Melody Methakul
December 1, 2024
I sit with Melody Methakul, Long Island born, Brooklyn based tattoo artist, and her partner, Drew Robinson, guitarist in Brooklyn based punk rock band “Bad Vacation.” We’re in Melody’s tattoo studio, where the two first met a few years back during the pandemic. The space looks as if it has been meticulously crafted and designed down to every last inch — from the elaborate sketches of biker chicks on the walls to the velvet seats that tie the room together. With Melody holding it all together at the seams, the liveliness of the room in its entirety flares up with her presence alone. Melody’s exterior world effortlessly mirrors her inner one — there’s an apparent aesthetic in every trace of her life. She is as provocative and complex as her work is. I was hardly surprised when I saw Melody’s dog, Prada, shuffle through the door wearing a cheetah sweater that matched Melody’s cheetah printed shirt and Drew’s leather vest.
A month before this interview, I had the privilege of being tattooed by Melody — a badass, fine line, blue haired fairy dressed in lingerie from head to toe. My new favorite ink! Melody and I spoke while she tattooed: a wide ranging conversation about the sex work industry and vulnerability, relationships, and the complexities of living in New York.
Melody has been tattooing for seven years, and describes her work as loud. Although she is incredibly soft spoken and insightful, exuding a composed yet mellow energy, her style is brash. Melody’s studio is decorated with Betty Boop art, vintage frames, a box TV with old school movie tapes. As I sit on the couch near a glass table covered with an array of books and magazines, I am bewitched by the entirety of the space. Her personal drawings fill her studio, and she displays more than flash sheets and tattoo-oriented images. Melody is an artist at heart; her aesthetic and eclectic style consuming and bleeding into all bits of her life.
“I guess I’m really inspired by anything vintage: biker culture, old school tattoos, all that stuff. I just like maximalism. I want the walls covered. I want every inch of my life saturated with a little tiny thing. When you look at my drawings and tattoos and stencils, every little detail is in there.”
She laughs when she adds, “I have a loud brain.”
The tattoo industry, like many others, has been heavily male dominated. I ask whether Melody feels like being a female tattoo artist has inherent punk sentiment — she emphasizes that she’s always gravitated toward working with other women, and that she feels lucky to be tattooing today where she can choose who she works alongside. She is ultimately interested in people and clients she feels comfortable with, no matter what gender or background. We speak about the industry evolving away from its male oriented roots, and Melody stresses how important it is to have “a space you can curate with the people you want; to be with people you feel safe and cool around.”
Melody’s badass persona as an artist attracts a specific clientele. She is selective, choosing her clients and being thoughtful about the inquiries she receives to avoid the potential turbulence of getting walk-ins at a shop that might compromise an artist’s own style. It was through tattooing that Melody and Drew first met. Both artists met for the first time at his appointment and it was clear that their similar style and aesthetics weren’t the only thing they had in common. Although they work in different mediums, there is still artistic collaboration simply by virtue of the influence they have on one another. Melody raves about Drew’s work ethic. “Together, it’s a good momentum because we’re constantly doing and creating. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Leah Wasilewski: In what ways do you find punk rock culture and its subgenres embrace its roots today? How does it differ from when it first began?
Drew Robinson: It’s interesting. I feel like there are so many people doing it in so many different ways. There’s always somebody a little bit newer and a little bit younger doing it in a way that challenges the old way. It’s funny for me because I love Johnny Thunders and I love the old stuff, but, as far as musically, you always have to forget your idols — kill your idols in a way — and constantly do something they wouldn’t do or maybe something that would upset them. There’s a saying, “If you see the Buddha on the side of the road, kill him.” If you see something that looks like your guru, don’t believe it.
I feel like all my biggest influences died before I was born. At the same time, I think you make the best stuff when you forget what you know. So many of the greatest albums are made literally by teenagers. The young forget what they know or they don’t care about what happened before. I think it’s fun when you can meet both.
I think that rock n’ roll will always be valid as an idea in our culture, and it’s up to each generation to decide what that means to them. It’s up to whoever the new person is to say. It’s a tricky question.”
Both artists effortlessly complement one another. It goes beyond being each other’s muse and having the same cool laid back energy. All while remaining true to their mutual and individual loud styles, they are both immersed in the punk DIY community while finding intrigue in the culture’s evolution over time.
L: What would you want to change about the tattoo industry?
M: I’d want to keep tattooing sacred, and to have that love and respect for the industry and the game, which I feel like has been lost over the years. That’s like with everything in this generation now. Nothing is sacred anymore. And tattooing felt like it was one of the last sacred things that society could have, but it’s like that underground thing that just became gentrified and capitalized, too. You can charge $1,000 for a two inch tattoo or tattoo a celebrity after you’ve been tattooing for a year, but it’s just the heart space. There’s no love.
L: I see real passion in your work.
M: Yeah, the passion and the respect for the industry, learning about tattooers who came before you and the symbolism behind flash. Tattooing is such an ancient practice. Civilizations have tattooed, like ancient civilizations. It’s a very spiritual experience you have with another person. You have this moment with another person for an hour, or days or months or years, and this person is trusting you with their body and how they essentially look for the rest of their lives. I think people should have a little more heart, you know?
L: Totally.
M: Everyone learns in different ways, and I think apprenticeships are great and it’s also great so many people can be self taught now. There’s all this freedom and ability to make large amounts of money that you weren’t able to make before, and you can make your own schedule. But that leads to an over saturation of the market with a lot of shitty tattooers who open up a private space because they can get all this quick money and not really put care or time to advance their skills. It’s just become so ‘of this time’ — saturated, consumer vibes. You have to do a lot to be a proficient tattooer. You can’t just pick up a machine in a year. Just because you’re good at it, it doesn’t mean you’re a great tattooer. It takes time and effort, and I think it takes a certain amount of respect for the client, respect for the industry to realize that this is another person that has to live with your art on their body. What motivates this person to tattoo? Is it love for the game or is it for money? A quick buck?
L: Do you find that the work you do and the tattoos you design have roots in punk rock culture?
M: Of course. Everything I draw and design and do is all tied to what I’m interested in, which is heavy music and the punk DIY community. I guess it’s pretty punk just being able to do my own thing. What I’m most drawn to within this profession is that I feel financially free and creatively free. I can express myself the way I want to. I can travel where I want to. I can go where I please, and I’ve never been able to do that in any other profession I’ve worked in. It’s really sweet. You usually have to fit some type of norm, but with tattooing you have to make your own rules. You abide by rules and structure, but it feels like I could pick up and go wherever I want, or stay wherever I want and follow the flow where it feels good. It’s really nice. It’s a freeing thing.
L: It sounds like it’s emotionally freeing too, not just physically. With creative freedom comes emotional freedom to a certain extent.
M: Yeah, I think that just comes with finally doing something that is true to me. I feel I’m being the most true to myself right now in this time of my life.
