Gina Birch on The Raincoats, <em>Trouble</em>, and the Power of Self-Expression
Gina Birch didn’t just come up through punk — she helped write its most resistant and seminal feminist manifestos.
As a founding member of The Raincoats, Birch sparked a revolution that carved out space for women in the fiercely male-dominated worlds of punk and post-punk music. With her raw basslines, unguarded lyrics, and fearless spirit, she helped forge a new template for artistic autonomy — one where experimentation, vulnerability, and political defiance could all coexist.
In 2023, Birch released her first solo record, I Play My Bass Loud — a bold testament to her enduring drive to challenge conventions and claim space on her own terms. Blending raw punk energy with personal storytelling, the album explored themes of autonomy, womanhood, and resistance with unflinching honesty and a trademark defiance.
Now returning with her second solo record, the aptly titled Trouble, Gina Birch fearlessly embraces the unruly and the strange with razor-sharp wit and unapologetic intensity, even further cementing her place as one of the most vital, uncompromising, and pioneering voices in music and art.
KP: I’d like to start all the way back at the very beginning. You were born in Nottingham at a time when women faced innumerable restraints — rigid ideas about who they should be, what jobs they should hold, and how they were expected to act.
GB: In those days, I went to an all-girls school, so it was not so obvious that we would be unleashed into such an unfavorable world. Art school began to reveal the extent to which boys and men had higher expectations of themselves and were treated as such. We had far fewer role models and had to find our own way. I suspect that mostly we were destined to be wives, mothers, and, if lucky, teachers.
I worked very hard to make artwork, but I was unsure if what I was doing was okay. I kept a lot of my art a secret and never showed anyone — that is probably the condition of the artist. It was only when I started The Raincoats with Ana [da Silva] that we found a space for ourselves to explore and experiment in a small part of the world that found what we were doing to be interesting — even exciting. I realize that was very fortunate.
KP: It was both fortunate and necessary, the best combination! And forming The Raincoats shattered those repressive expectations and created an indelible launchpad for women in music, especially in rock.
GB: Ana and I had different takes on things, I suppose. I was passionate about the unruly Slits and the raucousness of their lyrics and ideas. Ana was more influenced by Patti Smith and had written bits of poetry, so she was very poised to attempt to write songs. She’d say differently, but I had never written anything in my life and couldn’t even play a chord. I just knew that I wanted to be part of a band just like The Slits was.
One day I bought a bass and attempted to learn how to tune it and to play some notes. Ana came back from Madeira, where she grew up, and heard about this. Then we got together and started to try to write some songs. Ana was very encouraging about the fact that I should try to write some lyrics and a song, so I made my minimal texts of “No One’s Little Girl” and “In Love,” which obviously are polar opposites… Confused? Yes. I knew that I wanted to stand on my own two feet and not have a boyfriend, but then you get a crush and find yourself paralyzed with those hormones and feelings that infatuation brings. I grew up in that time, living in a squat with no hot water, lonely in my two rooms at the top of a crumbling house, wondering who I was or who I might become.
KP: Well, in a sense, it sounds like the perfect breeding ground for self-discovery, which I’m sure was the perfect launchpad that you needed.
What do you feel propelled you to shatter stereotypes and help pave the way for future generations of women? I imagine that environment must have felt incredibly limiting at the time.
GB: Nothing really propelled us into that — we were just being ourselves, and that’s what punk, for me, was all about. I would never have formed a band if I was using stars as role models — I had no musical experience, no training, nothing. Looking at singers like Melanie or Janis Joplin, it never would have occurred to me to do anything like that. Punk was a time when some of us gathered courage from each other to just give it a go, to start a band, to open a record shop, to start anything that you never thought of doing before and had no experience in — just a passion and a spirit. That, and we tried to make something that wasn’t emulating what had come before.
KP: I think that’s the greatest spirit to have.
The Raincoats have long been celebrated as one of the first feminist punk bands. At the time, did it feel like you were making a bold, consciously feminist statement — or did that understanding emerge for you more in hindsight?
GB: We did do things ourselves in our own way, but we hadn’t put a label on our practice. It was when Vicky joined the band that she observed what we were doing — how we did things, how we were so autonomous, and just got on with everything — was a feminist act. She considered us to be feminist in our outlook. That was before our first tour or recordings, so it was very early on that we embraced the label, partly perhaps because it was something that seemed like the right thing to do, even though it was tricky at the time.
KP: In such a wayward world, how do you respond to those who argue that music and politics should be kept separate?
GB: I don’t argue about that — do what you will and make the art that you want to make. “Happiness,” a song on my album, is like a mantra about happiness coming and going, about sunshine bursting through you. As humans, we have the capacity for pleasure, pain, growth, and destruction.
KP: How do you think that women today can use creativity to actively engage with their rights and meet the challenges of current events?
GB: Dancing could stop wars! I think that women engage with challenges in so many different ways — in some cases through power, in some through their appearance, through their stories, and by gaining more and more acceptance in our Western culture. Yes, I know it’s not very radical — perhaps Pussy Riot is our finest example, where they stood up to such a giant force and paid a very high price.
KP: I think that they’re one of the greatest examples of genuine, action-based progression; you are definitely right about that.
And on the topic of progression, having helped push progress for millions of women over the decades, how do you see the feminist movement evolving since you first began performing in the ’70s? Where do you feel that it still hasn’t gone far enough?
GB: It feels like one step forward, one step back at times. There’s so much to unpack, and I can’t do an analysis here! Let me know what you think!
“I don’t think that we felt that powerful at the time — we were just taking our courage into our own hands, feeling the fear, and getting on with it. It wasn’t really an act of defiance — it was an act of just really wanting to do it.”
KP: Well, perhaps that’s a separate piece that we could have at least ten volumes to, right? [Laughs]. To keep it simple, I definitely agree with you. And writing this from America, I can definitely tell you that we’ve gone backwards about 50 years in the past 10 [years]. It’s quite astounding, really.
When speaking of The Raincoats, you said, “We weren’t afraid to show our femininity, despite the boys-y crowd that we found ourselves in. We showed a whole other side of our feminine psyche, and it felt important to do that. We were proud to be female and different.”
GB: At the time, there were very few female bands, really only The Slits, and they were pretty out there — seemingly confident and exuberant. I suppose that we were a bit more introverted; we expressed ourselves without trying to copy the mainstream way of doing things. We would make songs that followed our own ideas — change to this bit here, chant here, rumble there...
The other thing is that we didn’t dress to please anyone but ourselves, so we definitely had a look that was all our own… Sometimes messy, inside-out clothes, striped, spotty sweaters with holes, muzzy hair, big shoes, skinny legs…
KP: It definitely was all your own, and it was perfect. But speaking of your look — and this is a conversation that we could have over a few hours, I’m sure — but there is an inherent misogyny that comes with women feeling that they need to shed their femininity to be taken seriously, to look “tough,” or to be considered skilled in music.
GB: Well, we ourselves weren’t trying to be skilled in music; we were just trying to find our own way. We never were (and probably still aren’t) skilled in music — we were interested in ideas. We weren’t trying to look tough or un-tough, just how we wanted to. Sometimes looking sweet, sometimes not, never coordinated… Each of us did our own thing.
KP: Certainly so! And I think your lack of drive to be taken seriously as musicians in the music world was incredibly radical. But what did it mean to you, at that moment, to be proudly female and different? And how can women powerfully own their femininity while still feeling strong and impactful?
GB: It often felt a bit scary. I don’t think that we felt that powerful at the time — we were just taking our courage into our own hands, feeling the fear, and getting on with it. It wasn’t really an act of defiance — it was an act of just really wanting to do it.
KP: That is so interesting — I definitely see that perspective.
Onto your new solo record… I want to start with the title of the album, which I very much adore: Trouble. You said, “The record title refers to all the mini revolutions that have occurred in my life — not following the usual paths, falling down holes, making the same mistakes over and over, the trouble of being a young woman at a time our options were generally secretary, mother, or sex worker. Trouble that I’ve caused and trouble that I’m in…”
You sing of trouble that is both personal and political. What do you want younger women today to take from your reflection on those struggles? Did its writing feel cathartic or more like a reckoning?
GB: I think it’s the journey of life — to fall down holes, to make mistakes, and to find yourself in difficult situations. We can shake some of it off, we can attempt to right the wrongs, but it’s the complexities that make us human. We have many more choices now than our mothers — or certainly my mother, who is now 97 — had. To know that, we have the autonomy to pull ourselves up and out if we get help or keep connected to our communities.
KP: In the creation of good trouble, you said that this album “is an antidote by celebrating everything I can while recognizing behaviors that may be disordered or strange.” Ultimately, it feels like a jubilant celebration of joy and imperfection, something that inherently feels both very punk and feminist in ethos — naturally!
What role did defiance play in the writing and recording of the record? What was your mindset at its inception?
GB: It feels like a representation of the dialogues that go on in my head all the time. I just tried to capture moments that bubbled to the surface when I had my laptop open. I kept the channels open and laid down the thoughts. If it’s defiance, then it was part of where I was at.
KP: Your instrumentation on the album is so fascinating — complex, rich, and incredibly varied. For me, “Cello Song,” from that perspective, was a standout — both unexpected and fortifying. What drove such choices for the album? Do you have a favorite track sonically?
GB: No, I don’t actually! I love the harmonium and dobro, as well as the thunderstorms on “Happiness.” I love the noisy sounds in “Hey Hey.” I love the contrast of the intense guitar overload alongside the cello on “Cello Song.” If I didn’t love the soundscapes on a particular song, I would dump it.
KP: What do you hope that listeners can most take away from Trouble?
GB: I hope that people get something, but that is in their heads and hearts to manage.
KP: You’ve faced multiple cancer diagnoses in recent years and have spoken about the physical scars that you carry as symbols of survival. I relate to that deeply, having my own very visible chest scar from a preventative surgery that I underwent in 2020.
What have your scars come to mean to you — as an artist, a woman, and someone who’s continuously defied expectations? Have your physical diagnoses changed the way that you approach your work in any way?
GB: My scars weren’t really very meaningful to me until I found out that a scar I had in my left groin — from when I was born — was going to be duplicated in my right groin. I was amused that I would be symmetrical! It made me laugh that I was going to have mirror scars 60 years apart.
I was painting figures. I know that a self-portrait is quite a thing, but I thought it would make a naked self-portrait more of a conceptual painting if I could highlight all of the operations that have been performed on me for the sake of my health.
KP: I think that’s brilliant. We are such indestructible, fragile machines.
When you reflect on your younger self in The Raincoats, what do you wish that you could tell her now?
GB: I wouldn’t tell her anything. You have to live each day and learn from experience. If I told her stuff, she may respond differently, and I wouldn’t be me anymore.
KP: What advice would you offer women about life, work, or love?
GB: Be adventurous, be loving, and don’t fight your friends.
KP: What do you feel makes a provocative woman?
GB: Always making your responses your own individual ones.
Photography: Dean Chalkley
