Grab your bedazzled broomstick and prepare for a spellbinding journey through feminist awakening, indie rock stardom, and radical self-discovery. B*TCHCRAFT: A Musical Play, now casting its spell at wild project through March 1, follows the metamorphosis of a classical violin prodigy into the beloved queer icon known simply as Bitch. This electrifying autobiographical tale weaves together childhood memories, political activism, and pop-infused musical numbers that will have you dancing down the aisles.
Fresh off the success of her genre-defying album Bitchcraft, Bitch brings her signature blend of violin virtuosity and synthesizer sorcery to the stage, backed by a stellar creative team including director Margie Zohn and songwriting collaborator Faith Soloway (Transparent). The show, which opened February 10 after four years of development, transforms wild project into a cauldron of creativity where classical training meets punk rock rebellion, and domestic work becomes a revolutionary act. We sat down with Bitch to discuss everything from her artistic evolution to the power of reclaiming controversial names in an age of social media censorship.
Chloe Yang (CY): Are you based in New York City?
Bitch (B): I lived here for 15 years. I left Brooklyn in 2011 and went to a log cabin in Michigan, then I went to LA for quite a few years, and during the pandemic, I moved to Boston, where I still am.
CY: How did you come to choose the name Bitch?
B: You have to come see the show! I was a classically trained violinist, then took what my parents saw as a left turn when I went to acting school. In college, I went through this feminist awakening and met my first bandmate, who would become Animal. We took on these names to represent the wildness we felt women weren’t allowed to be. Bitch is generally used to insult women who take up space and speak their minds, so it was definitely a rebellious feminist theatrical act. It was very liberating and just stuck — people didn’t start knowing our real names until about 2010.
CY: What were some of your early musical influences?
B: Sinéad O’Connor was a huge influence in my younger days. Then when we came into the queer scene, we were playing shows with bands like Le Tigre and Team Dresch. My latest album, Bitchcraft, is the most poppy album I’ve ever released. I’ve been drawn to artists like Fever Ray and VAGABON. Another early influence was rhythm — my mom was a tap dancing teacher and had a tap dancing school in our basement, so the floors of our house were always emanating rhythm.
And if you’re looking into queer music history, check out my elder, Ferron. When I heard her music for the first time, I realized how as queer people, we get so disconnected from our own lineage. I produced an album of hers called Boulder — I got musicians to play on it, including the Indigo Girls, Ani DiFranco, and Julie Wolf, and carried my laptop around for a couple years while I was touring to work on it.
CY: What do the broomstick and violin represent in your work?
B: I’ve been playing the violin since I was four and was raised playing classical. When I went to acting school, I put my violin away, which was heartbreaking because I lost so much of my technique. Animal encouraged me to approach it differently — you don’t have to play that fast run of that Mozart concerto. You can just play one note or three notes, and make something you want to hear. I took lessons with Andrew Bird before he was famous, because he was also classically trained and then self-taught in styles like fiddle and jazz.
The broom thing came to me in a witchy inspirational moment, as a way to honor women’s work. One of my comfort things is sweeping — I do it a bit obsessively. It gets me thinking about women’s work and domestic work, and how it’s generally unpaid in capitalism and patriarchy. I decided to bedazzle it and make it glorious. Any group of people … Any village … Any family needs someone who’s making the soup, washing the dishes, doing the care-taking — that;s such a valuable part of any human system. And of course, the broom has the witch reference, challenging those stereotypes of the ugly, evil witch riding a broom.
CY: Your newest album is described as “poppy and poetic.” How do you balance those elements?
B: I gave up on commercial success years ago. The thing that’s influenced my writing the most has been structure, especially with Bitchcraft. I’d always approached music from my poetry and lyrics, so I would bend my music to meet the lyrics. Using pop music structure — fitting into eight bars and then changing — has been a fun challenge. I used to rebel against any structure, but now I understand why pop structure works and why it feels good to the body.
CY: What stage is the show at right now?
B: We did previews this weekend, and then last night was the official opening. We were tweaking all the way up to an hour before the doors opened.
Q: Were you working with a familiar team or new people in New York City?
A: My co-writer and director Margie Zohn and I were a built-in team, and Faith Soloway, my songwriting collaborator, was part of the original team. But all the design team members were new to us. A lot of them were wild project recommendations. The costume team were my people — I was introduced to Andrea Lauer through a good artist friend, and Dusty and I have worked together for a long time.
CY: You specifically call B*TCHCRAFT a “musical play” rather than a musical — why is that?
B: We‘ve been writing this for four years, and it’s gone through quite a few iterations. At first, we were building it around the songs of Bitchcraft — these songs were already written, not necessarily for specific scenes. As we‘ve gotten farther along, especially with wild project giving us a budget to hire designers, we wanted to go deeper on the story. That meant we wanted some new songs — like a song about when I named myself Bitch, or a song from my childhood when I discovered the violin. I started collaborating with Faith Soloway, whose main world is musicals. This version is an interesting blend — there are some more traditional musical songs and straight-up pop songs.
CY: How do you think about reaching new audiences, especially younger generations?
B: It’s interesting because social media platforms that we’ve all been investing in are changing. I’ve been using Instagram Reels and TikTok, but because of the name Bitch, it’s very hard for me. When I put out my last album, the record label wasn’t allowed to do any sponsored ads in the metaverse. It’s ironic and telling — you see all this objectified content of women on social media, yet they’ll shadow ban a feminist artist who’s reclaimed the word bitch. Men can use it in lyrics all the time. You can say bitch all you want on television as long as you’re insulting women, but it becomes such an issue when I want to take it on as a name to make a statement.
CY: Beyond music, how do you engage with community and activism? Do you have any advice about building community in these tumultuous times?
B: My friend Toshi Reagon — you must look her up — did a livestream from Joe’s Pub and said something that stuck with me: she woke up that morning and thought, “I am so glad I have a practice.” My practice is my art and my music. I try to engage in community outreach through my social media, highlighting different organizations I believe in. We’re in a crucial time where we have to connect, and we have to figure out ways to connect without using the tools of the people trying to oppress us. There’s something about real life — meeting with people on the corner, having check-ins, getting involved in our local issues. Pick your issue that you believe in and go hard into it. Currently, for me, that is my art. I try to encourage people to see each other, accept each other, share space together … have a meal together. Now more than ever, our unity is crucial.
