Sasami's New Album Squeeze Is A Haunted House

By Danielle Chelosky


In several ways, Sasami Ashworth’s life has been leading up to this moment. Studying classical music through middle school and high school, the Los Angeles-based artist has been refining her ear since she was a kid. Right after furthering her research in college, she became a music teacher while touring with bands part-time. It was once she was assisting Bright Eyes member Nate Walcott with arranging for other artists that she realized what she wanted to do.


“I began understanding that my fluency in classical music and rock music would be tapped into,” she says over the phone in late January. “I could tap into that fluency, and have a role as a translator between the two worlds. I began doing that work for other artists, like Curtis Harding, and I did vocals for Wild Nothing and I played horn on Hand Habits.”


She switched to touring full-time in the well-known indie-rock order Cherry Glazerr. In 2019, she released her eponymous debut solo album, which boasts an ethereal image of her posing unsteadily on a melting glacier. The picture encapsulates the unforgettable, emotionally intense landscape of the music; the synthy songs evoke a bittersweet feeling, powerful in their ability to balance sadness and beauty.


Ashworth doesn’t imagine that to be her first album. “It was really a way for me to process my emotions and test out production ideas that I had over the years,” she says. “Participating on so several other people’s albums sort of feels like I’ve been different organs in other people’s bodies. I’ve been the liver, I’ve been the lungs, I’ve been the small intestine of other people’s assignments. I feel like I eventually got to the point where I was willing to put all of these experiences with each other and make my own body of work. I was prepared to be the brain of the operation for that album.”


Squeeze, out today (February 25), is a rebirth. The singles already hinted at this; the ferocious “Sorry Entertainer” was unleashed last year, explicitly conveying the metallic path she was heading down. Hyper-speed drums, caustic riffs, and volatile vocals come with each other to form a daunting anthem that explodes with pure rage. She goes from whispering creepily to screaming to coughing. She’s almost possessed. “Skin a Rat,” which arrived months later, dove deeper into this exorcism.


For Ashworth, this pivot was organic in light of the pandemic. “With creating something at a time that was really dark and depressing and awful, you could go in a couple different directions. One is to prepare something that turns that mood around, like something inspiring and bright. Or a second alternative could be to make something that’s sort of sad and contemplative and going deeper into that emotional space. And then third could be leaning deeper into the element of agitation, anger, and rage. I determined to go more in that direction.”


“I was getting really sick of being immediately compared to Jay Som, Mitski, and Japanese Breakfast just because we’re all Asian femme,” she continues. “I was actively pushing to prepare a heavy rock album that couldn’t even be called an indie-rock album. That’s segment of the reason why I leaned into metal, because I was sort of trolling. I was like, ‘I dare you to fucking compare me to all these people if I’m literally making metal music.’”


This foray is Ashworth’s way of proving herself, however it’s also a means for her to carve space for herself and her listeners in a scene that’s been historically dominated by white gentlemen. “I think that it’s piece of an artist’s job to demystify certain cultural textures and sounds and worlds and shine a light on them,” she says. Even so, the album isn’t trapped indoor of a solitary genre. “Make It Right” is a spurt of jangly indie-pop that adds several minutes of weightlessness amidst the madness; “Feminine Water Turmoil” disposes of the well known bass that characterizes the heavy album and as a substitute brings on a bone-chilling string arrangement.


Ashworth’s focus, she explains, isn't on drawing from certain influences or playing with specific genres; she is simply trying to channel moods by thinking of her music in terms of colors, textures, and temperatures. It is a bare-bones approach, so it makes sense that she sees herself as a composer rather than a rock musician or an indie singer-songwriter. She is leading an eclectic orchestra, guiding the listener through a collection of sounds, most of which can’t really conveniently be grouped or labeled.


“I made a challenge for myself to prepare a body of work that I think would keep people’s attention the complete time,” she says. “I’ve made a unspoken promise with the listener; if they promise to give me 35 minutes of their time, I promise to keep it interesting for them.”


Ashworth, because of her years of teaching and touring, understands how to tend to attention spans. “I have this idea that in case you could keep the eye of 35 children with tambourines, you could certainly keep a persons vision of a roomful of drunk adults,” she says. The album conjures the energy of a live show; she intentionally focused on theatrics and improvisation, which lend the songs the sort of spontaneous magic noticed in real life, where it’s impossible to tell what’s around the corner. The album art, morphing her with a Japanese yōkai folk spirit called Nure-onna, adds a ruthless image that grounds the listener in this fantastical world where aggression is more than welcome. Violence becomes a love language, and destruction is a form of communication.


Listening to Squeeze is, as Ashworth says, very much like going through a haunted home or a corn maze. The influence of Japanese horror, specifically the movies Lady Snowblood and House, certainly enhances the intensity. The closer, “Not a Love Song,” feels like the ideal exit into safety. It encapsulates the moment of relief of stepping out of the dark building and being wrapped up in the light and the coolness of the world, and the adrenaline comedown that slowly seeps in. Ashworth isn't the only one being reborn with this record; the listener is, too.