It’s Friday night at Manhattan’s Hammerstein Ballroom and a sea of fans are wearing uniform black metal tees. This makes perfect sense considering the night’s headline billing, but as the evening goes on it’s clear that the clothing choices are where the typical hard rock show ends, and the Spiritbox gig begins. The pre-show playlist is a mix of saccharine pop hits, intermingling Beyoncé and Britney Spears. There’s a contrast between the sound of “Toxic” and the burly men in the middle of the crowd, clearly ready to open up the pit when the show starts. The band’s manager notes that Spiritbox’s formidable frontwoman, Courtney LaPlante, does it for the plot, liking to see who squirms when the chorus of “Thot Shit” starts.
Speaking of hotties, the NYC show takes place fresh off LaPlante’s surprise appearance during Megan Thee Stallion’s weekend one Coachella set, as the pair performed their collab: the gritty, spiraling metallic track “TYG” where the duo stir together hard rock riffs, Meg’s signature flow, and a fiery chorus (LaPlante has been clear that she’s been a fan of Thee Stallion and a certified hottie since 2018.) Watching Spiritbox’s set is full of surprises and contrast too. LaPlante’s delivery is stunning — a mix of melodic and brash vocals, as she walks across the stage, aiming a litany of confessions and poetic admissions to fans. Comprised of LaPlante, her husband, guitarist Mike Stringer, drummer Zev Rose and bassist, Josh Gilbert, the Canadian band have been at it for nearly a decade — slowly building their audience, while pushing the boundaries of what’s considered metal.
Dressed in a fitted black bodice with belt details and billowing skirt, LaPlante’s voice hits every wall of the ballroom, igniting the crowd beneath her to mosh and dive. The power of her performance and the words she sings on the band’s latest album, Tsunami Sea, are undeniable. Still, a month earlier, when PAPER meets LaPlante at Williamsburg’s Hole In The Wall, she’s unassuming, clear yet delicate in her delivery. The anxiety of fame, that didn’t show its face at all during the band’s set, is with us at the table as she recounts the band’s successes, what its like to be part of the changing sound and makeup of metal, and how even after two Grammy nominations (both for Best Metal Performance, in 2023 for “Jaded” and again in 2025 for “Cellar Door”), those emotions still sneak in.
The last time we talked was during the pandemic because you did a livestream for fans. It was cool because we couldn’t do anything in person, but everyone was so excited to see you. I know it was a time when you all were shifting plans because you couldn’t go on tour.
It just didn’t feel real. I clocked into my job every day I was working because we were obviously remote during the pandemic. I’d be working and achieving my objectives at work, but I would be really doing my band. I kept working until maybe the middle of 2021. It wasn’t really distracting from my music or tour or anything. I’m old enough to remember when we measured our musical successes by people jumping up and down or looking happy and engaged at the show — not just selling t-shirts and hearing people talk about [your music online]. It was very strange in a cool way, because I wouldn’t have been able to do that 10 years ago or 20 years ago… this less traditional way of coming up within the music industry. I’m grateful for it, it fast-tracked everything. The fruits of our labor started happening in our early and mid-30s.
What was it about the pandemic that you think fast-tracked everything?
It removed a lot of financial burden. I didn’t need to save up to buy a van. I didn’t need to save up to buy gear to go on tour. I didn’t need to find other band members to play the music. Michael and I were able to be self-sufficient, so we didn’t need to borrow money from someone. We didn’t need money from a record label.
What about that process seeped into the creation of Tsunami Sea? What did you learn from that experience that you wanted to emulate this time again?
The compromising part of our record Eternal Blue. I didn’t want to get COVID or pass COVID to somebody else. Also, I just legally would not be able to get back into my own country if I had to test into the United States. I wanted to record with a producer who wasn’t allowed to come to Canada to record us, but we didn’t want to be in any populated area, because we didn’t want to run into people. So we went to Joshua Tree and we all took COVID tests right away. Then we were all in our bubble for the whole month and we recorded our album in a kitchen in a really cool ranch Airbnb out there. It was definitely an obstacle, it just made it a little bit more tricky to achieve what we wanted. So now it’s very nice to not have an excuse like, I would have done a better job on that if I didn’t have to record it in the kitchen and under a blanket.
A lot of times, artists’ limitations make them more creative. Going into this recording process, having recorded an album under a blanket in a kitchen and still had your fans go, “We love this” did you feel confident? Were you nervous? What was the overall emotional energy going into Tsunami Sea?
We all definitely felt more confident. That’s the other thing that’s funny: when you do remove those obstacles you realize some of those obstacles are just your own mental state. It doesn’t matter if you are living your dream life and you get to make music exactly the way you want. Sometimes the obstacle is still yourself, and you’re just like, Man, how am I so low right now? Oh, no, I should be so happy. So I definitely think that it’s weird because I was more confident. But then weirdly enough, at the beginning of writing this record… or not writing it, but committing to it. I call it my commitment, I hit record and I start doing it. I remember we played Sick New World and it was such an amazing show. Then I came home and I had this huge crash. I couldn’t get out of bed, I was so depressed, I don’t know what it was. If you look back at interviews, I was more confident than I ever was, but then it’s like a dual person. As a musician, you have to fake confidence. To be able to have the audacity to think someone wants to hear you, you have to be delusional and a bit egocentric.
Few people talk about how success and excitement can also fuck with your brain, because if it happens quickly, or even if it happens slowly, it’s almost like you’re watching it happen. You’re like, What is going on? Why is this so good? When is the ball going to drop?
Yes, that’s how we always feel. We never feel safe. I’ve had a lot more experience being extremely financially insecure and mentally unhappy in what I’m doing, and very frustrated. I have a lot more experience with that than I do hanging out with you right now in New York City having a great time and playing to 1000s of fans. Maybe I’d be a bit more private about it, but unfortunately for me that’s what helped me lyrically on this album and sonically. It’s hard, it’s a bit therapeutic. I would have trouble expressing to you right now all those feelings, but I feel like the lyrics are where I feel more comfortable expressing that.
I imagine expanding is really uncomfortable when you’re also dealing with people telling you to be happy because of what you’ve achieved.
In any career, you can have impostor syndrome. It’s the opposite of The Dunning-Kruger Effect. People who aren’t self-aware probably don’t have those feelings of anxiety. I still feel shocked sometimes that people who are legendary still have that impostor syndrome feeling.
I mean, Paul McCartney still thinks we’re all gonna find him out.
I think maybe it’s the only way to rationalize what you got so lucky compared to everybody.
Talking about Tsunami Sea, what songs do you feel best capture that emotion?
One of the last songs on the album is one of the first songs I’ve recorded. It’s called “Ride The Wave,” and the chorus of that song is definitely all about self-doubt and not feeling like you deserve happiness even though everyone else is telling me you do. “Ride the wave like a message in a bottle for the only words I ever wanna hear.” I’m still analyzing this myself, but what I mean by that is those worries that I put in the bottle, I tucked them away, and I don’t feel like I deserve them, and the riding the wave is depression. So during that depressive state, I repress all those feelings, and then I try to tell myself those were there for someone else and tried to put that on other people’s expectations, and someone who’s perfect deserves those nice, kind words. I think that’s part of having a tumultuous mental health. It’s embarrassing. I’m 36 I have an incredible life. I travel the world with my husband and we make art together. Then I still have these really extreme ebbs and flows in my depression, and then feeling that fear, feeling — which I talk about a lot in the songs — where there’s an uptick after those extreme low feelings. You get all those chemicals in your brain again, that make you feel like you’re Superman. It’s not good for someone’s brain, so I wrote about it.
I appreciate you talking about it. A lot of what resonates with fans are things people think are embarrassing to talk about, because those are the things that we’re all experiencing.
I feel so uncomfortable with the thought that maybe someone would think I’m ungrateful. Like, Why are you telling this to a million people if you’re embarrassed?
I always say that the people who are wondering if people think they’re grateful, typically are. How are you feeling about everyone hearing your inner thoughts and the vulnerable moments on that album?
Social media is so strange. You used to wait for a review in the paper, or if someone really didn’t like your band, or really liked your band, they would be compelled to write you a letter and send it, and you’d get it a couple of weeks later. Now I just can open my phone and there’s probably a couple of texts being like, “I love you, Courtney, you did it!” And then there’s someone else that’s like, “You’re a fat bitch.” And I’m just like, “Okay here’s a picture of our dog.” I think that’s why people feel so weird about it. It ain’t natural. I love it though, because I get instant gratification. I can see what people think of it. And to be honest, I’m always guarded. I never engage with people unless it’s something that would be funny. But I felt this relief realizing that I really did care. For a while, I acted like I didn’t care, like I’m just making this for me! And if you don’t like it, you can get out! I don’t feel desperate for people to like it, but I feel so happy and rewarded that people understand what we were trying to do. We’re always like a ship trying to find its home in whatever sub-genre, not caring where we go. I feel like relief that there are so many people, more than ever, who resonate with us.
Photography: Jonathan Weiner