Aaron Lee Tasjan
“At the end of the day, for better or worse, it’s Aaron Lee Tasjan music — you can’t get it anywhere else,” says the singer-songwriter, guitarist and producer with a hearty laugh.
There are moments throughout Tasjan’s aptly named fifth solo LP Stellar Evolution that may remind you of artists as different as ’90s Technicolor vocal-pop revivalists Jellyfish, rock ’n’ roll hero Tom Petty, songwriter’s songwriter John Prine and electroclash titans Fischerspooner. There’s a rabbit hole of influences you can go down with Tasjan — prior to settling in Nashville about a decade ago, he played at different times with glammy rock outfit Semi Precious Weapons, revived proto-punks New York Dolls and Georgia rock legends Drivin N Cryin — though he prefers not to. However, he points out that the jazz guitar solo on the breezy Evolution track “Ocean Drive” owes a big debt to George Benson.
What defines “Aaron Lee Tasjan music” more than the ever-expanding sound is the lyrical style he’s cultivated. It’s heartfelt and thoughtful but conversational; even in the rare moments in his songs that call for dramatic singing, he always comes across as if he’s talking to one person. Tasjan has a well-developed knack for discussing human nature and needs in an honest and frequently funny way that also gives grace to folks, including himself when he needs it.
The theme at Stellar Evolution’s core is how important it is to have a supportive network to rely on when big changes and challenges inevitably come. Tasjan feels like he’s found a home in the greater Nashville music community, and much of the new album is specifically responding to the dehumanization of queer people like himself. It is by no means new or unique to Tennessee, but has been a big part of our state legislature’s agenda recently, through continual attacks on human rights for the LGBTQ community.
Aaron Lee Tasjan
“People sometimes want to say, ‘Oh, this music is just for trans people … because the artist making it is trans,’ or something,” says Tasjan, who is bisexual. “That’s just wrong. These stories, when you really hear them, are everyone’s stories, and in that way, I feel a duty to share mine. And make sure that people know that I’m different in some ways, but in so many other ways, I see their face in the mirror when I look at my own.”
The record is a parade of highlights, starting with “Alien Space Queen,” a bopping electronically enhanced ode to a trans femme friend. Later there’s the synth-kissed snarly rocker “Horror of It All,” in which Tasjan looks back at times he’s felt pressure to downplay fundamental elements of his identity like his sexuality, in which he concludes: “Gotta be myself now / ’Cause everyone else is already taken / So honey, let’s shake it.” Poignant moments abound as well. “Dylan Shades” is a gentle examination of how hard it can be to be vulnerable in a relationship, while “Nightmare” looks at living as a queer person under constant threat of violence. It includes a harrowing self-eulogy: “I want all my friends to know I love ’em / Just in case I should disappear / I don’t have much to leave for you, but darling / Just sing this song and I will still be here.”
Tasjan explores an array of related topics and makes good use of his finely tuned sense of humor. “The Drugs Did Me,” about getting sober, begins with funny anecdotes like being so high he forgot to put on pants before going to the mailbox. Gradually, he reveals the dark place he found himself in, singing, “I saw love but imagined danger / Ready to die just for a laugh.” In “I Love America Better Than You,” a pointed critique of American exceptionalism that has evolved over several years in Tasjan’s repertoire, he doesn’t exclude himself; the hook changes every time it comes around, but he always mentions how much he likes hot dogs.
Ultimately, Tasjan feels like he’s struck the perfect balance between his need to lose himself in working on his music and his need to reach out and connect with the community that inspires and supports him.
“Living in a place like Tennessee where they’re trying to have drag bans — where, you know, being a gay person becomes illegal [in] a couple of towns for a day, right? Seeing someone like me, or seeing Adeem the Artist, Mya Byrne, Lizzie No — so many of us that are a part of what’s happening here and beyond — telling those stories makes you feel not so alone. We’re just tremendously isolated now, and I think the value of feeling like you’re not all by yourself is maybe worth more than it ever has been.”
