Mari: I think Alice started writing immediately.

Alice: [laughs] I think, since I could play piano — I started when I was four — I was making stupid songs. I’ve been making songs for a very long time.

Mari: I was trying my hand at it from nine or ten onwards, but I was more focused on performance. It was psychological though — I didn’t really identify with composing or songwriting until high school and more heavily in college. I wrote poetry before then. I would say what prompted us to start would be that both of our parents are artists. Our dad is a composer, musician, singer and voice teacher, so we’ve just been surrounded by that all our lives.

And what prompted you to start writing with the intention of recording and releasing material together?

Mari: We’ve been singing together and harmonising forever. When I was in college and visiting home, we started experimenting a little bit with our version of jamming — over instrumentals and pieces Alice was working on. That felt really good, so when I graduated and moved back, we started to look at it a little more seriously. The music spoke for itself, and we realised we wanted to write and make sure we recorded it at a real studio, not just on our iPhones.

How have your musical efforts away from Sybling prepared you for this project?

Alice: I think, for me, it was newer, because Mari had already released an EP with Smoke and Sugar. I’d always worked on composing things for short films or theatre, but I’d never recorded before. So, in that sense, I was prepared more composition-wise and knew what I wanted from sound, but Mari was more prepared in terms of knowing what to expect.

Mari: Yeah, the studio process and release process. That’s a common theme: where Alice comes with experience on one side, I come with experience on the other side. As a team, we’re well rounded.

Is there an aspect of being songwriters and musicians that you’ve grown to enjoy more since joining forces?

Mari: I would say I’ve come to appreciate patience and quality a lot more since working with Alice really seriously. Previous projects, I tended to be a little spontaneous, do a lot of improv and then be excited about some kind of immediate gratification or external result or product. I ended up never being that proud of it. Working with Alice, I really came to appreciate taking the time that’s needed to make something really, really feel right. Now this EP is out, I feel like I could listen to this twenty years later and still really love it and feel like we had the sound that we were looking for.

Alice: I think, on the flip-side, I’ve kinda learned to be a little less severe about my music. [laughs] I know in the studio sometimes I was kinda scary because I was so strict. I’m like, “Oh, it has to be like this!” I know Mari’s really good at collaborating too, so I learned a lot about collaboration through working with her.

How easy then do you find it to share songwriting duties?

Mari: I think we came at it organically, knowing that we could take up a different amount of space sonically with each song. We allowed each other to find space in each song. Frequently, Alice would take on most of the instrumentation and composition. She was playing all the instruments on the EP except for some percussion I played. It kinda depended on how each song came about: whether we were working on the melody together, or figuring out what would work as a bridge part, or Alice coming with a completely written piece that I would add some lyrics or a harmony to. The full spectrum was there — I feel it was a song-by-song basis.

Do you connect quite quickly to each other’s ideas?

Alice: I think we do… Don’t we? [laughs]

Mari: Yeah, actually it’s pretty natural.

Alice: Your hesitation scared me. [laughs] I think, because we also grew up listening to the same music — and I think what you grow up listening to is generally what you end up wanting to make — we have a lot of similar tastes, so are rolling with the same wavelength when we’re thinking what sounds good.

Mari: Yeah, it’s very intuitive in that way.

What is your actual songwriting process then?

Alice: The Grim and Under — those were songs that I’d already written some years before. I came to Mari with them, and we’d think up where to put harmonies and stuff like that. For La Baleine, our father originally wrote that tune and then Mari came up with more lyrics to it. For Call Her Back, that was a song that we wrote together — we sat down together and came up with melody, then Mari wrote the lyrics. She’s Still Alive in the Past was just a random day in the studio — I had this tune in my head and just played around with it. Mari thought about adding percussion to it, and that was definitely the most experimental one.

How long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Alice: It depends on the song. Some can be written in a day, and some develop over years.

Is there anything in particular you do to stimulate your own creativity?

Mari: Honestly, I don’t. I think that’s probably a good practice to discover. I feel at this point, all I’ve figured out is how to assess when I am not in a highly creative, receptive state, and to be like, “Ooh, I’m kinda blocked right now.” But usually that’s not the case when the two of us are sitting down together.

Do you find then that, when you are together, the ideas come more quickly and that you play off of one another quite well?

Mari: We definitely play off each other well. Every now and then we’ll find a block and be like, “Oh, that’s weird. We’ll have to try again another day.” Then, the next day it’s dissipated. But usually it flows pretty smoothly.

How do you keep yourself interested in your art when the initial joy of inspiration wears off?

Alice: For me, music is the thing that I understand the most. This sounds super cheesy, but it’s sort of a language, so it’s the way that I connect best to people and I how I understand how to talk to people or share ideas. Music is a part of my everyday life, so I don’t understand how I could lose inspiration for the art, because it’s just always there.

Mari: Music inspires me. When I feel blocked, or when I feel a lack of inspiration in the world, I can put my Spotify on shuffle and feel inspired.

Is there a type of music that tends to unblock you, or is it just random?

Mari: For me, it’s really random — I like a lot of different types of music. It’s about mood, so I’ll just read my mood and tune into that.

What do you feel is the most important element of a Sybling song?

Alice: Aren’t they all minor key? [laughs] Is that an important element? I think that’s the darkness, the mysteriousness. I can’t write a song that’s not in minor key, but Mari: You have before, right?

Mari: I have, but honestly it’s not that common. [laughs]

Alice: It’s hard!

From where do the surreal, dark fantasy elements of your work come from?

Alice: There are probably a lot of places it comes from. In a superficial way, it comes from… I watch a lot of horror movies in my free time, so I find it easy to use images from horror movies. But also, I think our EP deals a lot with the inner demons that we’ve had, and finding a way to connect with them through music — sitting your demons down to tea.

Mari: Exactly. I feel like, looking for some kind of solace from the knots that you can get into in your own head. It’s a way of helping each other and helping ourselves. A meeting with demons, and being able to live with the tension of living with them, always.

Have their been any notable obstacles you’ve faced musically thus far, either as a band or as individuals?

Alice: We’ve had our share, for sure. I think our biggest struggle as a band has been dealing with our different personalities, because I’m very introverted, and I like playing music and recording, but I really don’t like performing or going to concerts and stuff. Whereas Mari, I think you love performing and concerts and dealing with people. So I think that, although it’s not musically a challenge, has been our biggest challenge as our duo: understanding each other, and trying to form compromises.

Mari: Yeah, once the music has been written, how do we interact with the world as a unit of two? That’s something that we’re figuring out.

How far along do you feel you’ve made it in that process?

Mari: Well, we learned a lot from our EP release show — that was really helpful. We’re in the process of figuring out… I guess ‘branding’ is the best word I can use to describe the other side of it.

Alice: Eugh! Gross. [laughs] I am not interested in that, but it is important.

Do you see more live shows in your future?

Mari: Yeah, in the next few months, we’re gonna really put together a clear game-plan for how we want to approach live shows and have infrequent shows, come summer, at the right places and events.

Is there anything in particular, Alice, that could make you more excited about that prospect?

Alice: [laughs] I think it’s just dealing with being uncomfortable performing and being in front of a lot of people.

Okay, so is there an element of your craft that you would especially like to improve?

Mari: In that vein, I would say our live performance — just because we haven’t had as much practice together as a duo.

Alice: Also, a little bit of mixing — that would be a good thing to learn more about. Because, every song I listen to, I’m always like, “Hmm, I’d like it if it had more of this feeling to it, but I’m not sure how to do that.” I think that’s very much related to the mixing process. I want to be able to find someone who understands the computer aspect, and then find a way to really understand each other. Maybe I’ll pick up some of the terms.

Mari: Yeah, vocabulary is very important.

What do you feel that you gain then from being artistically inclined?

Mari: I would say, immediately, just perspective. Reality can get pretty intense, so to have some kind of creative perspective on it helps relieve some of the burden of being human. Existentially and psychologically, I feel a little more grounded in being ungrounded.

Alice: I think what you said really captures it. There’s a connecting to a part of oneself that I think we can only really do through art.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Alice: I want to communicate that people who are struggling with their own demons, they aren’t alone. I hope that when they listen to the EP, they can feel that there is someone else in the world who understands how they feel — it’s okay that things aren’t always dandy.

Mari: Exactly. Being able to feel not okay and have that be a normal part of being alive – it’s not a problem.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as people?

Mari: I don’t necessarily like to be defined by one thing. When I’m feeling in a certain mood — kind of melancholy — to be able to put on a Sybling track and walk through that mood, sit with it and allow it to pass when it does naturally, but then also have moments where I feel in a different mood and can wear that genuinely through music and art.

Alice: I think that I define myself mostly just by the definition of musician or composer, and I like that definition.

The post Sybling appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Craig: We tried for a really long time, actually. We’ve been together eight-and-a-half years now, and we were always musicians but, when we tried making music before, nothing really clicked. We kind of accepted that, and had our own projects that we were working on. For this project, the catalyst was that Victoria saw a painting by Gustave Doré, called Andromeda —

Victoria: We just needed something to unite us. I asked Craig if he could help me make music that sounded like the painting looked. Craig totally understood what I was after, so we had this unified vision of what we wanted. We had lots of bits and pieces of music that we’d been writing independently — I guess stockpiling, really, but not knowing for what, because at that point we hadn’t released or recorded anything together. For some reason, the little bits and pieces came together in a way that actually made sense.

Craig: Yeah, and the record was pretty much written in a month after that. Once there was a vision for the project, it made sense, instead of just trying to force things.

Are you from quite different music backgrounds?

Victoria: I guess you didn’t really grow up with music. It wasn’t until you were a teenager that you started to pick up the guitar.

Craig: My guitar teacher would show me music, but there wasn’t really a whole lot of music in my household.

Victoria: Whereas I grew up in a very musical house — not that anyone in my family could actually play music, but I was exposed to a lot of music, and I was always singing lots of nineties grunge. Craig was late to the game and had a lot of catching up to do musically, exploring all these things at a way older age. It was only like two years ago that you really discovered Pink Floyd. [laughs]

Craig: Now I know every album inside out. I still need to get into Led Zeppelin. There are too many good bands. I feel like I’m still catching up.

Is there an aspect of being songwriters and musicians that you’ve grown to enjoy more since finding a way to work together on a project?

Victoria: For me, the recording, because that was something totally foreign. Prior to that, with any little pieces of recording I had done, I was very much just the musician — I went in there, said my piece, and that was that. But Craig was approaching it very DIY — he had that background knowledge of recording, so he definitely took the lead, but I was able to be way more involved than any other musical endeavour I’d ever done before. So, for me, I didn’t even know that having an interest in recording was a possibility.

What is your songwriting process then?

Craig: With this record, it varied from song to song. For a song like Penelope: that was very much based off of the painting and going for a very cold, urgent kind of sound. A song like Daughter of a Naiad: we knew we wanted to explore a loop, and that was more of an experiment.

Victoria: I think by the time we get together to write a song, there’s always a foundational element that has already been established, and we go from there. I think the reason we couldn’t work together prior was because we’d just sit down with a blank canvas and be like, “Okay, let’s write a song.” That didn’t work for us, but having little bits and pieces to bring to one another, to expand upon together, seems to work better for us.

You list 13 musicians — in addition to yourselves — that played on the album. Was it daunting to be bringing in so many people for a debut record, and did you have any doubts about the size and scope of the project at any point along the way?

Victoria: Only when we were too far in. [laughs] Because we laid down the drum tracks, and at that point, live performance-wise, we’d only performed three times, and that was as a duo. It was difficult, because we didn’t know what these songs were really gonna sound like or manifest into. For our live performance, we’ve developed a very intimate, ambient sound that sounds nothing like the record. But, at that point, we had these drum tracks laid down, so we were just like, “Okay, we’re committing. We’re gonna do this full band sound.” And at times, yeah, we were super in over our heads, and it took us years to make this record — partially because we had no idea what we were doing, it was such a big undertaking, and there wasn’t an overarching producer to rein us in.

Craig: Yeah, that was a huge thing, so we just piled it on and piled it on. And I’m glad we did. We were lucky, because a lot of the folks who played are friends, so it was a little bit of a different dynamic than if they were session musicians… Well, they are session musicians, but they’re friends first. So, we could go over to their house and rehearse the parts and experiment with things. A lot of the time we recorded parts at home, so there was no pressure of a studio. We did one day, for guitars, in an expensive studio, because I figured, “I’m playing it, so let’s go to the nice studio in town.” I just racked up a big bill and was too focused on the time wasted in the studio to get good tracks down. I ended up redoing them in a cheap studio.

Have you managed to get the feel of the studio songs into any of your live performances?

Victoria: We have, only once: for our release show. It was our first time with a full band, so the first time with drums, and I think the biggest difference between our normal live performance and the record has to be the drums. Because there are times where the drummer is really giving it, and it totally changes the feel of the song. It turns them into something much more rock driven. So, for the release show, we had the drums, bass, keys, a second guitarist, and we had the horns come play on stage with us. It was definitely still different, but it gave that feeling of the record. As a five-piece band, it’s not quite the same — I think the horns really add a dimension to it — but I think it still, compared to our duo sets, closer emulates the feeling of the record.

Okay, so how long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Victoria: I think, cumulatively, once we have one little idea and we want to expand upon it, that can happen really quick. But finding that first initial idea, there’s no rhyme or reason. At this point, I don’t feel like I want to push it because, when we tried to do that before, we weren’t able to come up with anything — when we just let it happen, we made a record.

Craig: Yeah, and we’ve got some little ideas for the next thing, and it’s not like they were forced at all — we were just jamming.

Victoria: And just the nature of it: we both work full time, we’re working on the record, we have shows — there’s not that much time for us to work on these ideas, so it does allow them to fester, but maybe in a more positive way. The nature of life allows them to sit and settle, and then we get to come back to it with some space, and I always think space away from an idea is the best thing for it.

Do you connect quite quickly to each other’s ideas?

Craig: Yeah, totally. I feel like, at first, there was a little bit of hesitation, because trying to express your deepest thoughts when it comes to art, it feels —

Victoria: Very vulnerable. It’s weird. Craig and I have been together for so long — the person who, in every other aspect, we’re okay being vulnerable with. You would assume musically it would be the same, but I think, for me, it was just very much this feeling of: I really respect what he does, and I want him to respect my thoughts — I’m scared to show them because, if I don’t fully believe in them, how am I going to show them with conviction? Just getting past that.

Craig: But now, I feel like there’s an openness. I’m not gonna speak for you, but —

Victoria: Yeah, it’s true. I don’t care now. [laughs] We do have a similar vision and so, even if something doesn’t get used, I feel in the creative process it’s never like, “Ew, I don’t like that. That sounds crap.” [laughs]

Craig: The only thing that will ever be shut down is something where it’s like, “Oh, that doesn’t quite sound ‘Porteau'”.

Victoria: Yeah, there’s lots of stuff that I tell him he should do on his individual projects, just because I don’t think it fits. But I think, in general, yeah, we’re pretty closely aligned and pick up on one another’s ideas very quickly.

Do you find it quite easy then to share songwriting duties?

Craig: Yeah, totally.

Victoria: We kinda fell into roles.

Craig: That’s exactly what I was gonna say.

Victoria: I was mostly writing melodies and lyrics, and Craig was mostly writing guitar ideas. In some cases, like for River Song, I did have this synth idea, and then in Re:Birth, Craig had some lyric ideas. But that was an anomaly. It kinda felt like, in a way, you were working with someone who could pick up the pieces of an aspect of songwriting that maybe wasn’t your strong suit. I don’t have the chordal knowledge Craig has — if I’d have put these songs to piano, which is how I would have done them, they would have been much more simplistic. But, I was able to work with someone who had a greater understanding. Craig was able to have these wacky chordal ideas, and as someone who has a pretty strong sense of melody, I was able to put melodies over, and sing over, these chords that he himself wouldn’t have been able to on his own stuff. So, it worked out well. We played off one another’s strengths and weaknesses.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Craig: [laughs] I feel like, when we were writing this record, we seemed to always have a beer or two on the go.

Victoria: That’s not a mood though. Beer isn’t a mood. [laughs]

Craig: Yep, mood of beer…

Victoria: I think, for me, I have to be in a contemplative state, just because of the way I’ve found I write. I have to have a personal experience, but need to be able to relate it to something else around me. If I try to do that when I’m super sad, mad, happy or whatever, it’s not gonna happen. I have to have space and be in the mood for reflection.

Craig: I need to have nothing on my schedule. I just need to have a chill night. I couldn’t write something under pressure, I don’t think. If I have to go out later in the night, and I have an hour, I’m never gonna write something.

Is there anything in particular you do to stimulate your own creativity then?

Victoria: For me, with writing, yes. I just force myself to sit down and write. Especially when I was writing this first record — I would just go to the beach with my pen and paper, and even if I thought nothing good was coming of it, force myself to sit there. And I still do that now. I have so many notes on my phone of ideas, and just giving myself the room to explore them — I think that, for me, is kinda the way that I help stimulate it. Allowing yourself to expand. Because, sometimes, it’s so hard — we’re a very fast paced society, and you’ve got this little idea, and maybe you’ll write it down really quick, but then you come back to it and you’re not in that head-space. It’s really hard to have that resonate with you again. So, just taking time — slowing down a little bit — and catching yourself when you’re in the moment as opposed to trying to relive it, which is so difficult.

Craig: For me, I guess, sonically, I’m always listening to records and taking notes to get some production ideas. A lot of my ideas for the next record are not songs or chords or lyrics at all — they’re just wanting to try this production idea, or this wacky thing I heard somewhere, or trying to adapt what this person was trying to do.

Is that a process pathway you’ve trodden before, or is it something that’s new for you?

Craig: It kinda came with recording this album. Along the way, I would just hear these things that seemed very obvious. We wanna play around with the vocals some more, I think. Because there is actually a layer of processed vocals underneath a lot of the vocal tracks — you can’t really hear it, but it does thicken it up. Things like that, field recordings, and I think it would be really cool to make some beats out of different sounds — not a drum kit. Doing this record made me more interested in that kind of approach.

Is it daunting that you have so many options available to you? That relatively small things — like the layers of processed vocals you spoke of — can ultimately make a tangible difference to the final result?

Victoria: Yes. There are so many layers on the tracks, you get to a point where you’re like, “Why not just add some more? You know what? Instead of doubling them, let’s triple them! Why not?”

Craig: I mean, for a lot of the vocals, there are like ten vocal tracks stacked on top of each other, plus the exact same vocal lines through a harmonised plugin re-amped through a guitar amp. Stuff like that. So, it is overwhelming.

Victoria: It is easy to get carried away, and we definitely did. [laughs] Because, again, we didn’t know what we were doing, right? The whole thing was this big experiment for us. We did have our sound engineer — he worked pretty closely with us — and he was very much a voice of reason. Craig is very much a neurotic worker.

Craig: [laughs]

Victoria: He hones in and focuses. Like, I always thought I was a perfectionist, but then I worked with Craig, and I realised, “Whoa! No, I have nothing on Craig.” [laughs] There’s like a level of neurosis that’s rare to find in a person, but Craig has it.

Craig: Oh, wow. [laughs]

Victoria: It’s a good thing, don’t get me wrong, because as I said, you were able to hone in on things that I never would have honed in on. But it’s nice to have a ying and yang, so the sound engineer, Andy Schicter, he was really good at saying,”You know what? I think we’ve dialled in as good as we’re gonna get — try to think big picture, and let’s move on.” Otherwise, I feel like we’d be on a free-fall of trying to dial in effects or sounds or adding layers. So, it’s always nice when you have someone to tap you on your shoulder and be like, “Let’s move on.”

Craig: I mean, I can hear all the parts that are in it, but someone listening to it for the first time, it probably doesn’t sound that dense. The next record is maybe going to be a bit more intimate in spots — I’m kinda learning from that. It worked for these songs, I think, but —

Victoria: There’s value in space, which the songs, in this instance, didn’t lend themselves to in the same way. But I think, in our minds, we want to create a bit more space in these new songs we’re gonna work on.

So Craig — you’ve just been accused, with quite hearty assurance, of being uniquely neurotic. Care to comment?

Craig: I guess it’s a very real thing. [laughs]

Victoria: [laughs]

Craig: I’m just very passionate about recording and music in general. We just wanted to make the best record possible, and I feel like we did. The only way I knew how to go at it was just just obsessing over everything. I had a list for every single thing. I think each song probably went through ten lists of things to do.

Victoria: I think you just approached the record in the way you approach life. I don’t wanna say you’re a neurotic man in your day-to-day life — [laughs] — but you’re a very attention to detail [person]. You love your lists. So, you just took that day-to-day approach to life and applied it to the record, which is great because it created a level of organisation that me, as a messy person, never would have been able to muster. So, I think it worked well.

The songs on the album do feel very full in terms of their ability to to deliver an atmosphere and transportative experience. I guess a lot of that comes down to the attention you paid to small details.

Victoria: I mean, it got very in-depth. There was really no, “Okay, well that sounds good — let’s move on.” That never happened. Even with the vocals — layering them — we’d go in, and I didn’t really no what the harmonies were going to be, so we were experimenting. We did all the vocals at home, so we had that luxury of not being on studio time. We would record like thirty takes of a little section, and then I’d come out of our little makeshift vocal booth and we’d sit there with pen and paper, like, “Track one: this word was good, that word wasn’t good”, and go through each take piece by piece — in many cases, word by word — and kinda fit them together. It took an extremely long time, and other people we’d talk to would tell us that we were being absolutely ridiculous. But it was our first time, so we didn’t even realise the degree of neurosis that we were partaking in. Everyone was like, “That’s how you’re doing it? That’s really interesting. I would never.” [laughs]

Craig: It’s not like we were super stressed out.

Victoria: No no, it’s just how we did it.

Craig: A lot of the stuff that comes to mind is when we were mixing it. I would sit there, and I would keep hearing these resonant high-pitched frequencies that would pop up. I have a synth on my phone that can play really high-pitched ringing sounds, and I would find all the resonant frequencies and we’d EQ them out so that it sounds smooth. I’m sure lots of records are doing that. Because we have the option of doing it at home, which a lot of folks don’t, we were able to obsess over certain parts. And a huge benefit of doing a record over a long period of time is that the expenses you incur are spread out, so that worked a lot better for us too. If we had to pay a huge chunk to record the album in a short amount of time, this record would not sound the way it does.

Okay, so what do you feel is the most important element of a Porteau song?

Craig: Having lyrics that can be interpreted in different ways. A lot of the lyrics on this album, they are personal, but they’re intentionally vague as to what’s being discussed. The next record, we want to continue making music that’s even more personal. I also think mantras are pretty important to our sound, and the other thing is the guitars playing off of the words. So, very light, ethereal-sounding guitars, hopefully with a lot of space, a lot of delay. As soon as we started writing these songs, I bought one of those RE-201 Space Echo units. Every single track on the album has the Space Echo on the guitars. It even has the Space Echo on the vocal tracks for a couple of them, like on Daughter of a Naiad. That kinda gives it a warmth, but also a brightness. Also a bit of uncertainty, because the tape would often screw up.

Victoria: Also openness and mysticism, to some kind of regard.

Your songs do elicit a strong sense of mysticism and reverence for the earth. Where did those aspects of the record come from?

Victoria: I feel like, with songwriting that I had done before, I really struggled to just put pen to paper and write down how I was feeling and feel even remotely poetic about it. I guess there was a level of vulnerability there too that I wasn’t comfortable with. It just felt very much like: This is me, and I have nothing to relate myself around to; I’m just exposing myself.

I had spent a bit of time up in Alaska, and I was just surrounded by nature. I had felt so good, so at peace and more connected. I kinda realised that finding that connection to the world around me, it made my problems seem a little less daunting. It was like I could see this parallel between personal experience and the natural world. So yeah, I guess there was a reverence for the world around me, just because it was grounding. Once a few ideas started to come together, Water’s Gate made sense, thematically, coming from that perspective. I wouldn’t say all the lyrics I write have that connection to the earth, but thematically, for the record, it made sense for them to. I guess it was almost out of necessity — it was a way for me to feel comfortable telling my stories, but veiling it with this mysticism, and also feeling a genuine connection to it.

Do you feel your songs offer an escape from the chaos of the modern world?

Victoria: I would hope so. For me, they very much do. There’s so much going on around us, and creating time and space is such a difficult thing today. There is an importance in it. Often, one of the easiest ways to make that time for yourself is to detach from the chaos of society and go on a hike, go camping, swimming, whatever it is. There’s something pretty powerful in that: being able to uproot yourself from your day-to-day life and reconnect. I hope that the imagery and the mystic idea that’s discussed does invoke that sense in people, because that’s definitely what I was trying to portray.

So, what do you feel that you gain from being artistically inclined?

Craig: Going off that last question a bit, I just feel like I’m able to chill out more. These songs, especially when we’re playing them live or just jamming with the band in rehearsal, you can get lost in them a little bit. When we play them live, certain parts are improvised, so that’s kind of our escape: being able to get lost in the songs still. Even though we’ve played them lots of times, we’re still discovering new layers and changing things.

Victoria: Yeah, and just in general, to be an artist: it’s just a way of expression. I’m always trying to wrap my head around like, “What’s this all mean? What’s going on?” I feel like I’m in a constant state of being perplexed by life and the weird stuff that goes on. Being able to have an outlet to digest that, it seems so unfathomable that some people are being assaulted with the same chaos and just have to sit there with it — there’s no output, no matter what medium. I can’t paint, I can’t draw, but I can imagine if you have that ability, that would be just as cathartic. It’s just having any way to output all the stuff that’s constantly being thrown your way. It feels like a real privilege to have that ability.

Craig: Yeah, it feels quite freeing to me. The other cool thing is: we get to go out and experience other bands playing music all the time, which is super inspiring — not just to make music, but inspiring in day-to-day life.

Your music, to my mind at least, doesn’t necessarily fall into a specific genre. How have you found it in terms of connecting with other bands, and also promoting yourself?

Victoria: In Vancouver, at least, there seems to be an acceptance of an eclectic bill, and often we will create a level of eclecticness, just because the music is a little different from a lot of the folk singer-songwriters that we’ve kinda aligned with in the music scene here. The music’s not too outlandish that it feels alien.

Craig: I would say that we’ve possibly played some shows where we felt afterwards that we didn’t fit.

Victoria: That is true. We’ve learned our lesson, that way. There are certain instances where you would picture a singer-songwriter working; where you could imagine parents and their children, maybe grandmas, and there will be a baseline of enjoyment — we’ve performed in those cases, and there is not a baseline of enjoyment. [laughs] And it’s super obvious.

Craig: But you don’t know going in.

Victoria: Yeah, as a small band going in, you’re taking these shows and maybe not knowing exactly what it’s gonna be like — getting there and understanding that maybe you’re not exactly what this space is meant for. [laughs] That does happen but, in general, we’ve been pretty lucky. With promoting it, I do find that difficult. I don’t really know where the record really sonically fits. Even in terms of playlists and all that stuff. For me, it seems very challenging. I feel like, maybe it is actually a challenge for people to put it into a certain feeling or genre. So, live performance-wise, it hasn’t really been an issue, but when it comes to ‘grand picture’ promotion, yeah, it has been a little more challenging.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as people?

Craig: Oh, that’s a hard question. I’ve not thought about it before.

Victoria: I have been reflecting a lot lately: Why would I want to be a musician? Why would I want success? Why would I want people to listen to it? Why wouldn’t I? What do I want out of music? I’ve always told myself that I just want to make music for the sake of making music, but then I’ve realised, as we’ve released this record — and there’s lots of rejection that you face — I’ve experienced feeling really upset by it, and hurt in a way that I didn’t expect. So, I’ve had to do a little bit of soul searching and try to figure out: Why do I feel that way? Because I’ve always told myself that I wouldn’t, but now that I’m faced with it, I do.

So, I think for me, there’s one hundred percent a base line of insecurity there that, I guess, you don’t even realise you want to be subdued by assurance from others. Realising that about yourself is a hard pill to swallow, especially when you’ve always, out loud, said that’s not the case. So now, I almost don’t trust myself when I say like, “Oh, I don’t want my music to define me. I wanna be my own person.” I don’t know if that’s the case. I think I do, in a way. I do want this idea that I have created and presented, not to maybe define me, but to be a part of who I am and how I interact with the world.

I don’t know if that was a little rambly on my part, but it just felt very much along the lines of things that I’ve been trying to work through and digest myself… I don’t know how you feel Craig?

Craig: I’m still thinking about it.

Victoria: [laughs]

Craig: The way I see it, even though we talked about how I was neurotic about everything being right in the studio, a lot of the songs, especially guitar-wise, like in Stream and Moon Maidens — almost all of those parts are improvised. So, the parts are just moments in time that happened, and the reason I played that way was because I felt that way at the time. I think they sound quite sensitive and delicate. I don’t know if this is a good way to describe sound, but contemplative as well — the guitar parts are like discovering themselves. I’m okay with someone listening to that and making an assumption on who I am, I guess, but I’m also gonna change as a person as well.

Victoria: Yeah, I guess there is that kind of idea that it very much feels like a moment in time, but people are evolving. I do listen to people I know personally — I listen to their music — and it does help me get an insight into them in a way that I maybe otherwise wouldn’t have. So, if people get an insight into me in a way that perhaps they wouldn’t have — if they digest the lyrics and they’re able to see the more personal aspects that I’ve cloaked in metaphor — that’s awesome. Maybe they get to learn a part of me that maybe I wouldn’t feel comfortable talking about directly. Same with the music itself — you are evoking feelings, and maybe they see a sensitivity in your playing that they wouldn’t see in real life. So, I think there is something to be said for someone who’s truly listening to the music and deducing certain things from it — there’s beauty in that, for sure.

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Brynja: I went to a street theatre in Norway. I was with my friend — she played guitar and wrote her own songs — and she asked me if I could do a second harmony on her song, because she wanted to play it for the people there. I was twenty at the time, and I’d never really considered that I could play music. So, I told her, “Okay, I can try.” After that, I started to pick up her guitar and try to learn how to play. There wasn’t really much to do in the woods in Norway after our rehearsals — there was nothing around, just this group of people doing street theatre for a month. So, I thought, “I have enough time, I’m just gonna learn how to play the guitar.” I learnt some chords and stuff — not a lot — and then I fell in love, as well. [laughs]

It was such an amazing experience for me, this whole street theatre, and I wrote my first song straight after I came home. I was really surprised. I remember thinking: Okay, I don’t know where that came from. I’m probably never going to write a song again. Then, that summer, I wrote so many songs. When I was younger my parents always wanted me me to play instruments because they knew I had a musical ear, but I never wanted to practice. At that moment, when I was twenty, it kinda came from myself. That’s when I became very interested in making music.

Did you have any desire at all to make music when you were younger?

Brynja: I have a memory from when I was about nine. There was this Icelandic singer who released an album at the same age, and I remember being super impressed and thinking to myself: That’s so cool! I wanna be like her. But apart from that, not really. I started dancing, and I was really into that. I wanted to be a dancer.

Do you ever feel like, having started at the age you did, that maybe you’re at a disadvantage, or that you’ve had a lot of catching up to do?

Brynja: I’m 27 now, and sometimes I do feel like it maybe would’ve been nice to have started earlier, but then again, it doesn’t matter; this is just my story, my path I’m creating. I think, because of everything that’s happened in my life, I’m here, right now, and I feel like I’m in a really good place.

Would you say that your attitude to music before now was quite casual?

Brynja: Yeah, I always thought about it more as a hobby, but now I’m trying to see if I can do it more professionally. It’s the first time ever that I’ve not had any job — I’m just doing school and music. I really enjoy it.

I was a bit tired of the guitar. I remember sitting down with it and trying to write and nothing really came to me anymore — I had a huge writers block. I released a song in November, Liar — it was one of the first songs I wrote, and I always wanted to record it. Now, after the release, I feel like I’m free to explore new things again. I feel like when I first started making music. Back then, I wrote so many songs because it was so new to me. I feel like I’m back there again, because now I’m making music in a different way, experimenting with new genres, new sounds and topics.

So, what are the major differences between the music you’re making now, and that which you were making before?

Brynja: Now, I’ll sometimes have an idea about lyrics or a melody or something, and I’ll meet up with some of my music friends and tell them my idea. Then, we create something together. That’s unlike anything I ever did before — I always wrote everything by myself on the guitar. Also, I always used to write about my feelings. Now, I’m trying other topics as well.

And what changes have you implemented in terms of the actual music itself?

Brynja: Rhythm. Beats. A few are based on keys. I’m also trying a bit of rapping as well. [laughs]

I wasn’t expecting to hear that!

Brynja: [laughs]

What has inspired you to move in that direction?

Brynja: Probably the people I’ve met recently through school. And I was also very inspired by this podcast called Dissect. It’s really good. It’s a guy who’s dissecting albums, diving into every single detail — sound and lyrics and everything. He’s so good at it. After listening to this podcast, I was so inspired; I thought: Wow, you can actually write an album — I always thought you would just write songs and then put them together to make an album. It really gave me a new perspective on how to make music, you can have an idea — a whole story — and then create songs from that. In this podcast, he talks about Frank Ocean and Lauryn Hill… and Kanye West. [laughs] So, my inspiration is more there now. And Solange — her album, A Seat at the Table; I really like that album.

How long do your creative ideas generally take to develop?

Brynja: It depends. If I have an idea that feels right then maybe for a few days I’ll be really immersed in that, and I’ll write everything that comes to mind. Then I’ll maybe leave a few sentences out if I don’t know how to finish it, and go back to it later. Now, for the first time, I’m working on a few songs at the same time.

Some lyrics come quickly, but I’m really careful about what I want to say — I don’t want to just write whatever. So, I’ll take my time.

Do you prefer to write in English?

Brynja: Yeah, I do. I think, in the beginning, when I started writing songs, I was just speaking my heart, straight. It just felt too awkward or too sincere to write it in Icelandic. If I did it in English, I got a little bit of distance from it. But I have written some songs in Icelandic; the first song that I wrote was in Icelandic.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Brynja: When I write something I like it feels kind of magical. Have you heard of Elizabeth Gilbert? How she talks about creativity? That’s amazing. Basically, what she’s saying is that everybody has a genius instead of you being a genius. It’s like a spirit or something that gives you ideas, and if you’re open enough to it, you’ll be like, “Great!” and write the idea down. So, sometimes it just really feels like you’re not writing the song yourself — it’s writing itself, through you.

I really like to write on the train or on the bus. I went to Hamburg the other day, and I was sitting on the bus for six hours — I finished one track that I’d been working on for a while and got an idea for a new one. It’s nice to be on the move; it gives your brain time off from your everyday life and creates space for new ideas.

Aside from taking the bus, is there anything else you do to stimulate your own creativity?

Brynja: I figured out that having a routine is really good for me. I always used to think that it’s best to make music in the night — but now I really feel like it helps me to wake up early. Writing in the morning is pretty nice. I go swimming – coming from Iceland where we have a lot of swimming pools, I think the worst thing about moving to a new country is that there aren’t swimming pools on every corner. [laughs] But I managed to find one here that’s not too far away. In the morning, I go swimming, and after that I have a few hours until I go to school, so I try to be organised and use my time [to write].

How do you keep yourself interested in your art when the initial joy of inspiration wears off?

Brynja: I think it’s really important, like I was talking about with the routine, to detach yourself from what you’re doing. I try to, in the afternoon, just go home and cook and do my stuff; not do anything work related — just be excited to start again in the morning. Also, I try to keep in mind that I don’t have to make anything perfect. Nothing is really perfect. To try to find the joy in it and not worry too much.

Does that come quite naturally for you?

Brynja: Yeah, I guess so, but it is definitely something I have to remind myself of once in a while.

What do you feel is the most important element of any song that you write? What makes a song a Brynja song?

Brynja: I think the meaning is the most important. If I’m writing a song, and I feel like it doesn’t have any special meaning to me, then it’s not a song I want to release. The recording process is also important — the song has to sound like me. It’s maybe hard to pinpoint exactly what that means, but I will know when it sounds right.

I get really uncomfortable if I feel like the song is slipping out of my hands; if there’s a producer who kinda changes the song in a direction that I don’t feel is right for me… I really have to feel like I’m in control of what I’m doing, and I’ve sometimes had to fight for that.

How comfortable do you find that relationship between yourself and a producer then?

Brynja: The songs that I recorded for my EP were recorded with a friend who really gets my vibe. He was the first person that I ever recorded with and we just clicked. It was good to work together because I knew what I wanted, and he was there to help me get there. And I really like how he makes my music sound. He recorded me and did the mixing, but I was always very involved in the process, sometimes I’d be sitting by his side, like, “Oh, turn this up”, or “A bit less reverb.”

I think you just have to work with somebody that you feel comfortable with. I’ve also found some really nice people here in the Netherlands that I’m working with now. I’ve been working a lot with a guy lately, and it’s going very well — I have the feeling I’m making my music, but he is adding his flavour in there and elevating my ideas. Sounds pretty sweet.

Given what you’re studying at the moment — audio engineering — do you hope to move towards doing more of this stuff yourself in the future?

Brynja: I think that was my plan when I started the studies, or at least I wanted to figure out if that was what I wanted. I was living here in the Netherlands — for a year I was working in an office, and I didn’t really know a lot of creative people around here. At the time, I was recording my song, Liar, and I was working on it with a guy in Berlin. I went to Berlin a few times to work on it, but when I was back in the Netherlands and wanted to try some ideas, I didn’t know how to and I felt really helpless. That’s why I started the studies, because I wanted to be able to do more stuff myself. Hopefully, now, I’m better at communicating what I want.

It’s really good for me to learn some basics about recording, but it’s pretty clear to me that I’m more interested in the creative process than the engineering part. The ideal situation is to have a good team around me so I don’t have to think about everything myself. I have tried writing a song, recording it and mixing it myself, and it’s not the same — if I do everything on my own, I lose the joy of it. And I guess it’s also better to distance yourself from what you are doing a bit, then I can listen to the song with fresh ears.

Is there an element of your craft that you’d especially like to improve upon?

Yeah, I want to know more about the marketing side of music – to know more about how everything works. I haven’t been so good in putting myself out there. Like you said, you couldn’t [until recently] find any information about me on the internet. [laughs] So, now I’m trying to be more active on social media and sharing my music.

Okay, so what do you feel that you gain from being artistically inclined?

Brynja: Like I told you, last year I was working in an office, and it really didn’t give me any joy. At the beginning I thought it was interesting — it’s good to try something new — but, at the end of the year, I was just like a different person — I think I’ve never felt less happy about myself. I really feel the difference now. It gives me a lot, actually: to be doing this, to be creating.

I took a break from dancing school, because I was confused — I didn’t know if I wanted to do music or dancing. I didn’t know what to do. I remember my dad asked me, “What do you want to do with your life?” and I said, “I want to save the world.” [laughs] I mean, we are faced with issues like climate change, and it’s quite scary. I want to be able to help somehow. Recently, I started writing songs about that topic. I don’t know if that can actually help, but at least it gives me the sense that I’m trying to contribute using the tools that I have. And it feels good to be connecting those two passions.

And when do you think you’ll be ready to release new songs?

Brynja: I have a few songs ready for recording, so hopefully I’ll have them recorded soon. Let’s see, I don’t have a specific plan — I’m playing everything by ear.

Finally then, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Brynja: I think, what I’m writing about now, are my feelings and thoughts right now. It’s the same with the my older stuff, like my EP — those are thoughts that I had back then, so it really defines who I was at that moment. I think some of the things that I write are not necessarily things that I would say out loud. [laughs] It’s a nice way of getting your inner person out.

The post Brynja appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Poppy: I’ve been improvising on the piano and writing things since I was about twelve, when I started doing music at school properly and learning saxophone. I obviously couldn’t sing, playing saxophone, but I got a little keyboard. I had a really inspirational music teacher who introduced me to the blues and soul, which, from a little town in Scotland that I’d grown up in, and then Yorkshire, wasn’t something I really knew. My mum — she was musical, but came from quite a poor background so didn’t have any musical instruments or anything — introduced me to Kate Bush and lots of really inspirational singer-songwriters.

I started doing gigs in pubs at blues festivals in Yorkshire when I was fourteen. Even though I couldn’t drink, I’d be there singing the blues about all this sadness that I’m not sure I really knew about; imitating my idols who were people like Sarah Vaughan and Nina Simone. I’ve got quite a deep voice, so I remember the people in the pub would be like, “You sound like a man!” I’m like, “Oh, thanks…” I’m this little fourteen-year-old girl.

But yeah, I just started writing from then on — probably not about anything too serious: boys or something; silly things.

What was it that actually made you start writing your own stuff?

Poppy: It was mainly because I had such a deep voice — I’ve got a contralto — so, I used to sing the tenor parts in the choir because there were never enough boys. There were never enough songs I could play in the right key. All the female songs were too high for my voice, so I started writing my own, which were much lower, and also transposing a lot of the normal pop songs lower. I just loved improvising; I loved sitting at the piano and noodling on it — figuring things out that way. I didn’t like playing something prescribed; I liked doing it by ear. I always found it quite dreamy and quite a nice meditation.

Do you still find inspiration from the same sources as you did back then?

Poppy: Yeah, I even find myself playing in the same improvising keys sometimes, just for fun. I’ll go back to the same things I wrote as a teenager: the same motifs and things, just for comfort. It will always be a bit different, but it just has this nice nostalgia to it.

Did you always envision you would make the kind of music you did for your EP?

Poppy: No, not at all. I guess my EP was a little weird and strange. I didn’t know what I was doing — I was writing music and playing in bands all the way through as a teenager and through my twenties, and then I did a music degree as a masters, and I completely changed in the sense that I learned technology. Before, I’d just been recording playing piano and singing quite basically. I did a degree, and learnt all the different software and stuff behind music, like Ableton and Logic. We were taught sound design, and I was suddenly like “Wow! This is a whole new world that I don’t know about at all.” It was completely alien. I guess I took what I already knew and just experimented.

I’m so rudimentary. I’m still someone who doesn’t have a Kindle, who likes to read books, who’s old-school — has the oldest computer in the world, or did. I’m a bit of a Luddite, so it’s kinda nice to be introduced to a new world of sound design and experimentation.

How easily did you pick all the new technology up?

Poppy: Pretty easily, I guess. I think, even though I’m feeling old, it was fine. [laughs] I work in film anyway, so you have to learn new technology and new cameras all the time. It wasn’t too hard, but I was around people who were like twenty one, and I’m a bit older. I felt like everyone just had it — they’re born knowing how to code — and I was just like, “I have no idea about Ableton.” But once you spend even like a week or so just looking at it everyday, you suddenly realise it’s not as hard as it looks.

Well, I’m old enough that the long-time redundant Mixman Studio Pro software was something I spent a lot of time tinkering with as a kid.

Poppy: I had an old Zoom recorder, and that’s all I recorded everything on — it was like recording something on your phone, and that was it. My school didn’t have anything. We had one broken piano and a cassette four-track — you could have four instruments and that was your song; that was it. [laughs] I wrote all the music out by hand on manuscript paper… I didn’t grow up with computers, because my school was quite poor. There were computers — I’m not that old — but we just didn’t have them. [laughs]

What’s your process now then?

Poppy: I don’t really know. That makes it sound a bit like magic, but I just know that I’ve got an emotion that I want to get out, and I’m not sure how — it just sort of comes out. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s not like I sit there and work out an entire song; I’m just feeling what I feel and then I either start on the piano, or I sing, and I start messing around with things.

I like the idea of a song being a rough canvas, and you’re experimenting with colours. A lot of the music that I write is stretching sounds and making things sound not quite like they are. I started playing the bass in the songs, and it made me write differently, because I don’t really play it. It made me play in different keys, different rhythms. I like to not just stick at something I know, like piano and voice. I also love disarming listeners, so I’ll detune my voice to sound not quite like a woman — kinda like a man, but a bit ambiguously. I just like playing around with it. Maybe that makes it unlistenable, but I just like the experiment of it. You’re looking at a canvas, and not everything has to be so obvious when you’re looking at art, so why does music have to be such an obvious state or emotion? It can be nuanced, weird, abstract, discoloured, strange and distorted.

So the mysterious ambience of your music is deliberate then?

Poppy: I suppose so. Maybe it’s just me. It’s not like I’m sitting there going. “Right, I’m gonna make this weird and unlistenable.” I suppose if something sounds a little too much like pop, I would probably try and mess around with it more. I’m not anti-pop either. I guess, because I do listen to quite weird stuff, I don’t actually know what’s weird. Something might sound weird to someone else, and to me it sounds like the perfect pop song. Listening to people like Fiona Apple, Björk, Jenny Hval and Aldous Harding, your weird-factor’s really off anyway. [laughs]

I think, having gone to Goldsmith’s, they make you listen to all-sorts, from musique concrète pieces and Schoenberg, to Stockhausen and the big producers like Trevor Horn and what’s happening at the moment in the music scene and in pop. I suppose I already had quite a weird listening palette anyway, but Goldsmith’s also introduced me to so many others, like people who would record their washing machine. I’d go around the house with my electric magnetic microphone recording weird static electricity from the microwave and trying to put it in my songs. They were like, “Go and experiment.”

What is music? Like, Christian Marclay, who recorded a guitar being dragged from the back of a car as a musical piece, but also a statement for the lynchings that went on in the American South. That’s obviously unlistenable in some ways, and listenable in others.

I suppose I’m influenced by a lot of things, but I do listen to the weirder end of music. But then, I’m likely to listen to Prince and Michael Jackson as well, if I’m in the right mood.

Has the reaction you’ve had to your music thus far been that it’s weird?

Poppy: I’ve had a lot of reaction to it, which has really been good for me in the sense that people have said, “Wow, this is really weird”, or “It’s like taking drugs.” I put out some very weird music videos with them too, because I think people consume music visually anyway, and I work in film so…

I think people’s reactions have been twofold, like, “The videos creep me out, and the music’s also weird and creepy”, but they tend to caveat it with, “I really like it.” But, I suppose if you cut up vocals like I do on NDN, for example, you can’t really hear what I’m singing about, and I think that’s quite disarming for people. That said, I’ve had a lot of people do things for free because they’ve really loved it: people got in touch to master it for free and mix it for free because they really like what I’m doing. I’ve had people be like, “It’s a weird mix between Aphex Twin, Björk and Fiona Apple, and that’s a good space to be in.” Those are people who I really respect a lot, so if I can even remotely be put in a category as some sort of strange hybrid-child of theirs, that’s great.

How long does it take for you to develop an idea then?

Poppy: Some are written in a day, and some are written over months. It just depends, and most of them I never feel are ever finished. You just have to get to a point where you’re like, “Okay, I’m giving this to the world, and it’s yours to take on wherever you feel you’d like it to be.” You’ll go crazy if you don’t. You always have to give yourself a deadline, or you’ll sit on it and tinker with it forever.

So is that something you find difficult? To say, “Right, that’s it. Finished.”

Poppy: Definitely. It’s never finished. It’s like any piece of art: you just have to draw a line under it. If you’ve just got to release your own music with no deadline, it’s very hard to work towards something and say, “That’s it.” You have to accept it, but are you ever happy with it? I don’t know. I don’t know any artist that’s ever that happy.

Tangential to that point, artists often seem keen to point out, such is the time it can take to release music, that their latest release is actually outdated, both emotionally and in terms of artistic proficiency; that it’s a snapshot of where they were, but doesn’t necessarily represent where they are now.

Poppy: For sure. I mean, Strange Jealously, which got really well received because the video went viral last summer — viral for me, anyways; it got over a 100,000 views — I wrote two or three years ago, in a space I was in that was quite sad. You have to relive it two or three years later when you don’t feel that sad anymore, and you’re like, “Oh, that song’s about that, but I don’t feel it now.” It’s a compliment, obviously, but it’s funny because you don’t really want to talk about it. You think: How can I ambiguously talk about this song without giving away what it’s about? [laughs]

So, when you listen back to older songs, it doesn’t stir things up again?

Poppy: I don’t think so. It’s like, I have diaries, and I actually find it quite entertaining to read about a breakup. At the time of writing it was so destroying, and then you read it a few years later and you feel absolutely nothing. You’re like, “I felt that much for that person? I was in that bad a state?” You don’t laugh, because obviously you feel the pain, but you think: Yeah, I’m so much better now. So, you listen to a song like that and you’re like, “I’m glad that something creative, positive came out of this terrible time.” It doesn’t bring me to sadness.

Do you think of your music as being sad?

Poppy: I’ve definitely had a lot of reviews where people have said it’s melancholic. I think that maybe does reflect who I am. I’ve had quite a lot of things happen to me in my life — it has been quite painful and sad, so maybe the music is melancholic. But, that said, the album Altered States is about me having epilepsy, and weird realities and strange stuff. One of the songs, Tarmac, has got a really upbeat beat, and it sounds really happy, although it’s about me lying in the road having had a seizure. I’ve written it in a kind of fun state because, actually, with seizures, you don’t always get this sadness — sometimes you get this euphoric, crazed feeling. You can have lots of different feelings in epilepsy.

The record, to me at least, does have quite a claustrophobic feel; it’s very close. Does that have any sort of connection to the seizures?

Poppy: Maybe. I did want the vocals to be mixed very close so that when you’re listening they’re almost whispering in your ear. I mean, there’s a certain sort of hibernation with epilepsy where, if you have seizures, you just feel like you can’t go out because you’ll end up falling in the road, scaring people, hitting your head, embarrassing yourself. So, there’s a certain sort of recluseness that can overcome you sometimes. It’s actually people’s fear of you and their stigmas against you, more than yourself. There’s certainly a kind of cloistering feel to having it. I’m kind of in it, so I can’t really tell you if I was thinking from a claustrophobic point of view, but if that’s what you get from it, it might be because that’s what I am projecting.

What kind of mood are you in when you do your best work?

Poppy: Oh, probably really dire, depressive states. [laughs] I hardly ever write when I’m happy. I have to be quite reclusive when I want to write, because you become all-obsessive — I know I do, anyway. I don’t go out. I write into the night, because it’s very quiet then and there are no distractions from work, or flatmates or whatever. I get quite obsessed, quite insular and don’t sleep. I think there’s bit of a crazed mindset you have to get into to write music. It’s certainly something that you don’t start casually with an hour to spare. For me, it’s like, “Okay, I’ve got to dedicate many hours if I’m gonna do it.” You kind of go under.

During those times, are you able to really press on with what you’re doing?

Poppy: Yeah, very much so. Especially if it’s something where I’m suddenly like, “Oh, this is interesting.” I get really into it, just playing around with sounds, thoughts, lyrics and ideas. I’ve got so many unfinished songs and bits of things. I really enjoy the process of creating, probably more so than releasing it. The idea of creation is definitely more exciting than even playing live. It’s a bit of a drug.

How do you keep yourself motivated when the high of creation wears off then?

Poppy: I think it’s about not doing it all the time. I think if I only did music, and I was just in my room creating all the time, I could certainly go crazy. I think, because I do a lot that’s creative in my life anyway — I’m a film director, I draw, and I write a lot — there are lots of different highs and lots of different mediums, and if music wasn’t going well, I’d just stop and go and do something else, like paint or work on my film ideas. I feel like if you’re only in one thing, you can go crazy, and it can make you really depressed.

Also, you end up putting all your eggs in one basket, and it’s very demoralising if you don’t get somewhere. For me, I have no deluded notions that I’ll be a pop star overnight, but I like what I do, and if people like it then great. I know I’m not gonna be the next Taylor Swift — I don’t write music like that — but, so long as I’m doing something for me… I think creativity does come and go, and you’re not meant to do it all the time. If you are expected to do it every day, it becomes a job, and it’s not creative — you become jaded and tired, and you don’t make your best work. You’re not gonna be creative every day and write things that are perfect every day. That’s okay. Give yourself space. Give yourself a break.

For you then, would it be fair to say that it doesn’t matter so much what the medium is — whether it’s music or film or art — just that you are creating?

Poppy: Creativity a hundred percent matters to me, but I’ve always known that music is the most creative thing for me. As a film-maker, I have to write ideas for channels and for people to give me money, so you are, to a certain point, ticking boxes. It’s very creative but, at the end of the day, you’re making something for a channel, and that channel worries about audiences, so you have to consider that. It’s not a hundred percent creative in the way that you might want — you’re structuring something for funding and for audiences — whereas, with my music, it can be exactly how I want it to be, knowing that I don’t have to make very much money from it if I don’t want to; knowing that I don’t have to have a number one; knowing that the music doesn’t have to fulfil a particular scene in a film. It’s a hundred percent mine, and that, for me, is the greatest freedom ever. I think if I did actually earn money from music, and I had to write for a living, it would be a very different experience.

Okay, so Is there an element of your craft that you would especially like to improve upon?

Poppy: I’m always wanting to improve on everything. Never good enough. At all. I’d love to be a better musician. I’d love to practice my saxophone more; I’d love to be a better bass player, pianist, singer. I never have enough time in the day, and I think you’re never gonna be the world’s greatest; someone like Keith Jarrett is probably one of the world’s greatest piano players, along with Thelonious Monk and all sorts of people, but I’m sure they even think they can be improved upon. I don’t think anyone in any creative industry, unless they’re incredibly non-aware and very vain, think that they don’t need to improve on anything. I love the process of learning — that’s why I loved going back to school. I always will want to learn and experiment and do things differently, because that’s part of the fun of it. I’m never gonna think I’ve made it — I don’t think anyone ever does.

Given how experimental your music is, how easy do you find it to get on shows and meet like-minded artists?

Poppy: That’s quite tough. I think a lot of promoters don’t bother to listen, and they’ll just see ‘Woman playing piano and singing. Got to 100,000 views on her video. We’ll put her on’, without even remotely listening to the music. You see who you’ve been put on the bill with: bands who sound absolutely nothing like you. You think: Right, I’m gonna be the one that really sticks out here, and I’m not sure the audience that are coming for the other bands are gonna like it.. I find that frustrating.

I’ve run nights for women who are doing experimental music, and that’s nominally a way to do it, because I know lots of people doing similar things, but I also don’t love always having to do that. I have been asked by other places — there are obviously weird events here that cater for us, which is good, but, it’s smaller, and I’m sure people would like me to just play piano and sing; do more normal songs. Having lived around the world quite a bit, London is one of the best cities — apart from New York and Berlin — to play music in and be experimental. So, I can’t fault it — it’s just that you need to know your audience, your scene, the venues that are going to accommodate it and the good promoters. Once you do, it’s alright.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively, inclined?

Poppy: I think I’d go completely mad if I didn’t have an outlet to express myself. I’ve actually had quite a lot of conversations with friends about this — about having an outlet to express yourself — and I think a lot of people who don’t have that get quite depressed and don’t get to be heard. A lot of people’s woes can come from not being listened to; not realising what their creative potential might be — be it drawing, music, literature, dance. People just don’t have the time, or haven’t been nurtured in that way. I think it really gets people down. I know I would be really down if I didn’t have music as a way to express how I felt.

I see people in the drudgery of London, maybe not having any way to express themselves, and it’s really sad. It’s quite a freedom to have. I guess it makes me who I am. When I’m freelancing and not working in film, I’m doing a lot in music, and I suppose I would be more depressed if I didn’t have music to do outside of film. You need to have lots of facets to who you are — I’m not just a film-maker; I’m a person who enjoys lots of different things. Thank goodness TV is not my life completely. [laughs] I’d be very depressed, as much as it’s a privilege to work in film and TV… I do other things as well — I’m a nuanced person.

People should be able to do things for free — they might have a hidden talent. You might be able to sing, or draw or dance, but everyone always says, “Oh, no, I can’t.” People always look at someone who’s very successful and go, “I could never do that”, but those people weren’t successful overnight — they have this stage of being beginners and trying, seeing and perfecting.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Poppy: Freedom. The thing I live by is freedom, and I hope people listen to the music and feel some sense of that. Hopefully my music just says you can be experimental, push boundaries and be weird, and it’s all okay.

When you’re playing your songs or listening to them, do you feel that freedom yourself?

Poppy: Yeah, I do. I feel a day-dreaming freedom to it, and I day-dream a lot — I think it’s necessary in London. But, to be honest with you, I’m not really listening to my own tracks unless I’m working on them. I find that ever so slightly painful and narcissistic. I’m listening to the next tracks I’m writing; listening to them to understand how to push them forwards. I’m not really listening to things that are out there already, because they were done, and they’re for other people now — they’re not for me anymore. It’s like sitting as a king on all your treasures and admiring it. [laughs]

There’s nothing wrong with a bit of self-admiration.

Poppy: No, I suppose so. I’m not very good at that.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Poppy: I don’t know. It’s a hard question for me, because I feel like I do many things. Who I am as a person is definitely creatively driven. I know I’d be a terrible person to go to work in the same place in the same office doing the same job, like an accountant — I’d be terrible.

I’m in a privileged position that is creative, and all of the creative things that I do, do define me as a person. I had very hippy parents who were artists, and for me it was like everything was creation there. You were sick, and the orange of your sick was like a beautiful colour that you could have on a canvas. My mum used to make busts, and take animal skulls from the countryside and put them on perspex; the light shining through would create shadows on the wall. Everything was art. If you live like that, you end up maybe being a bit crazy yourself, and that defines you. I guess I’m maybe not the most normal person in the world.

The creative things that I do, I suppose they do define me as being Poppy, but I’m also just a normal woman living in London. I wouldn’t want to just feel like I live this artistic life that’s only driven by the art — that can also be a very lonely, sad life. The people who are really that doctrinal and dogged in their art and creativity, they never form very lasting relationships and happiness. I’m conscious of that. I’m not going to sabotage my life, my friendships, my loves, for music, although whoever does come into my life has to accept that I’m creative.

I’m not ruthlessly creative is what I’m trying to say. [laughs] It’s a hard question. I’m not about to cut my ear off or anything.

That’s good. Particularly at this precise moment.

Poppy: [laughs]

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Rosie: I think it was a conglomeration of events. I was definitely getting the itch to record stuff — maybe before I’d got the material — but if I did another record, I wanted it to be more of a body of work and less a collection of random songs. It came hand-in-hand with the realisation that I’d been keeping my art and my music separate in my mind and in life, and I’d been writing songs that were another outlet for thinking about the concepts I was exploring in my art. I was like, “Well, obviously. That makes sense because it’s my brain.” [laughs] Then I wrote one key song, which was the title track, The Lost Gardens, and that was just it. I was like, “Oh, I’ve got at least three songs now that are using kind of garden imagery. I think I have something! I have a theme.”

It all happened to be good timing that Jakes and Niko, my sound engineers, and Upcycled Sounds got properly setup with a studio in Oxford, and they were just raring to go and ready to start. I only had four songs at the time, and I knew I wanted five. I thought a lot about doing an album or an EP — the pros and cons — and we decided that an EP was a really good way of getting music out more quickly, and more focused as a project as opposed to an album, which can end up quite rambly. So, it came together at the beginning of last year, and we threw ourselves into it.

You mention the cohesiveness, specifically from a thematic perspective. Did you enjoy working within that framework once you realised that’s where you were heading?

Rosie: I didn’t realise quite how cohesive it all was until we finished and put the tracklisting together. I think even though I knew it was more cohesive, it was more the pleasure that I knew I was proud of the songs — I knew that they were good. With Inside Out, it was like I was prepared to record them and put them out there because I thought they were okay songs… That sounds terrible. They were meaningful, so I thought that was grounds enough to put them out, but with the songs I wrote for The Lost Gardens, I felt proud of them as good songs. That’s what was really enjoyable about recording them as a set.

We spoke last time about this being quite a relaxed project for you – how you’d deliberately kept things casual for fear of it dying – have you been able to preserve that attitude through the process of this latest record?

Rosie: Yes, I think so. Music in general is still that for me, and I’m much more clear on that now than I was three years ago. I was kinda like, “I dunno, I’ll just see what happens”, and I felt a bit guilty about that, like maybe it was just a lazy attitude. But actually, now, I really want the music to remain enjoyable, and I think the key to that is to keep it like, “Let’s see what happens. Let’s just try this out.”

But I don’t have an end goal, and I don’t have my sights set on anything in particular. Last year was pretty full-on music-wise, and it took up way too much of my time for how much it paid me. That was fun, but I have to be really aware of it. It’s energy sapping. My mantra for this year, and forever, I think, is to be open with music, and never to say no, but equally I’m not gonna pursue anything — much to the dismay of my production team. [laughs]

And compared to your album, how have you found yourself responding to the actual release of this EP: the letting go of it?

Rosie: I think my attitude to that has changed as well. It’s because the creation of the album, and then the launch and the gigs afterwards, have been a lot more collaborative than with my album, which was collaborative as well, but with the EP I very much more handed over trust to other musicians.

I remember, just before we started recording, I was still having anxieties about ownership of the songs. Handing over everything production-wise, and letting them play around with whatever they wanted in the studio, took a lot of, ‘Okay, what does that mean of those songs once they’re done? How much are they still mine?’ My problem with that quandary isn’t to do with wanting them to be mine, it’s more to do with how I feel guilty about then selling the CDs and getting the proceeds just for me. I had the same issue with Inside Out — I felt really bad about it. I was like, “This is eighty percent someone else’s work.”

I had lots of conversations with Niko about that, and he just kept reassuring me, like, “No, they are your songs. They can be displayed and worked with in hundreds of different ways, but the song is still yours.” The whole way Upcycled Sounds was set up in the first place, they really want it to be clear that the song is owned by the songwriter who pays for the production. That’s a job that’s been done, and the song is still completely owned by the artist at the end. I think that all helped me let go of them to a certain extent, and enjoy it. It’s been really fun. I feel like everyone’s reaction to the EP has been that of surprise and enjoyment of how much it’s opened up, and that’s all down to the production team, but also the collaboration between both of us. I’m much more aware of how that EP couldn’t exist without both our things coming together.

So, would you say you’ve now completely gotten over that particular doubt?

Rosie: Yeah, I think so. Having a band around me, I’ve started to see how people actually just get a lot of enjoyment out of it. I should stop feeling weird about that. Now I know where my strengths lie, where they don’t, and where I can invite others to contribute in order to progress things in a way I couldn’t on my own. I shouldn’t feel guilty about that — I should just enjoy the fact they’re enjoying it, and we’re all enjoying it together. [laughs]

How has all of this impacted your live show?

Rosie: It has definitely raised some questions. It was exciting what we developed on the EP, and how we broadened the sound. We came to the end of it and were like, “Great! How do we bring that onto the stage?” Because it feels like a really great leap forward, and it would be really cool to bring that progression into the live performance, but I’ve always avoided bands because it takes a lot of logistics and is a bit of a nightmare. But, that all quite happily fell together, accidentally.

Some of the artists on the label — we all just kind of collaborated on each others songs. Then we were trying to take the recordings, and not replicate them for on stage, because they’re two different things, but to take some of the elements of the recordings: to put my guitar down and hand over that instrumentation side of the performance to these other instrumentalists; to trust them to find their parts with what they’d heard on the EP, and what my live performance was like. Instantly, it was really exciting, and they really enjoyed it, which was what mattered to me. I’m not gonna employ band members just for the hell of it — the only reason I’m doing it is because they’re enjoying it.

As a bonus, it’s unlocked a whole different level of performing for me, which I never could have imagined before. The amount of fun you can have on stage when it’s not just you. You can actually own your craft in a much more poignant way — I can really focus on my vocals, which is what I really care about and enjoy. The part I didn’t enjoy so much, which was the guitar, I can hand over and they can enjoy it. So, it’s been really great.

Will you be doing more shows with the band?

Rosie: I want to, and they want to, but it’s just that difficulty of us all doing it on the side. When there are five of you doing it on the side, the chances of you getting in one room at the same time for a rehearsal are slim. We’ve done a few gigs recently where we hadn’t rehearsed at all, which they’re very good at — at winging it — but I don’t really want to wing it. If I’m going to do it with the band, I really want to be rehearsed. So, that’ll take a different investment of time and money.

I’ll say yes to things if they come up, but I don’t have that space — I’m gonna have to be focusing on my artwork a lot this year, because last year was a music year. This year, I need to lock down and focus. I think what I’m planning, in build up to the next record and producing it, is involving the band a lot more. Then we’ll see about touring and scary stuff like that. Next year, maybe.

Okay, so returning to the EP itself: Were you more, or less, concerned about the reaction this time around?

Rosie: I guess, naturally, more, because I think you always are with every new project — you feel like you’ve progressed, and you want that confirmation from the outside.

Last time we spoke, you said that you’d like to introduce a slightly more electronic influence, and a very noticeable way in which this EP differs from your album is the production. In this particular respect, how close is the EP to what you were envisaging three years ago?

Rosie: I’ve kind of taken stepping stones with Jakes and Niko towards that — keeping my songs pure. I didn’t want to suddenly go over-electronic; I didn’t want to suddenly become, you know, current. [laughs]

I loved what what Chris did with the instrumentation (for Inside Out) — it was beautiful — but the reason I can’t listen to the album much at the moment is purely because of my performance. I feel like I over-performed it, I was overexcited, and it was all a bit much. I’m aware of the fact that my songs are already quite a lot to absorb, and the instrumentation needs to bare that in mind — we kind of just threw everything at it. Chris came up with loads of arrangements for loads of different instruments, and I was like, “Yeah! Sure! Try that! Throw it on!”

I’ve realised since that I need to pare things down somehow and yet keep it real — I love knowing that a sound actually happened. I know synthesisers use sounds and then work with them, but I like the idea that everything really did happen in the studio. That’s what Jakes and Niko do. It sounds more electronic, but actually all of those sounds were created uniquely for the project; mostly, they didn’t take samples from a database and mix them in — we made them, by hitting things in the studio, and shaking random objects.

I think it became a lot clearer to me, when I had a lot of distance from the album, what I actually wanted the sound to be like. It took me a long time, and I really struggled with hearing it. Really, I think I’m only clear on that now that we’ve done it — in the studio, I was like, “Try whatever.” But I think Jakes and Niko had a lot of clarity about it, and that really helped. They knew it needed to be simplified, not over-complicated, yet they also wanted it to be fresh and interesting. So yeah, Jakes and Niko really helped to have that clarity, and now I feel a lot more clear for the next one.

It feels like it worked as a concoction of people and minds. It was quite experimental, but now we can see what worked and what didn’t. It’s nice. I can imagine doing something more, which I don’t think I was that clear on after Inside Out.

Is there anything you left off the album that, on reflection, you wish you’d included, or anything that could have been done slightly differently?

Rosie: I think the only change I would make to the EP is something I suggested that I now think I was wrong about. [laughs] Niko’s gonna love this; I haven’t told him. Towards the end of the mixing, I kept asking him to turn me up. You know Laura Marling’s new album, and the song Soothing? I was thinking very much in those terms: it’s all about her delivery. It sounds really egocentric, but the lyrics are so important to me. I didn’t really know what was going on with the instrumentation, but the point of the song — I really want that to be in the front. So, I kept prodding him to turn it up in the mix, and he was just like, “You’re already really loud!” I was like, “No, I’m not! Not loud enough!”

I do like it, but I have had a comment from another sound engineer that was like, “That was quite brave: to put you so forward in the mix.” Yeah, that was my fault. So, I think I need to trust Niko’s opinion more on the stuff that he’s trained at. I think that’s the only change I would make.

There was something we left out that was in the mix for The Lost Gardens, which I stand by. Niko used a lot of field recordings, and one of the main ones was a recording he’d taken of ants crawling over his microphone — they were making squeaky noises and spraying defensive stuff. He mixed it into quite a lot of the song, and he loved it. Everyone else loved it. They were like, “That’s so cool!” But I was determined, and I know I’m in the right about this: it was just a distracting, weird sound. You’re just like, “Are my headphones broken?” [laughs] The other aspect of it is that I have a phobia of ants. [laughs] So, it would have been quite ironic to keep it in there, but it was also like, “I’m never going to be able to listen to this song. I feel like they’re in my head.”

Other than the fact ant sounds are definitely not for you, is there anything you’ve learnt about yourself from the creation and release of this record?

Rosie: I’ve learnt to trust the fact that things are connected, and things happen for a reason; to trust that they’ll mesh together successfully, and to not be so worried about not having a grasp on what it’s going to sound like, be like or look like. So, definitely to trust my process, and to trust other people more. Other than that, I’m not really sure. I still don’t know much about myself. [laughs]

How do you feel you’ve developed as a lyricist since the album?

Rosie: I’m still learning. I can see now what’s more successful about these songs. There are a lot of people who have a huge place in their heart for the songs on Inside Out, but I think, technically, they’re definitely better songs on The Lost Gardens. I always write really rambly, and there are aspects of those songs that maybe are still too rambly. But I think, on the whole, with the input of Jakes and Niko, we did cut out quite a lot of random bits of verses that I was holding onto because I really liked them lyrically. But to make a good song that people could follow — could audibly go on the journey with me — it needed to keep their attention, and in order to do that, I have to sacrifice some lyrics.

I wrote a song recently that’s just been taking so long, because I had too much of an idea of what I wanted it to be about, and I was hammering that home way too much and in a really obscure way. It was really hard to follow, and I rewrote it three or four times. I think I’ve only just got it to a stage where I can bring it to the band and see what happens with it. It took a lot of sacrificing ideas in order to make a good song, and that’s hard, but also an important part of the process that I’m learning. It does come across in a shorter amount of words. I have to believe that people will get it; I don’t have to spell everything out.

I get the impression from the way you’ve conveyed that point however, that removing something from an original work for the betterment of a song is something you’re still struggling with a little.

Rosie: If you gave me a week off from my life, I couldn’t guarantee you that I could come up with a song — maybe an idea, but it’s still a mysterious process to me. I have more of an understanding of it but, in a way, that’s more of a risk. Sometimes I feel like I want to have less of an understanding, because I feel that holds me back. I used to write songs way more regularly — just spit them out — but now I definitely feel that my awareness makes me overthink things. I’m hoping that will all balance out and I’ll become productive again, but it’s a hard thing, writing songs.

I can imagine; I find it hard enough writing emails. The amount of time I can spend tweaking a two line message…

Rosie: [laughs] It happens when you really care about what you’re saying. If you really care then of course it’s hard. There are a million different ways you could get the words out, and you want them to be the right words. There’s so much pressure on that, and people who write a lot of songs, maybe they’re just better at letting go of that pressure, or maybe some of them just don’t care as much. [laughs] They just get it out and think about it later, and if you wanted to make a career in songwriting, you’d need to do that. But I’m not prepared to sacrifice my pernickety songwriting. [laughs]

Okay, so what does this EP represent to you.

Rosie: For me, in both my art and my music, it marks a kind of clarity. No matter what my songs are about on the surface, they are all dealing with a similar theme and ideas — that’s quite refreshing to realise. I think I’ll always be trying to express that in some way or other, whatever imagery I’m using at the time. I can see how, even though I’ve only got one or two songs for the next record, it leads on in terms of the underlying themes, which will be the same: ideas about finding stability in a world that’s so chaotic and turbulent, and also the dangers of veering too much to that side and wanting too much stability and too much control — what that can mean and how that can hold you back.

It’s weird, I feel like I’ve been having this epiphany for the last four years — I have the answer, but to get there is gonna be a lifelong process, and the songs are an important part of that for me. That’s exciting, I think. I see songwriting as less random than I used to.

The post Rosie Caldecott appeared first on A Lonely Ghost Burning.

Elsa: My process has changed a lot over time — it’s always changing — but generally, for my electronic stuff, I start by making a load of sounds then taking them apart. Or I take a recording of something else that I’ve already made — it’s often guitar or synth — and basically resample and turn it into something that sounds more warped and atmospheric.

For this particular album, I focused a lot on guitar loops, or just building up layers of loops that have cross-rhythms and building up the track from there. Do you know Quilt Jams, the EP I released last June?

You release so many things! How am I supposed to remember the names of all of them?

Elsa: [laughs] That’s supposed to be the other side of the coin of Citrus Paradisi. It’s mainly made up of guitar loops and vocal harmonies. A lot of the tracks that were going to be on that, I saved for this one, because I thought I’d keep that one really minimal and let loose on a load of the other ones.

Do you prefer when you keep things minimal, or when you let loose?

Elsa: I think I mostly enjoy letting loose, or not trying to find something specific, but just seeing what I end up with. In some ways, I like things coming out of nowhere — something unplanned, but awesome. It’s like a search — I keep making different sounds and playing with them until I find something that’s got a good catch.

You mentioned that you’d generally be using guitar or synths — which of those do you generally prefer to use?

Elsa: Probably guitar, because that’s my main instrument, and I find it quite easy to improvise stuff.

There’s a lot more stuff that I’m planning on trying out with synths, because it’s such a huge world of possibilities — there are so many different sounds you can make, and there are so many different things you can do to those sounds. It’s endless. With guitar, you’ve always got six strings, and it’s always made of the same material, but still it turns out there are a lot of different things you can create. And I think it’s because I just like making chords. I’ve always made up chords, ever since I started playing guitar — that’s just something I’ve always enjoyed doing. I can still have that very natural, organic way of playing, and then translate that into electronic music — it creates something quite interesting. The chords are a big part of the music creation for me.

When you started to learn guitar, did you envisage you’d be making the kind of music you are now?

Elsa: No. [laughs] Not at all, because when I started, I didn’t really listen to electronic music — as in, experimental or EDM type things. If anything, it was nineties pop, which was effectively electronic music, but I didn’t really see it as that at the time. I would never have envisaged being where I am today.

Is there any part of the music creation process that you’re not so keen on?

Elsa: I think when you’ve finished the track, and you keep going over it, fine-combing it like a million times until there are no problems or frequencies that are a bit too harsh. I’ve liked learning to mix and getting better at mixing, and since I started off mixing it myself, I just thought I’d keep going until I’m good at it. But that probably is the most arduous part of the process.

Do you find it easy to stop and just be like, “It’s finished”?

Elsa: Yeah, I think so. Although, this album has been the one where I’ve stopped about five times. [laughs]

Do you ever find the vast possibilities that are open to you as an electronic and experimental artist to be a little overwhelming?

Elsa: Yeah, it is sometimes quite overwhelming. That’s when you’re just thinking about it, or listening to music that inspires you to make something new. If you spend too long thinking about it, and not doing it, then it’s overwhelming, because it’s like, “Which idea should I pursue?” It’s less overwhelming if you just pick something up and make something.

How long do your ideas tend to take to develop then?

Elsa: Very fast, actually. It’s quite spontaneous at the start, usually, and then I just keep following my imagination. I have to do that quite quickly so that I don’t lose the vibe or momentum. I suppose that’s why they come out quickly: because the ideas come quickly, and I have to get the sounds and the track from one place to another to finish the session.

When you started work on the new album, was there anything specific that you wanted to implement?

Elsa: I did decide to keep in mind the ways I could play it live. And I slightly wanted to make it more mathy in the way I was using the guitar loops. Aside from that, it was literally just things that I discovered I could do really quickly, and I just kept doing them. Like the vocal harmonies: using them rhythmically.

You mention thinking about how you would play it live, which is something I was planning to ask about. You do actually take that into consideration when building a track then?

Elsa: Yeah, I do now. When I started making electronic music, I didn’t really think about how I was gonna play it live — when it came to having to do live sets, it was like, “How the hell am I gonna recreate this?” [laughs] Basically, it’s impossible, so I have to think about ways I can string it all together in a way that’s fun to do and also fun to watch.

Do you enjoy playing live?

Elsa: Yeah, I do. Obviously, it does depend on the venue and the audience – – they can really influence the experience — but, generally, I’ve always enjoyed it.

Okay, so returning to the album: How do you feel it compares to the mountain of stuff you’ve released over the last couple of years?

Elsa: I’d say it’s more polished, maybe, because I’m more aware of what I’m doing. Having done those first three — that was like getting my initial ideas out — I could look back on them and hear what I could improve. My ear has become more finely tuned. Also, I wanted to make something slightly faster and more high energy.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best work or are at your most creative?

Elsa: I don’t think there’s a particular mood — it’s just the mood of the day. [laughs] As long as you’re inside it, and you’re able to feel it, then it’s gonna have some sort of authentic outcome, I find.

And you are incredibly prolific… How do you manage that? Is it purely just a result of going with the feeling of the day?

Elsa: I would say so. I mean, I was literally thinking about this yesterday: Why doesn’t everyone else end up making the same amount of stuff that I do? And I think maybe people do make a lot of stuff, but they don’t release all of it. I do. [laughs] No, I don’t release all of it. I’m pretty sure I’ve been prolific from the start, and there’s no real reason that I know of for it. Maybe I just make things quickly. I feel like I have just as much time as everyone else does, so I don’t understand really.

I assume you must be good at just getting on with things as opposed to staring off into the distance for hours at a time.

Elsa: [laughs] Yeah, actually that’s true. I think a lot of it is to do with finishing things that you’ve started. I think a lot of people struggle with that, or don’t feel satisfied with something they’re making and never finish it — a lot of people talk about not finishing stuff. I have quite a strong sense of needing to finish something once I’ve started it. I’ve always got a lot of satisfaction out of finishing a song — since being a teenager, that’s one of my favourite feelings. It makes you feel slightly richer.

When you do need to look for inspiration, where do you tend to find it?

Elsa: I can’t really say for sure. I guess I just find inspiration in sounds and chords, and the emotions that they make me feel. It’s usually just by making a sound, but I guess everything in everyday life; everything that I see, it all fits into the subconscious, and I think as long as you can tap into that, you can find something to write about.

Do you feel like you perhaps see the world slightly differently from a lot of other people? Or are maybe just able to better process what you see and hear?

Elsa: It might be that: it might be to do with processing. Spending most of my growing-up years writing songs, partly because I needed to. Often, I was really unsociable — I didn’t talk very much, and I preferred to write songs. It was quite healing for me. I’ve sort of got used to having that output and needing that creative side. It’s just literally how I live now, I suppose — it’s an essential part of life for me.

So, how do you prepare yourself for a major release?

Elsa: That’s something I’m still learning. It’s quite hard, especially finding promotion and stuff. It can be quite soul-destroying trying to attack that on your own, since most people don’t reply when it comes to blogs and stuff. It always helps to have people working with you for that. Certain magazines and blogs have a really focused genre type, and my music doesn’t quite fit into any of them, which makes it particularly hard. But I’m proud of the fact that it doesn’t quite fit into a lot of categories.

I kinda just have to calm myself down and try to instil a sense of confidence. No matter what happens, I know it’s good, and I know that people will enjoy listening to it. My audience grows with every release, so there are always gonna be people who are happy to hear the new stuff. I think those are the main things. To just not get disheartened, and not care who does and doesn’t reply, or what I get and what I don’t.

Are you still able to see it primarily as a creative project, as opposed to work?

Elsa: It’s always evolving. I see it as both, now. The best part of it is when I’m just making something fresh and not thinking too much about what it’s gonna be or who it’s gonna be for. I have to have different hats. The business side always comes later, but also it feeds into the performing side — I always like to have something really current to perform when I play live sets.

Now we’ve got access to so many stats, especially if you self release, it really takes the fun out of releasing albums. Suddenly, it’s like, “Numbers!” Which may or may not mean something is going well or not. It’s sometimes too much.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the type of music that you make from a purely creative perspective?

Elsa: Maybe just the looping and the repetition. A lot of my music is built on loops, and I’m starting to feel like I’ve done the looping to death. It’ll probably become more experimental. I guess all music is based on something repeating, and then it changes to something else repeating. I’d kinda like to break from that a little bit, and do something wildly experimental. [laughs]

Anything in particular?

Elsa: Something that doesn’t repeat once in a song. But I can’t promise I’ll end up making that anytime soon.

What is the most important element of an Elsa Hewitt track? Currently. Before it all turns wildly experimental…

Elsa: [laughs] Usually it ends up being the chords, the rhythm and the structure of the track.

Is there an element of your craft that you’d like to improve upon?

Elsa: I think, mainly, making it somehow louder. [laughs] My music always comes out really quiet. I tried to improve on that in the last album. I think it’s a lot to do with the sounds that I use: sometimes they’re quite lo-fi. I do like the lo-fi recordings — they have a certain texture to them — but if I made everything digitally, it would all sound much louder and crisper, and it’s something I’m thinking about doing more.

Obviously, you utilise vocals in your work, but their presence seems somewhat restrained. Is this an intentional thing, or does it just depend entirely on what a track needs to feel complete?

Elsa: Yeah, I think it depends on the track, definitely. I did spend more time thinking about the actual music rather than the words. I’d already used my voice quite a lot to actually make the music. I could have spent longer making more words on the album, but I didn’t really feel inclined.

Do you enjoy that part of it?

Elsa: I do enjoy it, but I think it’s the part that takes the longest and the most concentration for me. I can make music and melodies in an instant, and it’s totally easy, whereas, when it comes to lyrics, I really want them to be just right. It’s really easy to write something and feel embarrassed about it. I have to spend quite a while just sitting there thinking about what the right words are, and whether I know what I want to say or not. It takes a while, and it takes a different part of my brain.

You’ve already released a couple of videos ahead of the album’s release, and the cover art for it looks wicked. How important is the visual element of what you do?

Elsa: It’s pretty important. I think it definitely needs to suit the music, and it’s ended up having a certain style because I’ve been making it myself, apart from doing photos with some photographers, and the DUM SPIRO SPERO cover, which was made by my friend Joy Simpson.

I guess it becomes increasingly important. The first time I tried to do the artwork, it was really bad. It’s always been a fun side of it — I like doing art — but when it came to releasing my albums professionally, the Future Bubblers were like, “I think you need something a bit slicker.” I just had these pink clouds with a picture of a cat on it. I had to learn that you need high-res stuff, but ultimately I’ve wanted to do it myself because then I have control over the colours — the colours have got to fit with the sounds, I think.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively, inclined?

Elsa: A whole world of ambition and achievements. You can get a lot of really great feelings from making music that you really like. It’s quite addictive once you start making really interesting sounds and realise you can make whatever you want. It’s kind of freeing as well in that way, and comforting, because you’ve always got something you can return to: a creative practice that can take your mind off anything, heal you, and channel whatever you’re feeling into some sort of art-form. I feel pretty lucky to be able to do that.

So, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Elsa: … Fifty percent? [laughs] It’s always a challenge to make music as authentic as possible — to represent wherever you are in your life at that moment. I think it’s like a documentation of life.

That’s a really difficult question!

Yeah, I know… I’m sorry.

Elsa: [laughs] So, like, fifty to a hundred percent. [laughs] It is quite a big range, but it is kind of a duality: there’s your self, and then there’s your creative self, which is something else — it’s kind of like the world, through you.

Okay. so let’s finish back on the subject of the new record. Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through Citrus Paradisi?

Elsa: It’s not something I’ve thought about that much. I think the album is inspired a lot by synchronicity and faith — I’m not sure for what reason though. I guess it’s partly faith in the universe, and also in yourself — to be able to overcome things.

Has having faith in yourself — self-confidence — been an issue?

Elsa: Self-confidence has always been a slight battle, but it’s more self-esteem, I would say. I’ve always been confident in my music, but not so confident in myself, and unable to push it on people or rave about it. I can make it in complete confidence, and honestly believe that it’s good; I think I can see quite clearly how what I do is good, and how it can be improved; I have confidence in my judgement; but, sometimes, I lack confidence in the world I’m putting it into. That brings it back round to having faith: that what you’re doing is fine, and what you are is fine, and you should have confidence in it and faith that people will like it.

Which brings us nicely to my final question: Is there anything you’re especially excited for people to uncover on Citrus Paradisi?

Elsa: I think that every track on the album would probably be given a slightly different genre name — I don’t think any of them are the same genre — but they all fit together really well. There are similar sounds used in all of them, but different types of beat and that kind of thing. I think that should be interesting for people, and also the mix of propulsiveness and danceable with quite ethereal, twinkly, sleepy sounds. I think the mixture of those is kind of an interesting one.

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Christina: I’ve been writing songs for about a year-and-a-half, but I’ve always been a writer, since I was a kid. I’ve been inspired by my various favourite artists growing up, like Kurt Cobain, Lana Del Rey, Grimes. Sufjan Stevens is one of my favourite artists ever — I think he’s an amazing songwriter.

How similar is what you’re producing now to what you perhaps anticipated when you first started writing seriously?

Christina: Honestly, I didn’t expect to work on the things that I’ve been working on. I just came into it not expecting anything, and I think that’s the way it should be. I find myself putting a lot of pressure on myself in my writing and whenever I make new songs. It really should be simple — you just open up Logic or whatever, and you go. From there, that’s where I get my ideas. I open it up, start seeing what sounds good to me and then work on the lyrics from that.

How long do your ideas generally take to develop?

Christina: Not very long. I go with whatever I’m thinking about at that moment, or I can go back and think about my memories — it’s so vivid still in my mind, I can just write it down easily and create a story from that.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Christina: Yeah, I doubt myself a lot, and I know I shouldn’t. Sometimes it gets hard dealing with anxiety, depression and stuff like that, but I just try to change my thinking. If I’m thinking negatively, like, “I can’t do this. I wish I could do this”, I’m like, “Well, I probably can do this. I can try, and see what comes from that.” So, I’m trying to think more positively in that aspect.

When you’re going through those times of depression, does it affect what you think of the work you’ve already produced?

Christina: Yeah, actually. I think of my first project that I put out, angelface, and of course I’m proud of it, but at the same time, I’m like, “Wow! I see this mistake, and I wouldn’t really do that now.” It’s kind of my past self, and I like that I’m moving forward. I’m currently working on a kind of eighties new wave direction, because I grew up on a lot of that too. I’m excited to work on that.

In what ways do you feel you’ve most improved since you released angelface?

Christina: I think, probably, with the self confidence aspect of it. When I was making angelface, I had a small idea, and I just went with it. I got with my friend and producer, Staten, and we just worked on it for a year or so, and we came out with it. I think now, I understand more about planning: that I need to plan more of my ideas, because I’m bad at that.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Christina: I don’t want to say sad, but if I’m upset, it’s a lot of fuel to write my feelings and emotions. I’d prefer if it was quiet. Most of the time it’s me in my room, and I’m usually alone. I like to make it atmospheric with the lighting, and I just make sounds and start writing.

When you listen to your own songs, does the sadness and despondency within them affect your frame of mind?

Christina: I don’t think it does. I can look back, and I remember the feelings of when I wrote it, but I don’t really feel that way anymore. It doesn’t really affect me negatively in that way.

How do you keep yourself motivated when the high of finishing or releasing a new song wears off?

Christina: [laughs] That’s another problem: I kind of struggle with motivation. Sometimes, honestly, I think the answer for me personally is to isolate myself and just be alone and come back to those things that inspire me. I like to go on YouTube and watch my favourite artists do interviews; I like to watch things in the studio, and how they made certain songs.

What do you feel is the most important element of an orion lake song?

Christina: Love. Everything is about love. All my songs are love songs, for the most part, and I feel that they always will be.

Is there a particular element of your craft that you think you could improve upon?

Christina: Oh yeah, I always feel like I could be improving on so many things. I’m just trying to take criticism and advice, and I’m trying to put that into my work. Maybe work on my voice too — control it better. And learn more about my voice and how I want things to sound. I wanna just always be learning.

Do you see yourself primarily as a vocalist, writer, producer?

Christina: I mean, I produced most of my songs, but I wouldn’t really call myself a producer. I guess I would say I’m just an artist — a girl in her room. I’m a writer. I used to write poems all the time. I’d say I’m more of a writer than anything.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the style of music that you make?

Christina: The only thing that would irritate me is if I were to keep doing the same thing — the same sounding songs. Other than that, no, not really. I just want to experiment; I want to do more different things.

Is there another genre or artist that you’re slightly envious of?

Christina: I’ve been listening to a lot of Björk lately, and I’m obsessed with her. I’ve never really dived into that, never really listened to her stuff. I really want to start experimenting more with that. I love The Cure – so much. That’s kinda the new direction I’m going in — I want to do more stuff like that: new wave, dark, but also uplifting sometimes. I don’t know if I’m really envious, but I take a lot of inspiration from everywhere.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively, inclined?

Christina: I think I gain a lot of perspective, not only on myself, but other people as well. After you release a song, and you get the feedback of people — whether this spoke to them or not, whether this helped them or not — I think that’s the real thing I wanna do. Does this affect people in any way? Hopefully, positively.

How easy or difficult have you found it to reach people with your music so far?

Christina: I don’t think it’s been that difficult. Whenever I release a song, I put it out pretty much everywhere. Most of the attention that I’ve gotten was started through the internet. I think playing more shows would increase that — I’ve only done one show so far, and I would love to do more.

What sort of setup did you have for that show?

Christina: It was a Boston show, and it was just me with the mic. I thought it was gonna be that I’d bring my own equipment, but they had their own DJ and amps and stuff. So, basically they were playing the tracks that I sent them, and I was just singing.

I get the impression you’d have preferred to have used your own equipment and been doing as much as possible yourself.

Christina: Yeah, I think it’d be a much better experience, because I’d be more comfortable. I’d love to bring live instruments too. I’ve love to do that someday.

Okay, so how important is is for you to have an emotional outlet?

Christina: Oh, it’s very important to me. If I didn’t have an emotional outlet, I think I would combust. I have many feelings, and I’m a writer. I like to talk about experiences so I can get them out in a song and leave it in the past and move on.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Christina: At the end of the day, I just want people to get an understanding from my music. I want them to resonate with me, and if you’re feeling shitty, that’s alright, because I do too — that’s why I wrote this song. [laughs] As long as people like it, and it’s making people feel comforted, that’s all I need.

From the feedback you’ve had thus far, have people responded to it in the way you thought they would?

Christina: Yeah, and it’s very crazy to me because I’m such a shy girl, and I used to be even more shy and withdrawn — I still am, but it’s gotten better. To hear feedback like, “Your music has helped me so much”, and all this stuff, it really means the world to me. It’s crazy.

Do you think that being more shy and withdrawn has impacted your ability to connect with other artists?

Christina: It’s gotten easier for me throughout the years. Nowadays, I’d be more comfortable reaching out and talking to other artists, like I have before. I think it’s a great thing, and it’s just growth. I think in every artist’s life, there’s a huge turning point, and there’s growth that happens from that, and I think that’s what’s happening with me right now.

To what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Christina: I mean, I am orion lake. So, you could honestly think whatever you want of me, but at the end of the day, music is the most important thing, the most important outlet, the most important device to have with you. I think, as long as you listen to the music that you like, and you’re genuine about it, then everything’s good. Just be genuine with yourself and the music, and that’s what I hope that I’m coming off as.

And just to add to that: Have you found that the people you’ve dealt with so far have been genuine?

Christina: Yeah, I think so. One of the closest people to me is also an artist and a producer. I worked with him for angelface, and I’m working with him now. I think it’s amazing to find people like that who just vibe with you, have the same kind of mindset. It’s just ideas and communication. It’s a beautiful thing. That’s all I want: I just want to work with people, make music, and do shows. I just want the experience of it all — to have fun, meet people, and see how it affects them.

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Sára: I think when I was about sixteen or seventeen. I was studying music — singing as the main subject — and had piano lessons once a week. When I was rehearsing piano, I started to get easily bored with it and started developing my own harmonies and melody. It started coming to life. These were the first sketches of songs. I would say the most important moment was when I was about nineteen or twenty, and I decided, “Okay, I’m gonna finish a song and maybe play it to somebody one day.” But I was always really shy about playing my songs to people, so it took me a really long time to gain the confidence to play my songs somewhere other than home. In school, I was used to singing other people’s songs — songs by Norah Jones or Diana Krall — and at a certain point it started to feel very unnatural for me. I really love them, but I thought it would be nice to be able to sing my own stuff — that was the drive, the reason why I started.

Was there anything in particular that helped you to build your confidence in those early days?

Sára: Yes. There’s one café here in Prague — it’s called Café v Lese — and, back in the day, I was just jamming there with my best friend, Káča, who I’m also in a band with as a duo, playing our songs that we never played to anyone. This guy who runs the space approached us and said, “This is so good. Why don’t you have a concert here?” So we played a show there, and another, and another… From that moment, it started happening more frequently that people reacted positively to my songs, so that built some kind of confidence and good feeling.

So, what is your songwriting process, and how long does it take for you to fully develop an idea?

Sára: Well, I used to sit at my piano and just play and jam until something strikes me. Now I am going through the same process with synthesizers. That’s the reason why my new album is based only on the synth sounds. It replaced my traditional instrument, which was piano. I always come to the instrument, and I start to play and jam. I sometimes play chords that make sense; sometimes I play things that don’t make sense, and I just listen and try to get really lost and natural. Whatever makes me feel good I play again — it always leads me to the next step. Sometimes it’s happening so fast and the song grows from itself so fast, but sometimes it takes more. I’m just following my intuition in feeling the harmony and the melody. If I feel like it’s strong and it corresponds with my emotions, I continue and record it.

With the piano, I think it was easier to finish a song, because I didn’t need to do the whole arrangement with the synths and drums and everything. Now, it’s more about finding the right colours, the right sounds — it takes more time now because there are a lot of layers and structured things.

Have you found it easy to get to grips with all the technical stuff?

Sára: No. [laughs] It was not easy. It was actually a big challenge for me. When I start to feel that something comes easy for me, I wouldn’t say I get bored, but I want to go somewhere further and learn something I don’t know yet. It took me a long time — I was learning production, synthesis… and I still am. Learning is a never-ending process, which I love. So all these things became another ability I could get myself comfortable in and could use the language of to bring my feelings, emotion or fantasy to life. It’s really good to learn with different kinds of instruments. I would really like to learn properly to play the bass guitar, because I get fresh ideas of melody and harmony when playing it. I think it also cultivates and spreads your fantasy when you learn another instrument.

Does creativity come easy for you then? You seem like a very creative person.

Sára: Thank you. [laughs] Sometimes it’s so easy, but there are days when inspiration just doesn’t click. I get very easily lost in my head. All the time. I really like to find my own special places and atmosphere and transform them into sound. I like to write about my experiences, moods, feelings: things that had some special impact on me through the time. Or, sometimes, I love to look — in my studio and also in my room, I have photos and small pictures of my favourite paintings and they also kind of massage my fantasy and take me to different spaces. There are so many things that inspire me, it’s hard to put into one thing. [laughs] Nature. Nature inspires me a lot too. The sea, mountains, water, horizons.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Sára: Melancholy is the creative mood for me. I really feel kind of happy — [laughs] — or satisfied in this setting. It’s beautiful when it’s raining outside. It can be outside in nature, or just being cosy at home and looking outside. I love the sun — I really do — but this misty, stormy weather, this atmosphere… it makes me feel like there is something special going around. I don’t know how to describe it. So, I would say in music it’s the same kind of feeling. When I feel it abstractly, in my mind — in my subconscious or conscious or whatever that is — that’s the time that I want to make music because that’s the time when I feel most connected to myself and most comfortable.

When you’ve just been through an intense period of writing, how does that affect your mood subsequently?

Sára: I think I get deeper in that feeling, but I wouldn’t say it changes its character —- it just spreads, probably. It’s about the amount of time, sometimes. When you want to do things properly, you need to spend time working on them, so as I’m spending time working on something or in this state of mind, I think it shows me more things that are there that I didn’t know about before. It’s like if you went into some cave, and you were going farther and farther — you start seeing more things, more paths.

Are there any obstacles you face, creatively?

Sára: I recorded this album in my studio, which is in a big attic at my friend’s house. It’s in Prague, but you feel like you’re somewhere else, because the house has a big garden, and when I was there for three days, I didn’t need to go anywhere. I easily forgot the city existed — that anything outside this house existed. It was a kind of isolation, but there were still friends living there and visiting, so people were still around. But I could go upstairs and be just by myself. This was really important, because sometimes when I hear something, my subconscious catches it and it has an impact on me, naturally. I didn’t want this to happen while recording this album, I wanted to find my own thing, which would be miles away from anything.

Which is not, of course, possible, because I have a very wide listening history in my head. But in the moment of composing this album, I wanted to cut my ears from these things, and I made a really cosy space in this studio — I put plants there and all these candles — which felt really good, and it was like my little room which was exactly the way I felt. It had the same energy as myself.

How do you maintain interest in your art when the initial joy of inspiration wears off or you’re struggling for ideas?

Sára: It’s hard. That’s a hard feeling, because sometimes you just hear that you’re making bad stuff, and maybe you’re making bad stuff for a week. Or you have a song, which is kind of good, and you know where you want to have it, but you cannot reach it. So, the only things I’m always trying — two totally opposite things. One, is what I start with: I try to work on it every day and just don’t care — don’t think of yesterday and that it was bad; let’s try one more time. Okay, it’s bad again; let’s try tomorrow. But, when this is going for too many days, or is getting really hard, I stop and I go and do something different. I don’t listen to the song for quite some time, and try to free my head — it can be going on walks in nature, or anything, but not music. That isn’t like ‘don’t do music for a month.’ That would be too much time for me — it’s always a few days. Sometimes it’s good to not let go, but it’s sometimes also important to do it, to really clean your mind and start from scratch.

Is there anything that bothers you about the genre of music that you’re a part of?

Sára: The thing I face sometimes and that makes me uncomfortable is when something’s too easy. Now, we have the programs, which are not so hard to learn, and there are software instruments which you can just use like this. There are many ways that can make your process so fast, and I think that’s great in one way, but I think at the same time, it’s really hard because you can get lost in it, and it’s much harder to find your place and your sound, and maybe even your calm space — it’s sometimes so fast and so easy to use. I think that’s maybe something that I struggle with, but it’s not positive or negative — it’s this ambivalent feeling.

In contrast, what do you really love about your style of music?

Sára: The freedom. [laughs] It’s maybe this love-hate relationship with the accessibility. It’s just you, and you need to know how to take care of things. This is so great, but sometimes it’s so scary. I love it — it’s the thing that can bring you so much happiness, so much peace and so much freedom — but at the same time, you have to take good care of it so it doesn’t eat you. [laughs]

What effect has singing in English had on your ability to connect with your potential audience in the Czech Republic?

Sára: This is actually a good question, because this is a question which is, for the past few years, really spoken in Czech Republic, and many people have a problem with: bands singing in English. I never know what to answer. I was thinking about it for a long time because I want to have an answer, but it always came natural to me, and I think this is because I was never listening to Czech music when I was little or a teenager. I started listening to the music that my parents were listening to. They’ve always had a good taste in music, which I hated when I was a child, but I think it had a big impact on me when looking back on it now: Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, Radiohead, Sade. Then I started to find my own favourite music through MTV. What was on the radio in Czech wasn’t good and wasn’t pleasing my ears — it was these commercial radios, and at that age I was too young to listen to underground stuff, which had for sure something interesting to say in that time. There were alternative radio stations but I, as a child, didn’t know about them, and I think even if I knew, at 7 or 8 you don’t tend to listen to punk or political folk or whichever alternative music.

To be honest, from when I was a child, I was building this idea of music that (Czech language in music) was something that I didn’t want to have anything in common with, because it was the language of commercial stuff for me. That’s because I didn’t know much interesting non commercial music. I started discovering them in my teenage years. There are two really extraordinary women: Hana Hegerová and Marta Kubišová — they sing chanson. They’re amazing. They were the starting point of listening to songs in my native language. But my ears by than were much more used to English in music, and probably that sticks with me until now.

With the audience, English is more like an off thing here; I keep hearing that I should sing in my native language, all the time. I really like some of the music that the Czech bands in the Czech language are making now. It’s amazing and I love to listen to them. The thing is that I never cared; I never had the idea in my mind: Should I choose Czech or English because of this or because of that? I just did it as it was natural, because I sang in English in school, and listened to music in English. So it was never a thing of deciding.

I found this girl, a really great musician from Kosovo, two days ago — she’s amazing. She’s singing in her language. It’s kind of folklore but electronic, and it’s really great music. There are so many beautiful songs and emotions in music from all over the world — in English, and not in English — I just never really realise there is some difference when I hear words. I don’t care. It’s all music — that’s my native language for expressing myself.

Do you think it would be difficult to make the transition to singing in Czech now, given that you do have an audience that extends beyond the Czech Republic? It wouldn’t cut you off from that audience, but maybe it would make it harder to connect?

Sára: Maybe. I don’t know. I never think this way, so if at some point singing in Czech — I don’t know what would need to happen, but it could happen — becomes an urge and is something natural for me in music, then I would probably not think about this and just go with the flow. Because, I really just follow the emotion that I feel from the song, so I would hope that the people still listen to the music and get some feeling of something that’s hidden outside of the words in the musical part.

It would also mean, if I did choose Czech, that I would have to write lyrics first, and that’s not my thing. For me, the harmony and melody and emotional meaning always come first.

Do you have any fears that being an artist brings into greater focus?

Sára: Yes. Music is such a sensitive thing. I’m writing about things that are inside me and are very complex, so I think there has to be these things as well as the positive things. To many people, my music seems dark. I don’t feel it like that as much, but I must say, I like music that sounds dark or more sad. But it doesn’t make me sad. That’s the the thing: this music makes me feel good and emotional — that’s what I like. [laughs]

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Sára: I have it on the same level. My music is the same as I am in person. I don’t want to play any roles. It’s the kind of thing you need to work on, but I think it’s a good path to choose: to try to be as natural and as much who you are that you can be.

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Lauren: I started writing music about ten to twelve years ago. What inspired me was: my friends in high school were in the high school talent show, and a couple of my good friends learned a song on guitar and performed together. I was so jealous. I was like, “They look so cool.” So, it was pure jealously that first inspired me to pick up the guitar [laughs].

After that, I decided that I was interested in learning how to play guitar and learning how to write songs, so I got one of those off-brand guitars you can pick up from your local music store. I got a book of tabs, and it just shows you where to put your fingers, basically. I looked up the chords for my favourite Green Day song at the time, which was Good Riddance because that was what I thought was cool, and it felt really, really natural. I didn’t have anyone showing me what to do or anything, I just kinda pieced it together. Once I realised I could play someone else’s songs, it made me want to insert my own meaning and my own words.

How similar is what you’re doing now to what you thought you might be doing when you started out?

Lauren: Wow, it’s a lot different now. I started on acoustic, playing solo, and I always in the back of my head thought it would be really neat to maybe do a full band, but I didn’t really know how to get there. I didn’t know how people found bandmates, or how you even write music for a full band. It’s definitely not what I imagined, just what I’d hoped for.

So is the band a conventional unit, or is it more of a conduit for your own material?

Lauren: I think it’s a good mix of both, actually, in that every band member contributes, but it’s also definitely an outlet for my feelings and my words.

I guess the reason I think it’s more of a hybrid is that I do write the songs ninety-five-percent of the time, and then I’ll go to band practice and I’ll sing a song on guitar, but then as a band we’ll flesh out the rest together. As I’m playing, the guys will make up their parts, and I’ll be like, “No, I don’t like that”, or “Yeah, that’s cool — let’s keep that.” So, it is a little more collaborative than a solo artist with a band.

I think it’s unconventional in some ways because we like to introduce a lot of different instruments. For example, our new songs that we’re writing, we’re introducing sleigh bells, which I’m really excited about. We also have a synthesizer and an analog drum machine, so there are a lot of things that aren’t conventional about it in terms of the instruments. And I would also say genre-wise, we’re still exploring, and we’re not very stringent about what a song has to sound like. We’re very fluid genre-wise.

I must admit that when putting together the compilation, I found it a little difficult from sonic and genre perspectives to get my head around where your place was in the context of the overall record. Is that something that you find yourselves, perhaps when booking shows, or is is just me?

Lauren: No, I definitely think about it a lot: how it’s kinda trickier to market in a way, because there’s not a specific genre or a specific band we can point to and be like, “We sound exactly like them.” There’s a big pop influence in our music, so I like to think of it as just indie-pop and indie-rock mixed together.

But yeah, I think about that a lot. When we’re booking shows though, it actually works to our advantage, because we fit in really well with poppy, synth-driven acts, but we can also accommodate… For example, our last show we played was with this experimental band called Merel and Tony — they’re like, indie-experimental — and they do kinda jazzy, weird modulations, but it was such a fun fit. It totally worked.

Okay, so what is your songwriting process before you take a song to the band?

Lauren: I tell people I’m kind of a lazy songwriter — it takes me a few months to think of anything. Well, not a lazy songwriter — I’m a slow songwriter. Basically, what happens is, if I get to a place emotionally where I feel like I’m welling up with feelings and I need some sort of outlet, I’ll finally, reluctantly go to my guitar and start noodling around. Usually after a couple of hours I’ll find something cool on the guitar that inspires me. Alternatively, I’ll be walking around my neighbourhood, just to be with nature and my feelings, and I’ll think of maybe a line that’ll inspire the rest of the lyrics, and the rest of the lyrics I’ll marry to some music.

When you hit upon that initial idea, how long does the rest of the song generally take to develop?

Lauren: If the lyrics or the music are there, I try to get it all done in a month. I’ll take vocal notes on my phone, and I’ll keep revisiting it a little bit at a time. This is really bad, but my favourite time to do it is while I’m driving, while I’m stuck in traffic and there’s nothing else to do and I’m super bored. [laughs] This is Houston — you sit for thirty minutes to an hour every day. So, while I’m sitting at a stop light, I’ll be messing around with melodies. Usually by the end of a few weeks, I’ll have something that I can actually present.

How quickly do you all connect with one another’s ideas when you take a song to the rest of the band?

Lauren: It’s been great; it’s been pretty instant. Just last week I presented a song idea, and actually on this one I did do a demo — I was able to do a really shoddy home recording that had the melody and the piano, so it kinda got everyone’s gears turning. But basically, I started playing the song in practice, and the guitarist just kinda noodled around — instantly he thinks of things that I really, really like. Our drummer’s like that too, and our bassist. They just pretty much immediately, within a few minutes, lock into something that we all really like.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Lauren: Yeah, when I’m so deep in existential dread — that’s when I write my best stuff. I guess, also, some of the songs are about a really strong romantic feeling, so I guess any strong feeling.

When you get deep into a song and are connecting with these feelings, how does that affect your mood subsequently once you’ve finished writing?

Lauren: Oh, that’s a good question. I feel comforted on some level. I feel the same way — if I feel really sad and I’m writing and expressing that, I’ll still feel sad but I’ll feel a little like: ‘Wow! I made this beautiful thing.’ So maybe it’s not to waste; maybe I’m not wasting this awful feeling. It’s kinda satisfying.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Lauren: I’m not classically trained on guitar at all, so that’s kinda hard. I utilise a capo to kinda add variety to the music, but my guitar parts are really simple, and I think that’s an obstacle: creating interest when I’m working with really simple parts.

Is that something you’re keen to try to improve?

Lauren: I’m really impressed with what I’ve been able to create with such little training and everything. I would like to buckle down and maybe learn some skills and challenge myself a little bit.

What do you feel is the most important element of a Velveteen Echo song?

Lauren: Well, now that we have nine songs written, I think going forward, as I’m writing songs, I’m keeping in mind, “How will this fit into our set?” It’s okay if it extrapolates a little, but is it not gonna fit at all? I want it to have a similar dreamy vibe. Me and our guitarist, Jake, we tend to gravitate towards the same guitar tones, so that really helps add consistency. I guess the most important thing is having a dreamy tone. I really like songs with a melancholy undertone, because I think the reality is life can be hard and kinda sad, and I like exploring that theme in the music.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the genres of music you fall into?

Lauren: I think what can be annoying is when people aren’t flexible, and they’re like, “Well, you’re either pop or you’re shoegaze. You can’t be both.” And we kinda are both. It’s nice when people have an open mind when listening to our music, for sure. Some of my favourite bands in Houston that I would be really excited to play with, they’re considered more hardcore, and so we don’t really get invited as often on those kinds of bills. I think it’d be fun, but in that way our genre, even being associated with pop, excludes us from those bills sometimes, unfortunately.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively inclined?

Lauren: I feel like I gain a sense of purpose, because I think there’s a lot more to life than just eating and sleeping and dying. In between being born and dying, there are all these really big questions we have to contemplate, like: What it means to be human; What it means to love someone; The problem of pain: Why do people suffer? I love exploring that. Sometimes I like exploring in an enigmatic way in my lyrics. It really gives me a sense of purpose: that I can talk about these big questions in a creative way and share it with people.

You used the word ‘enigmatic’ there, which I think describes your lyricism very well. Is that something you always set out to be when writing, or is it often just the way it pans out?

Lauren: I definitely think it used to be intentional. I was in a relationship; I wasn’t happy. I was writing songs about it but I had to do it in a secret way, because I wasn’t ready to rock the relationship yet. So, the songs might have been melancholy, but I don’t think it was clear what I was sad about. So that was purposeful. A lot of the songs I’ve written are enigmatic on purpose. Also, I think another reason I like writing that way is that sometimes I think being really specific is kinda cheesy and hard to relate to.

Is there anything that you specifically hope to communicate to people through your work?

Lauren: Even if it’s in an indirect way, I want people to listen to my music and feel like it’s okay to be a little different; it’s okay to feel sad sometimes — it’s part of life. I want people to feel encouraged to create and to feel things.

Finally, to what extent would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Lauren: Oh, boy. [laughs] I don’t want how much I create to ever define me because how many songs I put out a year really fluctuates. So, I think that’s a really volatile way to define your value. In some ways, I don’t want it to define me at all — I think there’s a lot more to me than what I can make: there’s the moral choices I make; how I treat the underprivileged people in my community. I hope that answers the question! [laughs] In some ways, yes, and in some ways, no.

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Georgia: We were starting a band a bunch of years ago, and my friend was like, “Why don’t you play guitar in the band?” I was like, “I dunno, I don’t really play guitar.” He started teaching me some of his songs, and then one day I was alone in my room and thinking about this toxic relationship I was in with this stupid, stupid person, and I started writing a song about it.

How has your approach to songwriting developed since then?

Georgia: I’ve definitely tried to consciously emulate techniques or musical styles that I like, whereas before I just wrote whatever I thought sounded good. Which is good too, but I think you should always try to keep growing in life. I don’t know if that shows through. I have a lot of unreleased material, so maybe it’ll show through more in that.

Unreleased material?

Georgia: I am going to release it; you have to release the things that you make. If you don’t, how are you ever gonna know if people would’ve liked it?

I’m going through an interesting experience with this right now, because I recorded a full-length album. I’m just taking my time with it, because I really want it to be something I’m very, very proud of. Since I have time and resources right now to make it really, really good, I’m gonna take as much time and make it really, really good. I haven’t had this kind of experience before, and that’s why it feels so long and drawn out to me. Everything I’ve done before was like, “Boom boom boom. Bang bang bang. We’re out of money. Put it out. Let’s see what happens.” [laughs]

What is your songwriting process then, and how long does it take for you to fully develop an idea?

Georgia: A lot of times something will happen that will affect me so deeply, that I will have so much to say about, I’ll usually sit down and write something almost all at once. That’s how I write most of my songs. I have to get it all out. It takes a whole day or half a day, and I only get up to go to the bathroom and drink water. That’s mostly it. Alternatively, I have these ideas for melodies — I’m singing in the shower or while cleaning my room or something — and then I figure it out on the guitar or record it into my iPhone. I’ll forget about it and then a couple of weeks later it’ll come back to me. The fact that it comes back makes me realise that it’s a good one. Then I’ll expand it.

Is there a particular mood you tend to be in when you do your best writing?

Georgia: It’s funny, because I think that I’ve done my best writing when I’m simultaneously very comfortable and very uncomfortable. Maybe emotionally I’m very uncomfortable because something really shit has happened and I want it to be over, so I’m writing a song about it to get over it. But, I’m also at home, in my room, and I have candles going — maybe I just took a bath [laughs] — and I’m very comfortable in my environment. I definitely need to be in my zone to write songs.

Are there any especially prominent creative obstacles you face?

Georgia: Basically, just my own editorial mind. Self-censorship is a huge obstacle. There’s the creative essence, and then there is the mind. The mind is controlling, and telling you what’s good and bad, even though it doesn’t really know. That’s a big obstacle. You have to shut that off.

How do you do that?

Georgia: Excellent question! I wish I had the answer. [laughs] I do think meditation helps. I meditate every single morning — if I miss a day then the chatterbox of the mind pipes up louder. But I don’t think there’s any one or two things that you could do — I think it’s probably a lifelong process. It’s work.

Forgiving yourself — that’s a big one, because if you make something that you don’t like, you still made something. So you have to acknowledge that you still did the thing, and just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean someone else won’t.

Is there anything that irritates or frustrates you about the style of music that you make?

Georgia: Not about the style of music. There are things about the music scene and music industry that irritate me, like how homogeneous it is. But style, no.

Conversely then, what do you really love about your particular style?

Georgia: The fun about writing your own songs is that you can just do whatever you want. I never really thought of myself as a singer-songwriter, and I’m curious what you mean when you say ‘the style’. I’m curious what you think my style is, because I don’t even know sometimes.

I think it’s difficult to describe music accurately, and if I were forced to do so, I’d just reiterate the words I wrote to accompany the compilation. Which is a pretty lame response to your query, admittedly. I do think you have a very distinctive sound though.

Georgia: Yeah, describing a style of music — oh my God, that’s so hard! But, what is nice of you to say, is that it’s distinctive, because that is something that I’ve always tried to do. You just have to do your own thing; you just have to do what you like and what you think is good. That’s what people are gonna hear.

You can tell when someone’s a phony. You can hear it and you can feel it in your bones. You can also hear it and feel it when someone is being totally honest and just doing their own thing, and so I have always tried to do that. Always. That’s not a very revolutionary thing to say, but whatever. [laughs]

Is there a particular element of your craft that you think you could improve upon?

Georgia: Yes. I really want to get better at guitar. Oh, man — it’s a struggle. [laughs] I don’t have the discipline. You have to practice every single day, you have to do all these scales… I’m really, really trying hard. I’m taking guitar lessons, and there’s like a little kid leaving the room and then I go in, and then there’s a little kid coming in after me. [laughs] But, you know. I’m not musically trained or anything. So yes, I would love to improve my guitar — I would love to be able shred and stuff, but we’ll see about that.

How do you keep yourself motivated, both with the guitar, and just generally with your songwriting?

Georgia: A huge part of motivation for me is social: going out to see shows; going to see friends play; showing my friends new songs, hearing what they think; hearing their new song. I think it’s really important to have a solid home base – a place where you can play shows, where you know people and have friends: a scene. I really, really value that. Highly.

What do you feel that you gain from being artistically, creatively, inclined?

Georgia: I honestly don’t think that much about what I gain. A lot of it for me is about giving, actually, because being able to perform and contribute that experience to people’s lives and evenings — that’s what I’m gaining: that sense of contribution. It’s being able to offer something to people to enjoy, and that’s what’s really rewarding about it for me: making the rest of the world go away so you can have fun.

What are your goals for ggpeach?

Georgia: My goal above everything else is to just play live shows all of the time, all over the world. That’s the big vision. You have to start local, but I also think it’s important to visualise what you really want and to say it out loud — to put it out there. You’ve gotta ask for what you want. You’ve gotta tell people what you want.

And I think the other fun thing about getting to play more shows in different places is that you can make them so different each time. You can have so much variety in the experience of the show, and I think that is what I really look forward to in expanding and playing more widely: that I can make really unique experiences at different shows.

I admire people who are able to tap into their emotional energy reserves for multiple nights in a row on tour.

Georgia: Yep. You know what: it’s the best. The way I feel about it is that it’s the best thing to do; it’s just the best thing in the world to do: to be on stage. So, it’s nice to do it every night, and I think a lot of people feel that way who are on tour. It’s just the most fun thing that you can ever do.

I don’t really like the winter at all, so I don’t leave the house very much, but over the summer I went on tour. I planned these DIY tours, and I recently bought a minivan so that I could drive myself around and play shows. Performing is definitely the main reason that I do all of this — playing live is the number one thing for me. It’s the most fun thing. Ever.

I keep on going back to this quote — I don’t know why this has been coming up in my memory recently — but I started out when I was really young doing musical theatre. I had this vocal coach, and she was like my mentor for a long time. When we were doing rehearsals or something, and we were talking about a character starting to sing — you know how, in musical theatre, people are talking and then, suddenly, a song starts [laughs] – she would always say that the reason that was written into the show was because the character feels so strongly about something that they can’t just speak it, they have to sing it. The only way they can express this exact thought is by singing it through music — speaking it will not suffice. And so, I’ve been really trying to incorporate that into my original music: What do I have to say that is so important to me that I can only sing it?

Is that something you find easy to do?

Georgia: I think it’s easy for me because I already do that. I’m very meticulous with writing songs, and I think really long and hard about the words and what I’m going to say. I think that’s just an extension of my personality — of how I am in person when I’m not singing or writing songs. I don’t like speaking candidly and quickly about something that’s very important, because sometimes my brain is like three steps behind my mouth, and I want to make sure that it catches up. [laughs]

Well, I would completely agree that your work to this point is very expressive — it just seems like it’s naturally your style.

Georgia: Thank you. I am a very expressive person. I like things to be big and out there.

To what extent then would you like your creative output to define you as a person?

Georgia: My first instinct is to say that I can’t really separate the two. Who I am is very much the same as my creative output, but the more I think about it, the more I think that there are many other parts of the person…

I don’t know… There’s nothing else that I could do, so how much would I like it to define me as a person? One-hundred-percent. [laughs] I guess, when I think about the people that I look up to who have made music or who are performers — from what I’ve read and what I’ve learned about them, they completely, one-hundred-and-ten-percent, committed to it.

I just think that everyone should be honest, with themselves, and with other people. That’s what I’m trying to do: to be honest, and express myself. If people connect with that and feel some type of way when they hear the music then that’s awesome! But if they don’t, they don’t.

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