Possibly 4th Street #11: Kaki King Performs on the F-Train Subway


Rob Trucks’s “Possibly 4th Street” expositions, in which he invites musicians to perform live and impromptu somewhere in New York City, run frequently here at Sound of the City. The first half of this week’s Kaki King piece also ran in print and was originally published over here.

photo by Rob Trucks

Possibly 4th Street

Volume II, Issue Eleven (Part One)
a/k/a Subway Series, v1.1
Kaki King
by Rob Trucks

Kaki King, “2 O’Clock” (MP3)

If you know Kaki King, you know her as a guitar player. A special one. A rare breed of genreless six-string (rather than five-button) Guitar Hero: young, female, Southern, and slight of stature. Her facility has been freshly flaunted and recently rewarded by no less than a Golden Globe nomination for her soundtrack work on Sean Penn’s Into the Wild; more tangibly, she received a “sweaty, shirtless hug” from Dave Grohl after their duet on the recent Foo Fighters track, “Ballad of the Beaconsfield Miners.”

Yes, King’s talent manifests itself both aurally and visually. Particularly on those two-handed “tappy” numbers, wherein, like a discordant disciple of Smokey the Bear, she figuratively sets her guitar alight while physically smothering that same instrument with frequent and furious hand pats, as if trying to put out a fire without the benefit of blanket or extinguisher. And yet despite these fingers of frenzy (honed by her years as a teenage percussionist), on disc, King’s compositions soar lightly, like a balloon peering down on some new-age/jazz hybrid.

But even if you’ve heard (or seen) King’s guitar work, you are likely unacquainted with her voice. Only four of the 11 songs on her new Dreaming of Revenge contain vocals, but even that small percentage is a meaningful increase from her 2003 debut, the fully instrumental Everybody Loves You. Like that of, say, Jill Sobule or Juliana Hatfield, King’s not-oft-heard voice is near-childlike in its high-pitched guilelessness. So it’s not surprising that, when we meet at the confluence of the L, F, and V lines below 14th Street and Sixth Avenue to re-create a session from King’s days of busking past, she offers a cookie. And not just any shortbread, either. No, the multiple musical threat arrives with a selection of black-and-white cookies replete with Seinfeld-ian symbolism—you know, the undulating universality of New York City. These proffered pieces of frosted baked goods are a foreshadowing as well, for, as we will learn, they resolutely represent King’s munificence of spirit.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“Busking,” she says, “really came out of . . . it totally dealt with 9/11. I started busking because it really was something to just . . . do. Like, how does one spend their time?”

When the planes hit, King was just short of completing her studies at NYU. In fact, her colloquium—sort of an oral defense in her field of study, Music and Aesthetic Philosophy (“What I studied was a lot of literature, a lot of philosophical text, and a lot of music”)—was scheduled for September 12, 2001. “Instead of having, you know, the future ahead of me, and life is beautiful, I’m in New York going, ‘What . . . am . . . I . . . doing?’ And we were all like that.”

Yes, we were.

Within the most unique aftermath in the city’s history—a period defined by shock and suspicion, reaching out and reassessment—Kaki King took her guitar and headed toward the subway.

“It was a hell of a lot better than sitting at home,” she says. “The following weeks, it was terrible being around, because all the photographs of people were everywhere, on every bus stop and everything. And you realized pretty soon that those people were all dead. So it honestly just gave me a healthy way to spend my time.”

There were other benefits as well. The mettle of the moment, combined with the uncommon sight of a sprightly Southern female barely able to restrain a definitively dramatic talent, added up to more than a little pocket change at a time when King was technically unemployed.

This, of course, was all before Atlanta native and NYU graduate Kaki King became “Kaki King, recording artist.” And so, over an eight-month period, from the autumn of 2001 into the following spring, she played through a roughly 12-song repertoire (plenty for a guitarist who starts and stops in time with the trains as they enter and exit the station)—a Martin Simpson cover, a Preston Reed cover, her own material. Instrumentals like “Night After Sidewalk,” “Happy as a Dead Pig in the Sunshine,” and “Close Your Eyes & You’ll Burst into Flames” were all performed underneath 14th and Sixth in front of a transient and transiting audience. And each of those expansively titled tunes found a home on King’s first album.

“A lot of it,” she says, “was sort of my training ground to get really good at those songs.”

Soon enough, King was performing with the Blue Man Group; then came a regular gig at the Knitting Factory and a recording contract. And yet those underground sessions brought her something else. Something, as saccharine as it may sound, even more important than the first firm footsteps of what would become her career.

“I would play, and people would thank me,” she says. “Or they would write me a note. And I don’t think that would happen now. And for me, being able to just play music and be in the world . . . having a shared experience during that time was really very important. I felt like people really appreciated having someone just playing music—like a generosity of listening. It was a very nice experience, but a poignant one at the same time.”

Kaki King plays the Bowery Ballroom April 9,


Embeddable YouTube version here


photo by Rob Trucks

Possibly 4th Street
Volume II, Issue Eleven (Part Two)
a/k/a Subway Series, v1.2
Kaki King

Atlanta native and six-string (not five-button) hero Kaki King

About 1:30 p.m. on Sunday, February 24th

The downtown platform along the F and V trains below 14th Street and Sixth Avenue

Something Kaki King has never ever done:
“I have never been on a camping trip.”

Something King has done once and one time only:

A book she’s read at least twice:

A movie she’s seen at least three times:
Waiting for Guffman.

The album she’s listened to more than any other in her life:
“Definitely an album called Split by the band Lush. Absolutely.”

Do you own a rake?

Did you apply to NYU because it was NYU or because you wanted to come to school in New York?
“It was definitely a bit of both, but NYU had a very interesting school, college within the university called Gallatin, and I was very interested in that program, so it was definitely a bit of both.”

And what’s the course of study?
“The course of study is that you design your own course of study. Which can attract a lot of – I do not say this in any way (negatively) because I love the college so much – it can attract a flaky element, but it can also attract some of the most incredible, individual people who are 18 years old and ready to think for themselves.”

Were you one of those people?
“I think by 19 I was one of those people. Maybe not at 18. At 18 I still needed a little scholastic guidance, but by 19 I was very much, I was really, really into going after what I wanted to learn.”

How long did your busking period last?
“Probably about eight months. I started in the fall and I stopped in late spring because I had my album and I started playing a regular gig at the Knitting Factory and that’s where I met my label and management.”

photo by Rob Trucks

Why did you decide to play in the subway as opposed to above ground? I mean, in September and October the weather’s still nice here.
“I think you actually get hassled a bit more (above ground). The problem with playing outside is there’s nothing for your sound to bounce off of, so you’re just gone, you know. People just can’t hear you.”

But you played through an amp.
“Yes, but even so . . .”

And amps are technically illegal.
“They’re technically illegal and I was doing it anyway. The thing is that before 9/11 the people that policed that system were undercover MTA cops, and after 9/11 they had a hell of a lot more to worry about than subway musicians using amplifiers.”

Let’s talk about the title of your new album, Dreaming of Revenge.
“It’s actually a quote from Gauguin. And the quote is ‘Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.'”

Is that something you identify with? It sounds a little harsh.
“No. And I knew that I’d be answering this question every time I did an interview.”

Well, yeah. There’s a good chance someone might ask about your album title.
“I know. But I feel like it opens another fun can of worms which is, it’s entirely tongue in cheek. To me. I mean, it’s something that, in a way, it’s so true, and yet he couldn’t possibly have meant that. He couldn’t have possibly been saying that with utter truth. There must’ve been some kind of impish cynicism, a slight tongue in cheek way.”

I don’t know. Some of us have a tendency to luxuriate in our contrariness.
“Maybe that’s exactly what he was doing, but I just found the quote so funny. And I thought that it was so kind of appropriate. But I think of it as something that Morrissey would say, you know. It’s like this dark, humorous thing.”

I can absolutely see Morrissey saying it. But I’m not sure that people see you and Morrissey as possessing the same brand of dark humor.
“Well, I’m the least vengeful person in the world. In fact, I wasn’t really raised religious, but I was raised in the Methodist church, in a specific church.”

A former boss of mine once said that you can believe anything you want to believe and be Methodist.
“Yes, exactly. It was all about forgiveness. And I’ve never ever held a grudge and I really don’t think I’ve ever had a vengeful thought. If I have had a jealous thought, I try to turn it into an inspirational thing.”

So if you’ve never had a vengeful thought I guess no one’s ever broken up with you.
“People have certainly broken up with me, but I’ve been trained in some way to transfer negative feelings into something positive. And not to say that I’m not as depressed and fucked up as every other human being, it’s just in terms of Dreaming of Revenge, it’s not me that would be the one dreaming of revenge.

“It just makes no sense for that to be something to spend your mental energy on, to be cross with someone about something, or hurt and carry that hurt with you and hold grudges and bring shit up that happened in the past.”

I find that relationships and reason have very little to do with each other, though.
“Yeah, that’s true. That’s totally true. But I would say that if anyone was dreaming of any type of revenge, like ‘I hope she is alone forever,’ it wasn’t me.”

What do you want to do that you haven’t done?
“I want to go to Newfoundland. I want to drive from New York, up through Nova Scotia, go to Halifax, then take the ferry to Newfoundland and drive the circumference of Newfoundland, and then I want to take the ferry back and drive all the way back to New York.”

Why Newfoundland?
“Because it just seems doable. And I already planned it and I was going to do it. And because I want to see Northern Lights, which I’ve only seen one time in my life, and you can see them there. And–I don’t know–it’s a destination.”


Embeddable YouTube version here