual band Gorillaz), they were more than happy to get all nostalgic on Parklife. See "Far Out," their only track to feature James on lead vocal, which resembled the trippy psychedelia of Pink Floyd in their Syd Barrett era, and the Sgt. Pepper-esque brassy instrumental "The Debt Collector," while there are also echoes of the Walker Brothers, The Kinks, and Small Faces. Suddenly, retro was the new cool.

It Turned Blur Into Britain's Biggest Guitar Band

The UK Top 10 success of 1991's "There's No Other Way" proved to be something of a false start for Blur, with the band soon falling by the wayside like every other baggy pop outfit that emerged at the turn of the decade. "Popscene," the 1992 single intended to revolutionize both their career and British guitar music in general, stalled at No. 32, while 1993 sophomore Modern Life is Rubbish sold just 40,000 copies.

But Parklife single-handedly turned Blur into Britain's biggest guitar band, reaching No. 1 in their homeland, spending 82 weeks in the Top 40, and eventually becoming a million-seller. It went on to pick up four BRITs, a Mercury Prize nomination, and has been recognized as an all-time great by Spin, Pitchfork, and Rolling Stone. Further proof of its glowing reputation came in 2009 when Royal Mail selected it as one of 10 albums worthy of commemorating on a postage stamp.

It Spawned A String Of Classic Singles

Parklife's campaign was kicked off in March 1994 with "Girls and Boys," a glorious dissection of British vacationers — which, surprisingly in the days when genre-hopping was frowned upon — evoked the '80s synth-pop of Duran Duran and Pet Shop Boys. Rowntree was even replaced by a drum machine, not that he particularly minded, luckily.

This indie floorfiller was followed up by the hugely underrated "To The End" and then the much-quoted title track. Everything about "Parklife" the song is larger than life: the Cockney geezer narration from Quadrophenia's Phil Daniels, the festival-friendly sing-along chorus, and the brightly colored video in which James — perhaps tipping his hat to Queen's "I Want to Break Free" -– donned soap opera drag. But fourth release "End of a Century," a melancholic tale of domestic drudgery complete with mournful trombone solo, once again proved there was a depth beyond their cheeky chappy personas.

It Made Brits Proud To Be British Again

Unable to connect with the oppressive angst and flannel shirts of the grunge movement that had plagued their first major North American tour in 1992, Blur first started to embrace their inherent Englishness on the following year's Modern Life is Rubbish. Unfortunately, this throwback to the original British Invasion was met with a resounding shrug of the shoulders on both sides of the Atlantic.

Undeterred, however, the band doubled down on all things Anglocentric on its follow-up, from its original title of London, to its greyhound racing cover art, to its celebrations of bank holidays, Club 18-30 holidays, and shipping forecasts. This time around, they managed to capture the zeitgeist (at home, at least), as the rise of New Labour and the forthcoming hosting of Euro '96 made everyone proud to be British again. Within 12 months, the UK charts were littered with homegrown guitar bands selling the idea of the English dream — and it all started with Parklife.

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With "Hunger," rising indie star Abby Sage takes autonomy of her body. It’s a story of shameless self-discovery as she submits to her natural desires while simultaneously breaking down the toxic ideas she learned about sex in her adolescence.

"Feed my hunger/ No shame, I'm just a beginner," she croons in the chorus. "It's my own wonder/ Don't press, I'm just a beginner."

In this episode of Press Play, watch Sage deliver an acoustic performance of the single from her debut album, The Rot, which she released on March 1. According to a statement, the project is largely about "the decomposition and reconstruction of everything I was taught," including sex, anxiety, and more.

Sage said "Hunger" is "the most important song to me on the album" adding, "I wish I heard a song like this when I was first exploring my sexuality and my sexual journey, and for that reason, I hope it reaches people."

This May, Sage will embark on an international tour that begins in Los Angeles and concludes in London, with support from gglum, spiderblush, and Jayla Kai.

Watch the video above to hear Abby Sage's empowering performance of "Hunger," and remember to check back to GRAMMY.com for more new episodes of Press Play.

Watch Genia Narrate The Pain Of Heartbreak In This Raw Performance Of "Dear Life" | Press Play

Using lively, raw instrumentals as a vehicle for emotional catharsis, Sleater-Kinney’s Little Rope takes the lead as one of their most vulnerable projects to date. 

The "Dig Me Out" singers approach their 11th studio album with a fresh perspective, influenced by their experiences during the pandemic. Despite the departure of drummer Janet Weiss in 2019, the band maintains their iconic post-riot grrrl take on rock music. Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker infuse Little Rope with reflective lyrics and raw energy, mirroring their personal growth and resilience. 

While working on the album one day, Brownstein received a call with news that nobody ever wants to hear, nor expects. She had been informed that her mother and stepfather had been involved in a fatal car accident while on vacation in Italy. Faced with grief and a sense of unfamiliarity, the band turned to something that always brought them comfort: making music. Little Rope was born.

Despite such a tragic, major life change and trying to make it through a global pandemic, Sleater-Kinney’s motive remains consistent.

"We hope to find people where they're at," Tucker explains to GRAMMY.com. "And it seems like we have, in each stage of someone’s life."

After hosting a GRAMMY U SoundChecks event with the Pacific Northwest Chapter of GRAMMY U, Sleater-Kinney sat down with GRAMMY.com to talk about their perspective on the ever-changing industry and the legendary bands they pull inspiration from.

This interview has been edited for clarity.

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It has been almost 30 years since you all released your first album. In what ways has Sleater-Kinney changed since then and what has stayed consistent? 

Corin Tucker: We still try to write songs that are emotional and that reach people. Our songwriting has developed over the years and I think we have different methodologies for writing. But, really the most important point of a song is that it makes people feel something. We still try to judge what we do by the same metric as we did 30 years ago.

Carrie Brownstein: One thing we set out to do is to have a unique sound and I think we created a sonic language with each other that we've tried to maintain, but also push the narrative forward and challenge ourselves with each album. That's been consistent from the beginning, we never — even in the early years — wanted one album to sound like the last one. Things change and the industry changes. We just try to stay true to ourselves, but also adapt.

Are there any of your early projects that you feel still resonate to this day? 

Corin Tucker: The funny thing about streaming is that people are finding some of those older songs and really getting into them. We found out at the end of last year that people were really into one or two songs off of our very first self-titled record. A really nice thing about having your music available digitally is that it's available to everyone all over the world. 

Path of Wellness (2021) was self-produced, as it was made during the peak of the COVID-19 pandemic and Little Rope (2024) was produced by GRAMMY-winning producer John Congleton. What was it like going from a self-produced project to having John on the next project? Was there a certain reason you chose to work with John? 

Carrie Brownstein: Self-producing for us was very anomalous. We've always worked with producers and one of the reasons is to just have an outside perspective — somebody to come in and be the tiebreaker or to just bounce ideas off of. So, it was kind of a no-brainer to return to a producer after the solitary of the pandemic. 

We have always been fans of John Congleton's work. We come from similar backgrounds and have been in talks to work with him for a while. Fortunately for this album, it worked out and we felt like these songs would be really well served by his productions. 

Could you tell us a little bit about your dynamic as a music duo? When writing songs, do you both try to work on them 50/50 or is it on-and-off, where one of you may take the lead for certain songs? And what was this collaboration like specifically with Little Rope? 

Corin Tucker: Our goal is always to make the song as strong as it can be. We’ve worked together long enough to know that that's the most important thing. Sometimes a song is more an idea of one or the other, and you need to wait until they’ve fleshed it out to come in with your parts. We have a bunch of different modalities and we just try to keep the conversation going. It's a lot about communication – it's an ongoing constant conversation between the two of us on where the song is at and what we think it might need.

Can you share any standout memories or experiences from when you were writing Little Rope?

Carrie Brownstein: My friend has an apartment in Downtown Portland and he was out of town. So, he let us use the space as a writing studio. And neither of us live in Downtown Portland, so it was interesting to be in this highrise in Portland looking out over the city — sort of being in conversation with the city and changing the landscape in which we were writing was nice to have.

As Pacific Northwest natives, how do you see your Pacific Northwest roots stick out in your music? 

Corin Tucker: A lot of the sounds from the historic bands you can hear in our music. You can hear Nirvana, you can hear the Fastbacks, so you can hear so many of those Pacific Northwest musicians. They were bands that we grew up with and bands that we still try and emulate with what we do.

I feel like a good number of Sleater-Kinney fans have stayed fans and grown with you all over the years. What about your music and your brand do you think resonates with people even in different stages of their lives, and how did you foster this dynamic? 

Carrie Brownstein: Sleater-Kinney’s a very earnest band. We wear our hearts on our sleeves and I think our audience appreciates that rawness and vulnerability. It's emotional music.

We have a lot of younger and newer fans. I think they relate to the emotionality and the honesty in the music, so that’s what we try to stick with.

You have said that The Showbox is one of your favorite venues to play at in Seattle. How does it feel being back at The Showbox for two sold-out shows? 

Carrie Brownstein: We really enjoy the intimacy of a smaller venue, allowing the fans to get a little closer to the stage and feeling more connected with them. It's just nice to feel a sense of history, a through line with our career and our relationship with the city. We're really excited to be here. 

I’m curious to know how your fans reacted to Little Rope. Have you noticed any common reactions to the project? Or any particular responses that have stood out?

Corin Tucker: People really relate to the emotion in the music. We've gotten a lot of people saying that it helped them through a hard time. Having that impact on people is pretty special when they feel like it's okay to be emotional and process things with music.

Lastly, you have the rest of your international tour to go, but what else is coming up for Sleater-Kinney? 

Corin Tucker: We're very excited to play shows internationally. There may be some cool stuff coming up that maybe hasn't been announced yet, but we're looking forward to more touring.

Carrie Brownstein: For an album cycle, it's almost two years and so, for the most part it will be, it'll be touring and then we'll write something else.

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