Inside Carrie Brownstein's creative process; punk band Savages; Sundance preview

I had earlier collaborators, but in terms of almost learning a vernacular with someone else and creating a shared musical language — you know, [Sleater-Kinney bandmate Corin Tucker and I] kind of learned how to play guitar with each other. We developed a style based on the continuations of phrases and kind of half-chords that we Frankensteined together to make the sound of Sleater-Kinney. That makes her, I think, sort of the most significant collaborator I’ve had, in that it was innovation. That to me is a very crucial form of collaboration. Because the idea is, with someone else, you can innovate in a way you wouldn’t be able to do by yourself.

I definitely love performing live because there are moments of spontaneity. And as much as you’re performing on stage, I feel like the audience is performing, too.



In "Portlandia" or any show where you have a crew — especially in comedy — getting tricked into thinking that people laughing on set translates into something that works in the edit is dangerous. Sometimes a thing that seems really funny on set does not serve the story.

Absolutely. So much of it is about the ways that we start to curate our lives. The same way that we curate our online selves and cut out the things we don’t want to know about. I feel like people have made their neighborhoods and their cities like this too, for better or worse. Is it really for the best? It’s a little bit of calling into question of how we’re benefiting culture as a whole by making  everything so precious.



We like to poke fun at mostly ourselves, but I think a lot of people have been able to relate to it.

I would say that most of the characters on the show are permutations of Fred [Armisen] or me. We do play heightened versions of ourselves. That allows a level of absurdity, I think. And it allows you to kind of explore something with a little more surreality or levity than you would than if you were just playing yourself. You can just be sillier. 

That’s before "Portlandia"! That’s before we were a TV show and we were just making videos for our friends.

Yes, I’m very glum now. Well, before, Fred and I were working under the moniker ThunderAnt. There was a clumsiness to it because it was less pointed. We weren’t working with scripts. Sometimes we just had one idea and ran with that without a lot of editing. But it certainly was the seed for "Portlandia" and I think our sensibility and chemistry was formed therein. But now it’s nice to have scripts and beats and characters.

Fred and I both come from music backgrounds of small, insular indie rock communities who profess to this inclusive nature, but then seem very exclusive. There are a lot of very codified rules — how to be, how to dress, what to like, what not to like — that were very labyrinthine and flummoxing. It was difficult to navigate these rules and it felt very anathema to the community if you didn’t follow the rules. "Portlandia" is definitely a manifestation of those formative years for us.



Also in terms of our music background, we think of the writing with a musicality. There’s a percussiveness, there’s a rhythm. He and I can be very irreverent sometimes. We like to dissect things and we’re sort of unafraid in that way. At the same time, we like it to be kind-hearted. We really have a good working relationship. 

We were very surprised. I think everyone’s question the first year was, Will people get this outside of Portland? And that was answered, a resounding yes! Because Portland — and the reason it’s called Portlandia — is such a substitute for so many cities and communities like Portland. And it’s more like a mindset. You don’t have to immerse yourself in Williamsburg or Silver Lake to understand what we’re talking about on the show.

It is very important. My methodology in terms of writing and thinking has always been in relation to nature and the outdoors. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest. I still live part of the time in Oregon. What I love about the West Coast and what I’ve always found difficult about being on the East Coast in bigger cities is that nature is a little more disconnected from where people live. I like that blurriness between city and forest. Luckily, here in Los Angeles it’s pretty easy to get up into the hills and do hikes. I don’t take my phone. I just think. And when I get back, I write down ideas. And I’ve done that in Portland, I did that in Washington state where I grew up, and I do that here. So I’m very much of a West Coast person in that the idea of landscape and spaces is very intrinsic to how I work.

Beth: I think what I like in performance is the ambiguity of things. So if there is a kind of androgynous side to things, I will take it. I like the idea of seeing the idea of a performance that you're wondering, Is it a man or is it a woman? Being a bit confused, I like it. 



I've always been a tomboy since I was really young, but I think I'm mostly feminine. I really have both sides and I really like people who embrace the both sides of their personality. Also, there's something really enjoyable being a woman on stage and being fierce and not responding to the usual expectations from being one gender or another. 

Beth: I remember when I started making music, I didn't have a job on the side. People in the music industry at the time would say, "Oh, this is the worst year in the business." Then the next year they would be like, "Oh, this is worse than last year." It kept getting worse and worse. So in a way, I think there's something lucky about our generation. 



We've never really been professional musicians in the glorious times of the profession, so we know what it's like to work with nothing. I think that's something precious. But when you start, you do it because you're in a room with these people and there's an energy. You don't think, Oh, is this really a good career plan for me? 



Milton: But it's great ... it cuts out people being involved in music for money, because there isn't any.