Confessions of an Interviewer, pt. 1
the right question changes everything
I’m ten minutes into the call with Paul Banks, the lead singer of Interpol, and it’s not going well. I’m interviewing him for The Talks — he’s promoting Interpol’s new record — and I can tell he is not in the mood. He’s clearly been doing nonstop press for the past few weeks, and his jaded dissociation oozes through our Zoom call.
During one of his dispassionate replies, I scan my questions, and try to strategize: I have 20 minutes left with him, and before my time is up, I need to deliver an engaging, timeless interview. No pressure.
I know I need to make this happen, somehow, but part of me is distracted by the low-key disappointment that inevitably seeps in when you finally meet one of your “idols” and they don’t live up to your expectations. Interpol was one of my favourite bands as a teen, and I traveled far and wide to see them live several times. When the opportunity to interview Paul Banks came up at The Talks, my colleague and editor-in-chief were kind of neutral about it — we’d been getting a lot of big names for the publication and Interpol seemed almost niche in comparison. HOLD THE PRESS! I’ll do it! I tried to keep it cool but I couldn’t believe it. My absolute teen dream coming true.
Needless to say I did A LOT of research and spent a significant amount of time trying to come up with the perfect questions: questions that would help me bring to life the best interview with Paul Banks E-VER. But, as is often the case, things don’t quite turn out as you expect.
Then, just as I’m beginning to lose my hope, he suddenly mentions a book he’s just finished. I see the tiniest ray of light coming in through a crack in the door, and I slide my leg in: “Wait, which book? Tell me about it.”
This is it. He perks up. We finally hit it off and the ensuing conversation led to an interview that had an incredible reach amongst Interpol fans and beyond. We talk about Henry Miller, lyric-writing and heartbreak. About streams of consciousness, hip hop as a lyrical genre, and how to bring old songs back to life.
***
The other day I received a The New Yorker tote bag in the mail. It reads, “The Right Question Changes Everything.” Considering that I am no longer subscribed to The New Yorker, and therefore shouldn’t be getting their mail, I consider this a sign from the universe (also, love me a freebie!).
I like signs from the universe and I love the postulate. I do think it’s true, but perhaps not in the way you’d initially think.
Yes, no doubt about it — the right question can change everything. But as someone who’s carried out hundreds of interviews, I can tell you that the real game changer is rather asking that right question, at the right time. In other words, the golden key to a good interview is listening. And I mean, truly listening to the individual sitting in front of you, or at the other end of the landline, on the other side on the world. Listening deeply, you can get a feeling for the mood, the intention, the places where cracks in the door might lead to a spark; and in turn, the ability to follow those sparks might lead to that particular conversation, that particular story that you can tell together. Sometimes that means abandoning those (no doubt deep! no doubt brilliant!) original questions and making peace with the fact that it won’t be that — but it will be uniquely this.
***
I’ve told this story before, because it was such a formative experience, but if you would indulge me, I’d love to add more details. Years back I had the privilege of interviewing the founding father of American conceptual art, Lawrence Weiner. Lawrence's rep demanded my questions in advance, something we normally never agreed to, but that one time, given his legacy, we rolled with it. Research was done, themes were chosen, questions were created, sent and approved, and days later, I jump on the call with Lawrence. He picks up the phone, and the first thing he says is, “So, I just had a look at your questions, and you know what? Let’s talk about something else.”
Oh, God. What? Why?! I froze. I am by no means an expert in American conceptual art, and whilst it might sound incredibly cool to be able to just chat to a luminary artist, it’s a little bit different when your job depends on its outcome.
But Lawrence was in the mood to philosophise about gesture, language, and the meaning of art in life, and there was simply nothing I could do but go along with him. The conversation that ensued was bumpy and wonderful at the same time.
Lawrence had the relaxed manner of a 75-year-old who gave absolutely no damns anymore. He was happy to look back at how things were when he was young and talk about how he sees the world now. All I could do was listen closely, get a feel for his mood and his passions, and build on the spontaneous conversation one brick at a time. I had obviously done a lot of research on him and his legacy, so I tried to sprinkle in questions on his iconic pieces whenever it made sense.
I didn’t pick up on this in the moment, but later on, as I transcribed and edited the interview, I realised something. “You have to look at something as what it is in the moment,” Lawrence told me. It dawned on me, then, that he was not only referring to his philosophy on art — this was indicative of the way he lived his life: no pre-set questions, just right here, right now.
That’s when it hit me: an interviewer is a vessel for the right question, at the right time.
Bonus: