Refusing to Disappear: The Third Life of The Raincoats
How Ana da Silva and Gina Birch rejected the nostalgia circuit to reimagine what older women can be in art and music
Introduction
In an era when aging musicians are expected to either gracefully retire or embark on lucrative nostalgia tours, The Raincoats have chosen a third path entirely. Rather than re-enacting their punk past or accepting diminished cultural relevance, Ana da Silva and Gina Birch have spent the past two decades crafting what Audrey Golden terms their "third life"—a period of artistic reinvention that challenges every assumption about what older women can be in contemporary culture.
This is not a story about "growing old gracefully," the pernicious marketing double speak that appears to encourage the acceptance of maturity while pushing a panoply of products positioned to postpone marginalization. Instead, The Raincoats exemplify what might be called "growing with grace"—maintaining artistic integrity and experimental curiosity while navigating the persistent forces of sexism, economic inequality, and cultural dismissal that have shaped their entire career.
Their trajectory from London art school dropouts to museum-worthy performance artists offers a compelling model for how creative practitioners can age without compromise, influence without nostalgia, and evolve without losing their essential character—though as we shall see, this path has required considerable struggle and is far from universally available.
From Cargo Cult to Cultural Transmission
To understand the significance of The Raincoats' third life, it's necessary to first examine how their influence has operated across generations. Unlike many cultural movements that become diluted through imitation—what anthropologists call "cargo cult" behavior, where surface rituals are replicated without understanding their underlying principles—The Raincoats' impact has been marked by genuine transmission of ethos rather than mere aesthetic copying.
The band's "second life," which occurred largely without their knowledge in the Olympia, Washington music scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s, demonstrates this distinction perfectly. Rather than trying to sound like The Raincoats, artists like Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill absorbed their deeper lesson: that "punk is NOT a genre—it's an idea!" The insight that you could "do whatever the fuck we wanted" wasn't about replicating specific sounds or techniques, but about embracing creative freedom and resistance to conventional expectations.
This kind of cultural transmission—where principles rather than aesthetics are passed along—created the conditions for The Raincoats' third life to emerge. When Kurt Cobain made his famous pilgrimage to Ana's antique shop in 1992, he wasn't seeking museum pieces but living inspiration. The subsequent DGC reissues and renewed attention didn't trap The Raincoats in amber; instead, they provided a platform for continued evolution.
Concrete Evolution: Sound and Collaboration in Practice
The abstract principles of The Raincoats' third life become clearer when examined through specific recent works. Ana's 2018 collaboration with Japanese electronic artist Phew on the album Island exemplifies their continued commitment to discovery over familiarity. Born from their shared experience of island upbringings and mutual interest in electronic music, the album represents a genuine creative risk rather than safe nostalgia. The long-distance collaboration process—with files exchanged between London and Osaka—forced both artists out of their comfort zones, resulting in soundscapes that neither could have created alone.
Similarly, their 2019 collaboration with Angel Olsen for Rough Trade's 40th anniversary demonstrated their willingness to push their improvisational approach to its limits. Rather than simply backing a younger artist, they created genuine dialogue between generations, with Olsen later describing how The Raincoats challenged her to abandon conventional song structures entirely.
Perhaps most tellingly, Ana's extension of "Shouting Out Loud" for choreographer Gaby Agis's dance performance created what Ana called a "long durational work"—transforming a three-minute song into an extended meditation on feminist community and resistance. This wasn't simply stretching existing material but reimagining how their music could function in different temporal and spatial contexts.
Central to The Raincoats' third life is their reconceptualization of live performance. Rather than treating their songs as fixed entities to be faithfully reproduced, they approach each performance as what might be called an "art multiple"—variations on core themes that are simultaneously familiar and unique. This approach draws directly from Ana's visual art practice of making "multiples of things" that are "individually unique" and accessible.
The technical aspects of their music make this possible in ways that more conventional rock songs would not. Their "atypical time signatures" and "consistency of timing... in its inconsistency" mean that no two performances can ever be identical. As drummer Jean-Marc Butty observes, their music operates "on a very fine line... between chaos and perfection," requiring constant adaptation and improvisation rather than rote reproduction.
This fluidity ensures that when The Raincoats perform—whether at a gallery opening or a museum gala—they are creating something new rather than merely recreating something old. The songs become "living things, responding to their environment," shaped by acoustics, atmosphere, and the particular energy of each moment. This is the antithesis of the legacy act problem, where aging musicians become trapped in endless reenactment of their younger selves.
Museum as Context, Not Trophy
Perhaps the most visible aspect of The Raincoats' third life has been their conscious shift from traditional music venues to art galleries and museums. This move represents far more than simple venue upgrading or cultural validation. Instead, it constitutes a fundamental reframing of what their music is and how it should be encountered.
Their progression from Robert Wyatt's Meltdown festival in 2001 through performances at MoMA, The Kitchen, Lisson Gallery, Centre Pompidou, and White Cube Gallery represents a careful curation of context. Each venue places their music in dialogue with visual art, conceptual practice, and experimental tradition, reinforcing their identity as multimedia artists rather than nostalgic entertainers.
When Ana reflected on their 2010 MoMA performance—"Well done Raincoats, here we are performing at one of the most famous art museums in the world"—she was acknowledging not career achievement but artistic validation. The museum setting doesn't honor their past so much as it legitimizes their present, creating space for their experimental approach to be challenging rather than quaint.
Yet this strategy, while artistically successful, also reveals the limitations of their model. Access to prestigious art venues requires cultural capital, institutional connections, and the kind of experimental reputation that takes decades to build. Their path from squat rehearsals to MoMA performances was enabled by art school backgrounds, London's cultural infrastructure, and networks of supportive curators and fellow artists. Moreover, the art world context, while different from rock nostalgia circuits, brings its own forms of commodification—their performances become cultural capital for institutions seeking to demonstrate their cutting-edge credibility.
Rejecting the Commodification of Rebellion
The contrast between The Raincoats' approach and the broader commodification of countercultural history could not be starker. Where the music industry excels at transforming genuine rebellion into marketable lifestyle content—turning punk into fashion, DIY into brand identity, political resistance into nostalgic entertainment—The Raincoats have consistently refused these recuperative gestures.
Their formation of We ThRee, their own label, in 2008 represents the logical extension of their DIY principles into their third life, though it also reflects hard-won lessons about the costs of major label involvement. Their experience with DGC in the 1990s—described as "dysfunctional" and "a terrible time"—taught them that creative control required economic independence, regardless of the financial trade-offs involved.
The economics of this independence are worth examining critically. While We ThRee allows them to retain 80% of profits compared to typical major label deals, the actual revenue from their catalog and limited touring likely provides modest rather than luxurious income. Their choice represents a commitment to principle over profit, sustainable only because of their deliberately minimal overhead and rejection of conventional music industry expectations around lifestyle and promotion. This economic precarity, while chosen, also limits the replicability of their model—not all artists have the financial flexibility to prioritize creative control over commercial success, or the cultural networks necessary to sustain alternative career paths.
This resistance to commodification extends to their live performances as well. The museum settings they choose actively resist the commercial framework of rock concerts, with their emphasis on ticket sales, merchandise booths, and nostalgic singalongs. Instead, their art world appearances create space for genuine encounter with challenging work, where audiences arrive expecting to be surprised rather than satisfied.
Sisterhood, Chosen Family, and Collaborative Aging
An often-overlooked aspect of The Raincoats' third life is how it models alternative approaches to aging for women, particularly queer women. Ana and Shirley's partnership represents what scholar José Esteban Muñoz called "queer futurity"—ways of being and relating that exist outside heteronormative timelines of marriage, children, and conventional retirement. But this chosen family structure extends beyond romantic partnership to include the ongoing collaboration with Gina and the wider network of supporters, collaborators, and fellow travelers who have sustained their work across decades.
Shirley O'Loughlin's role as both partner and business collaborator in We ThRee demonstrates how personal and creative relationships can evolve to support continued artistic practice. Rather than treating their various partnerships as separate from their creative work, The Raincoats have integrated personal relationships into sustainable structures for ongoing experimentation.
Their "chosen family" structure, maintained across decades of creative and personal partnership, offers a powerful counter-narrative to dominant scripts about women's aging. Rather than disappearing into domestic invisibility or accepting marginalization, they have created a supportive framework for continued growth and experimentation.
The band's influence on younger queer and feminist artists—from their "godmother" status in Riot Grrrl to their contemporary impact on bands like Big Joanie—demonstrates how this model of queer aging creates space for intergenerational connection and mentorship. When Bikini Kill reunited specifically to honor The Raincoats in 2017, it wasn't just a tribute to musical influence but recognition of a way of being in the world that remains vital and inspiring.
The Secret Language of Sustained Resistance
What makes The Raincoats' third life most remarkable is how it has maintained what fans and critics describe as their music's "irreducible" quality—its resistance to easy categorization or comfortable consumption. This "secret language" operates on multiple levels: their unconventional time signatures that make songs impossible to pin down rhythmically, their refusal to resolve musical or lyrical tensions in expected ways, and their commitment to emotional honesty that often feels uncomfortable rather than cathartic.
More fundamentally, this irreducibility stems from their consistent refusal to explain themselves in terms that would make their work more marketable or accessible. Take their cover of The Kinks' "Lola," which transforms a novelty song about sexual confusion into something simultaneously more tender and more unsettling—Ana's delivery neither camp nor earnest, the instrumentation neither faithful nor parodic, creating an emotional space that feels both familiar and completely other. When Ana chooses not to declare her sexuality publicly to avoid being "put in boxes," or when they perform in art galleries without extensive program notes explaining their historical significance, they maintain the mystery and difficulty that requires genuine engagement rather than passive consumption.
Their influence operates through what we might call "insider knowledge" that must be discovered rather than marketed. That suburban neighbor with the Descendants bumper sticker (you know the one) represents one form of cultural transmission—nostalgic identification with youthful rebellion. But encounter with The Raincoats requires different forms of seeking and engagement, creating communities of practice rather than consumers of lifestyle.
What they have lost, perhaps, is the possibility of broader cultural impact that comes with mainstream visibility. Their museum performances, while artistically fulfilling, reach relatively small, culturally privileged audiences compared to the mass influence they might have wielded through more conventional channels. The trade-off between artistic integrity and cultural reach represents a choice that not all artists can afford to make, either economically or in terms of their political goals for their work.
Implications: Growing with Grace as Cultural Practice
The Raincoats' third life offers profound lessons for how creative practitioners can age without accepting marginalization or commodification. Their trajectory suggests several key principles:
Maintain experimental commitment over commercial appeal: Rather than softening their approach to reach broader audiences, The Raincoats have deepened their experimental practice, trusting that genuine innovation will find its audience.
Reframe context rather than compromise content: By moving their performances to art spaces, they created environments where their challenging work could be encountered on its own terms rather than measured against nostalgic expectations.
Build alternative economic structures: Their formation of We ThRee demonstrates how artists can maintain control over their legacy while creating sustainable models for continued work.
Embrace influence without nostalgia: Their relationship to younger artists is characterized by mutual inspiration rather than patronizing mentorship, creating genuine intergenerational dialogue.
Resist recuperation through continued evolution: By refusing to treat their past as fixed commodity, they maintain agency over how their work is understood and used.
Conclusion: The Ongoing Third Life
As The Raincoats enter their sixth decade of creative practice, their third life continues to unfold in ways that challenge every assumption about aging, creativity, and cultural relevance. Their recent collaborations—Ana's work with Japanese electronic artist Phew, their partnership with Angel Olsen for Rough Trade's anniversary—demonstrate ongoing commitment to discovery and risk-taking that renders questions of age irrelevant. They have refused disappearance, maintained complexity, and continued becoming rather than simply being. In doing so, they have created a distinctive and powerful model for how revolutionary artists can age without losing their revolution—a model that, while requiring significant cultural and economic resources, offers proof that alternatives to commercial nostalgia and cultural invisibility remain possible for those determined enough to pursue them. Their ongoing evolution represents not just musical innovation but cultural resistance that continues to inspire new forms of creative aging, even as it remains available primarily to those with sufficient privilege to choose principle over broader reach.
This essay draws on extensive oral history interviews and archival research presented in Audrey Golden's "Shouting Out Loud: The Lives of The Raincoats" (2025), which demonstrates how feminist archiving practices can recover and preserve the complex histories of women's creative resistance.