Hang Convention: Allison Scagliotti on female archetypes in film & how her performative musical horror subverts them
Not every mortal soul could boast an email exchange with a vampire. In our collective subconscious, such mysterious and cryptic creatures live in dark castles far removed from modern day society. And yet, Los Angeles-based multi-hyphenate artist, La Femme Pendu—also known as Allison Scagliotti—happens to possess a laptop, using it to launch her recent vinyl album campaign on Qrates and respond to the following interview questions.
The second LP release from the Scagliotti's project is born of a lifelong devotion to film, feminism, and Francophilia. VAMPYR combines her new wave, goth, and pop influences—crossing Dita Von Teese, St. Vincent and Cat Stevens; Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, Depeche Mode—with her more esoteric interests in occult practices and Jungian shadow work, as well as a penchant for horror films.
A brooding amble into the dark depths of the mystical subconscious, songs like "Allons chasser" (Let's Go Hunting), "Laisse moi entrer" ("Let Me In"), and "La nuit a un prix" ("The Night Has a Price") are French-language lyrics made up of a pastiche of movie quotes, themes of dark femininity, and scenes from our collective nightmares. Iconic performer Cherie Currie of The Runaways features on the growling lurch of "Type o negatif" ("Type O Negative"), while Billy Morrison and his guitar guest on the hard rock thrust of "J'en veux plus" ("I Want More"). Also including Damien Done, and Jake Hays in the track listing, the record is engineered and produced by Grammy nominee Dave Darling, and is an exuberant and performative reclamation of feminine archetypes so often relegated to the role of object or victim by male filmmakers.
"The project exists at the intersection of a few of my passions; feminism, film analysis through that gaze, and French musical custom," explains Scagliotti, who as a working actor herself has had plenty of experience with artform. "Each song by La Femme Pendu is written from the perspective of a female character from the last century of horror cinema. But, before that concept became crystallized, all I had was a translated cover of Danzig’s hit, "Mother." The character and voice that I found in that exercise was the prompt that I needed for the rest to fall into place."
Cryptic and vivid, Scagliotti's work embraces the theatrical world of darkness and sensuality, where sound and production transcend the need to be defined by “easy-to-understand” genres, and rather focus on inviting listeners into specific dimensions made of natural elements, geographical references, and a constant use of elegant fear as the secret ingredient and fil rouge. “La Femme Pendu, or the hanged woman, is the name of the twelfth card in the major arcana of the Medieval Italian tarot deck," she explains about the origins of her artistic identity. "The archetype symbolizes observation, the kind that comes from being temporarily incapacitated. The hanged one, strung up by the ankle, must collect enough information to know just what they will do once they are cut down."
Also directly inspired by the opening scene of Dario Argento's Suspiria, where a teenage girl strung up by a noose smashes through stained glass, this terrifying image is the impetus for the story to begin. "That cinematic convention, where an act of violence against a female form constitutes the plot’s inciting incident, has fueled my own internal rage for years," says Scagliotti about her complicated feelings towards one of her all-time favorite horrors. "It was only through the reclamation of those stories that I found liberation in my song writing.”
La Femme Pendu
My childhood in New Orleans infused my musical palate with a deep love for folk instruments. My first album features vibraphone, marxophone, and theremin. Producer Dave Darling offered me a basket of percussion instruments, like moth larvae and cow toenails, a distorted toy piano, and no reservations around turning the reverb up to eleven. Luckily, Dave is the kind of producer who completely understands me when I ask for the rhythm section to sound like cicadas at dusk, or for the temperature of the song to feel like 2am in a cemetery. What I am trying to say, is I am way less concerned with adhering to genres than I am with establishing setting.
The lyrics are a pastiche of movie quotes, themes of dark femininity, and scenes from my own nightmares. What I never see myself doing is the uber-sincere, ripped from the diary, acoustic coffee shop thing. The veneer of theatricality is everything to me; it stems from the very first moment I saw the velvet curtain rise at the Saenger Theatre, and it kept on blossoming with my love for Dita Von Teese and St. Vincent. Love the character, and let the artist behind the curtain pull the strings.
La Femme Pendu
There was always a piano in the house—whether it was my father’s haunted grand, or my own Baldwin upright that was swallowed up by Hurricane Katrina. My earliest memory of a favorite sound is the squeak of pointe shoes across a Marley floor following the moment when an orchestra tunes up together. My path may have taken me to Hollywood, but when I really think about it, music was my first passion—even if most of the messaging that I received suggested that it could never be more than an entry in the special skills section of my resume. I was indoctrinated so early in life, that I cannot point to a single moment, but it may have something to do with listening to Cat Stevens in a bathtub.
I have to credit a particular course at Berklee College of Music that both helped me identify what it was that I wanted to say, and demystified the process of actually creating it. To me, the difficulty was not in committing to the uniqueness of a project that defies popular conventions of genre, but in the logistical legwork of convincing an audience that it was worth the risk of listening. Music seems to sell everything but itself, and for the independent creator that can be difficult to surmount. The journey of "doing music" feels very non-linear, and as with any area of life it’s vital to find balance.
Fortunately, there have been several serendipitous moments that have felt like surreal affirmations from the ether. First, selling out my last show before the pandemic. Then, spending this past summer as a guest guitarist at Ultimate Jam Night at the Whiskey a Go Go, which lead to being connected with Phil Leavitt of 7Horse for a headline show at the Roxy by way of the great Cherie Currie, who has been an incredible ally and conduit for any musical experiences I have in LA. I now have a few Polaroids I wish I could mail back in time to my thirteen-year-old self, just to let her know that her strangeness will come in handy one day.
The container for this album concept was a curated list of my personal favorite vampire films. We can see traces of Only Lovers Left Alive, Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, The Hunger, and many more inspired by our collective reckoning with global illness. I wrote this record in January of 2021, still cloistered from society like a vampire whose hours of mobility are restricted by the daylight. The song titles are more or less lines from each film.
Sonically, I reached into my favorite dark wave songs. The reference list for this album was Siouxsie and the Banshees, Joy Division, Depeche Mode. There is also a French cover of Bauhaus’s "Bela Lugosi’s Dead" that did not make it onto the album, but that still exists as a sort of spiritual guidepost for the vibe. As far as personal experiences, I can recall a record entirely about the experience of being a creature of the night, let’s just say that I was feeling restless enough to want to grow fangs and turn into a bat.
There are documented psychological benefits to Jungian shadow work, confronting the neglected or unexamined parts of ourselves in order to liberate and embrace our untapped potential. Spiritual practices historically tend to gain momentum in periods of crisis and oppression. The more our rights are stripped away, the more the knives come out. Personally, I have cut bait from the idea of conformity a long time ago, and I am openly becoming as monstrous as they say I am.
Like so many can attest, the past two years have brought a tremendous amount of loss and grief. The only way I know how to process this is through the catharsis of art. I am currently gathering the strength to face the depths of the abyss with a third album that confronts death head on. The cinephile in me is tempted to call the third installment of La Femme Pendu "The Grand Finale," and with that, completing the trilogy and lay her to rest, so that a new character can emerge. But who knows. Maybe she’ll demand a resurrection.
By Asia Fioravera
October 24, 2022