Ani DiFranco, “Unprecedented Sh!t”

Singer-songwriter, author, feminist radical and recently turned Broadway actress Ani DiFranco is no stranger to breaking the mold and pushing her own limits creatively in the process. Her 23rd album, Unprecedented Sh!t, is no exception.

The 11-track album, her first since 2021’s Revolutionary Love, consists of songs that she wrote as far back as 2011 to others as recent as two years ago. Giving a glimpse into DiFranco’s innermost thoughts, the album encourages listeners to go on a sonic journey through time, from the perspective of an artist who’s always used her music to thrust herself into the realm of activism-based protest songs while she experiences the world, in all its chaos, shifting under her feet.

Unprecedented Sh!t, however, goes deeper than her well-regarded activism. It’s about the art itself as much as about the artist who created it.

The title track is glitchy, robotic and embodies the soul of who Ani DiFranco is. Despite being a far cry sonically from the music she was making in the ’90s, her personality is still there, even as she grapples with personal struggles.

“I got a lot of heart/ The bigger the heart, the more it bleeds/ I got a lot of will/ To survive, to prevail, to succeed/ I got a lot of balls/ And I hit them all over their heads,” she sings

It’s one of many moments on the album where DiFranco blends various unique sounds with traditional instrumentation.

Though sonically DiFranco has largely folk elements in her work, her music is also punk at its core. Her poetry shines through as her spoken word is accompanied by minimalistic and haunting instrumentals. You can hear it on lead “Baby Roe,” a commentary on reproductive rights. The song starts off with an uneasy, sterile, mechanical intro before introducing the drumming of Jharis Yokley, bursting out into a loud crescendo, and intentionally sending a shock to the system. Having had abortions herself, DiFranco brings her stories to her music.

“New Bible” follows a similar formula; this time, however, the blues influences ooze through with a twang with accompanying drumming by Terence Higgins and Todd Sickafoose on electric piano.

“I think we should have a new bible / That just says: mother earth/ And I think men should stand down when women give birth,” she sings with grit, releasing her frustrations with the system.

In some aspects, this could also be seen as DiFranco talking about free will as a whole and learning, as someone who seemingly can do it all, when to let go. She has produced most of her albums herself. This time, however, she enlisted BJ Burton, who’s worked with Bon Iver.

Album closer “The Knowing” continues this narrative, and once again has a heavy blues-inspired sound as a banjo gently caresses and soothes behind DiFranco’s clear vocals, this time accompanied by Joy Clark and Lilli Lewis. It’s the importance of selfhood, as she croons, “I have a name/ And my name has a story.” Fittingly, it’s inspired by a children’s book DiFranco published in 2023 under the same name.

DiFranco’s unwavering momentum in telling her truth is especially prominent in her calls to action on songs like “You Forgot to Speak,” which once more puts her voice front and center with mellow guitar accompaniment. But midway through, a heavy, chilling beat kicks in, mimicking both a pulse and the march of a protest.

“How the hell can anyone listen when you forgot to speak?” she cries out?

The sentiment is echoed on the following track, “The Thing at Hand,” with a prominent keyboard loop, until the very end where a banjo suddenly switches the tone of the song while DiFranco muses on how, in the grand scheme of things, it’s important to recognize the beauty of nature, life and to show up when you’re called to act.

The album isn’t always cohesive, but perhaps that’s the point. The jazzy “Virus,” about the pandemic, begins relatively acoustically, with guitar and hand drumming by Andy Stochansky. It has abrupt moments where it verges on heavy alt-rock. Opener “Spinning Room” is more of a piano-based ballad, diving deep into DiFranco’s own psyche as she belts, “You can give me/ A pill to sleep/ You can give me/ Ten different kinds/ But I lay down/ Under sheets of concrete/ And I can’t get the weight of it/ Off my mind.”

Here, she allows herself a moment to embrace the duality of being an artist and activist, as well as a human being with needs of her own.

Follow writer Vera Maksymiuk at Twitter.com/veramaksymiuk.