Anne Bandez (known as Little Annie / Annie Anxiety) is a singer, painter, and performance artist renowned for her varied work and extensive collaborations. A new compilation, With (out 4/18/25 on Cold Spring), brings together collaborative recordings with artists such as Marc Almond, Coil, Swans, and Kid Congo Powers. What ties these tracks together is a consistent mood: mournful torch songs, abstract electronics, melancholic piano pieces, and experimental lounge.
Originally from Yonkers, New York, Annie initially immersed herself in the NYC music scene of the late ’70s, before a chance meeting with Crass guitarist Steve Ignorant prompted her to go to London—where she ended up staying for 13 years. While living at Crass’s commune in Epping Forest, she worked with Penny Rimbaud on her first single as Annie Anxiety, “Barbed Wire Halo” (1981). She went on to work extensively with Adrian Sherwood’s On-U Sound and embarked on a variety of other collaborative and solo projects (be sure to check out her website for more info on her fascinating career).
Over Zoom, Annie discussed her career and the With collection.
What made you put out a collection like this at this point in time? How did this project come about?
Basically, Cold Spring suggested it. It wasn’t something I was planning on doing. I’m not big on looking back, but his enthusiasm was kind of infectious. Even though I don’t really like listening to myself, there’s been enough time. Most of this music is older, so enough time has passed that I could be comfortable without over-critiquing. Nothing ever feels finished — you always want to go and do a redux on things.
So how did it feel revisiting these recordings? Are there any particular songs that your opinion of has changed, looking back?
Especially with the older ones, I’m a little bit more appreciative of them. I’m never satisfied with my work. I always think it could be kind of tweaked and pulled apart. But it was kind of great having an excuse to listen. Also, I have so much affection for everybody I’ve ever collaborated with. It’s like seeing old friends.
What was the process like in picking which songs to include?
I left that all up to Justin at Cold Spring, and there are some songs not on there that I love. I wish they were there. Justin kind of curated more than I did. As I said, I’m always onto the next thing, but I’m glad it’s done, and I am glad it’s… I’m making it sound like punishment — but no, it’s great!
Of the tracks on this album, are there any particular ones that you might want to highlight in terms of what the experience was like at the time of making them? Do any of them have particularly memorable elements in terms of the process behind them that you’d like to mention?
I mean, all of them. With the people I worked with before — if I didn’t love them before, I love them afterward. Which sounds so fucking corny, I’m sorry. But it’s true. I mean, the thing is, you’ve got to have some affection and respect for somebody to go into the studio. You’re very vulnerable recording with people. But no, I mean, I’m really blessed to work with all the people, and I have memories about all of them. Good ones too, thankfully.
You’ve worked with a lot of really interesting, different people. Was that a goal when you started out — that you wanted to work with a variety of people? Or how did you come to have such a varied and collaborative career?
I really didn’t set out to do anything. I didn’t even set out to sing. I literally stumbled into it. I met somebody on a subway train who took me to… I guess it was probably Max’s Kansas City or something, and I saw Suicide. I was like, fuck. Wow. I was like, wow. And something struck a chord. I wasn’t even old enough to be in there legally — I was probably about 16 or something. So I’ve never really set out to do anything. I mean, of course when you’re a kid, you have ideas of things — I want to be an astronaut or a movie star or whatever. But no, I guess I’ve just been asked [to sing] by really amazing people. And I don’t play. I mean, I compose, but I can’t notate music. I guess I should be able to because I’ve played instruments, but I still don’t know how to notate. So I’ve always been kind of reliant on the kindness of people when things popped up — kind of just saying yes to things.
You’re known for your adaptability. Since you’ve had a lot of different creative endeavors, are there any particular projects that you’ve found challenging creatively?
Oh, wow. That’s a great question. I mean, it’s always challenging. I’m always challenging my inner critic. I think all humans do that. We’re kind of living in a society that encourages self-hatred, if you like, and that striving to… I think one’s always striving to top themselves.
The only times it’s been really challenging — and these aren’t on any of the things on the album, I think — are when it’s just totally improvised. People think they’ll throw you a drum beat and say, “Okay, just do it.” And I don’t actually work like that. I mean, I do when it happens, but you can’t force spontaneity. I compose and edit and craft stuff pretty carefully. And some stuff — like the Swans one, for instance — Michael knew exactly what he wanted. But I have had situations in the studio where it’s like, “Okay, just do it.” And that doesn’t always work out.
When you launched your career, it was definitely a very interesting time musically. Could you talk a little bit about your impressions of the music community at the time and your place in it?
Well, I mean, it was everything. One thing about being young is that everything’s exciting — everything. And especially going to New York — if you’re coming from the boroughs or anything — it is a different planet. Being downtown, being in Manhattan, it really is. Saturday Night Fever captured that perfectly. Perfectly.
But I don’t know, in retrospect, if one appreciates what they’re in while they’re in it. I mean, I knew it was really exciting, and I think a lot of things happened for me… I didn’t know who anybody was. I wasn’t intimidated because I didn’t know I was supposed to be.
But yeah, I mean, New York at that time — the city was going to hell — and I went out every single night and saw a band. As long as you could sneak in or get in or you knew somebody. And then with London — where I ended up with Crass and stuff, out in Essex — I mean, I got to see some amazing stuff, but not as frequently. In New York, there was nothing else to do. You just walked around and got into trouble.
I’ve been really blessed, in a way, by falling into things just because they felt right. The people were nice, the music sounded right, and it was kind of a relief — the whole thing that was happening. And then later on with rap and hip-hop and everything… I was between ages where the hippies would say, “Oh, you missed…” Everybody said you missed everything. That’s all you heard on that total AM fucking rock — you missed everything.
Which is so not true. I mean, I don’t know what it’s like now with the technology, but it used to be like you found your tribe by going to record stores, and people would play you stuff. I mean, disco — I fucking loved disco. I love it. Love it. Still do. Which again, kind of just… you heard stuff on the radio, and then got in a car with people probably a few years older than me. We ended up at all the gay discos along the Hudson, hearing the most amazing cuts of things.
So it was exciting — but everything was exciting that wasn’t Yonkers.
Besides this album, is there anything else coming up you’d like to mention?
Yeah. Paul Wallfisch and I are doing 22 North American dates with the Swans in September. I love them. I love those guys.
We [Paul and I] had an album, A Bar Too Far, that got pandemic’d, so I guess we’re all finding our feet after that. I write constantly, so I’ve got whole boxes full of writing, and I’ll start compiling it into lyrics. You always think everything you’ve done is the last thing you’re going to do — and the first thing.
And we’re in strange times. It’s a hard time. One has to be creative, but it’s also hard not to be reactionary. I don’t want to be an echo chamber for these miserables who are running the fucking thing right now — and always have been — but now they’re miserable and Nazi. But then again, that’s where one has to kind of find meaning and beauty, even more than ever, so as not to get devoured by this fucking stuff.
With can be purchased here. For more info on Anne Bandez / Little Annie, visit littleanniebandez.com.
