How Lizzi Bougatsos—Artist, Musician, Actor, It Girl—Found the Prose Within
EntertainmentTramps, the art gallery where Lizzi Bougatsos has until recently kept a day job as a gallerist, is of a downtown vintage that seems to be rapidly disappearing in New York under a carpet of money and shitty condos. It’s nearly impossible to find, for one, unless you’re aware that indoor shopping malls in Chinatown sometimes double as secondary arts spaces.
This one occupies the second floor of a galleria market with a cheery “New York Mart” sign, beneath the intermittent rumbling of trains on the bridge above. Inside, past stalls hawking purses and sunglasses and up a flight of stairs, Tramps sits, an oddly liminal gallery that occupies several individual storefronts, currently exhibiting giant paintings by the young German artist Florian Krewer.
Bougatsos, 44, is sitting at a table in a corner room, swathed in a voluminous black sweatshirt and thick-soled Mad Max-style boots. Her long, light brown hair is pulled up in a messy topknot, and she’s eating one of those “brownies” made of raw foods you can get prepackaged at health food stores. Watch enough old movies about NYC and you notice she’s dressed exactly as you might picture a steward of the fine arts, projecting avant-garde intellectualism. She is that, but she’s so much more, especially when she speaks and the legendary Long Island accent unfurls.
She and her cohorts…have worked diligently to push boundaries, to think deeply and politically, to unravel the secrets of the universe.
Lizzi Bougatsos is a visionary singer, a feminist visual artist, a burgeoning actor, a downtown fixture, and one of the most interesting women you’ll ever meet. Over the course of 15 years, as a member of the legendary experimental art band Gang Gang Dance, she and her cohorts (now comprised of Bougatsos, Brian DeGraw, and Jason Diamond) have worked diligently to push boundaries, to think deeply and politically, to unravel the secrets of the universe.
Earlier this summer, after seven years’ hiatus, Gang Gang Dance released Kazuashita (4AD), one of their clearest-eyed and most cohesive pieces yet. “With this album, I took the approach that I just had to trust and know who I was, and where I stood,” says Bougatsos. “For me, true art explains itself, and I wanted it to be beautiful in a way that spoke for itself. I had to really go inward and know myself and trust and know that, you know, when I put it out, I was gonna feel good about it.”
Kazuashita, which essentially means “peace tomorrow” in Japanese, is Gang Gang’s document of survival in the face of seismic political shift. Throughout the oughties, the band was at the forefront of Manhattan art bands exploring beyond genre boundaries, incorporating global bass sounds and artists in ways that displayed their natural curiosity but never stepped into otherizing territory—a difficult line to toe. Here, they’ve brought those sensibilities home, with calming lullabies meant as a salve that reflects the spiritual spots in which they are grounding themselves.
“In the past, it was very much a reaction to the world. Like, we would just get on stage and deliver the angst that we were feeling in this sort of anti-band kind of way,” says Bougatsos. “But now, it’s like a community transferral of energy, because it’s all these people coming together and releasing it into the world.”
It was so hard, being in the studio during Standing Rock. All I wanted to do was go there, and it got to a point where I was gonna jump in a bus with all these Bernie bros.
Bougatsos’s voice has always been simultaneously the most grounding and oddest part of Gang Gang Dance. She intuits Eastern scales and hits wildly high notes with gusto, occasionally growling but almost always feather-tickling her upper range. On “J-Tree,” a mid-tempo synth song, she sounds like she’s flying, her voice hitting treetops as she sings, “I’m not ready to go.” While the band was writing and recording Kazuashita in late 2016/early 2017, she was torn between her pull to make art and her desire to hit the streets; “J-Tree” was a response to this.
“It was so hard, being in the studio during Standing Rock. All I wanted to do was go there, and it got to a point where I was gonna jump in a bus with all these Bernie bros,” she laughs. “But I didn’t have the gear, I didn’t have the money, so like two days when the buffalo clip came on my timeline, I just put it in the song.” It ends with a sample of Sioux activist Shiyé Bidzííl, speaking about the importance of the Standing Rock land, right as a herd of buffalo stampedes by. The song shifts upward and it’s triumphant, like the band believes we’re all gonna get through this.