September 2026

“To My Angels” began nearly eighteen years ago following the passing of your grandmother. What do you remember about the song when you first began writing it?

I remember feeling a very strong emotion but being unable to fully express it through words or melody. The pain was still too immediate and overwhelming. The song began as a personal and solitary attempt to pay tribute to someone I deeply loved and felt deeply grateful to. At that time, I was not thinking about an audience or a release.

Over the years, the passing of your father, mother and uncles also became part of the song’s story. How did those experiences influence the way “To My Angels” developed over time?

Each farewell added a new emotional layer to the song. I was also deeply moved by witnessing the different ways family members and friends lived through their own losses, sometimes in especially painful circumstances involving war, accidents, illness…

Through my own experience, and guided by my personal beliefs, I stopped expecting grief simply to disappear. I tried instead to live with absence while carrying forward the love, memories, lessons and values of those I had lost. That personal acceptance gradually shaped the song into a tribute to all our departed loved ones—and into a space where others might express their own emotions.

You describe “To My Angels” as moving from helplessness and sorrow towards hope, while expressing the belief that love does not end with a farewell. How did you approach translating those ideas into the song?

In my recent releases, songs and their music videos have become two parts of the same emotional and artistic journey—almost like short films. Together, they carry the complete message.

For “To My Angels,” the sadness is not denied. The song begins with the fragility and helplessness of a final farewell before gradually opening towards light. This transformation is expressed directly in my lyrics:

“Since you’ve gone, you light my way

Inspiring every step I make

You transcend my grief into Love

Could I be capturing your signs?”

The video extends that movement visually, from the final breath towards hope. Together, the music and images suggest that physical presence may end, but love can remain—and that our departed loved ones may still accompany and guide us.

You have described your creative philosophy as allowing songs the time to breathe, mature and reach the people they are meant to touch. How did that philosophy shape the eighteen year journey of “To My Angels”?

In my creative approach, a song is neither forced into a particular form nor released simply because the market expects constant new content. Some creations arrive quickly, while others need to grow alongside our lives. The process often begins with a personal experience that needs time to be understood and transformed before the reflections it inspires are ready to be shared.

“To My Angels” remained unfinished until its meaning, music, orchestration and visual world felt connected. Time was not an obstacle; it became part of the creation. My song “A Question of Time,” composed as a teenager and released nearly thirty years later, reflects the same philosophy.

The song ultimately found its final form in and around Ramatuelle in Southern France, where you say the surroundings awakened memories of Lebanon and your departed loved ones. What role did that setting play in the final stage of the song?

Ramatuelle’s Mediterranean light, pine trees, sea air and the warmth of its people reminded me deeply of Lebanon—the homeland of the family members honoured by the song.

From the opposite shore of the same Mediterranean Sea, bringing the song to life there felt right and true to their memory. The setting created a bridge between the French and Lebanese sides of my identity, while offering the space to recharge, step back and gain the perspective the song needed to find its final musical and visual identity.

That distance and perspective also allowed a deeply personal tribute to open towards a wider human experience—one that may touch other hearts and allow listeners to recognise something of their own within it.

While in Ramatuelle, you connected through jam sessions at a local bar with Joe, a British songwriter and producer, which led to your collaboration with Marin, a Belgian sound engineer. How did those encounters contribute to the final recording?

Joe and I first connected through improvised jam sessions at a bar in Ramatuelle. When I felt ready to finalise and release the song, I was inspired to share it with him. He immediately connected with its story and emotion, bringing his own British and rock sensibility to the production while respecting its intimate character.

The process then led me to Bloom Music Studios, which Marin had recently opened nearby. I felt relieved and reassured to find that he also connected deeply with the song’s meaning.

Joe and Marin each brought their own culture, musical background and sensitivity to the recording, helping preserve the song’s intimacy while giving the recording the strength it needed.

The blue crystal heart used in the visual identity of “To My Angels” is a cherished keepsake from your mother and represents your Angels. What does that object mean to you in connection with the song?

Remaining unseen has led me to use stones as characters in my self-produced music videos. These objects carry emotions that listeners can interpret in their own way; rose quartz, for example, represents love within these films.

The blue crystal heart connects the song directly to my mother and represents those who have left us. Its light and transparency echo the song’s emotional journey, making it a simple but powerful symbol of eternal love.

You created the “To My Angels” music video yourself, handling the concept, script, photography, filming and editing entirely on a smartphone. What led you to take on every part of the visual production yourself?

As a multidisciplinary DIY creator and 100% digital artist, I consider the song, video and digital storytelling to be parts of one complete artistic creation—not separate works or promotional assets. Handling the visual production myself allows me to channel my creativity and emotions through different forms, preserve the story’s intimacy and ensure that every image serves the song’s message.

The smartphone offers the freedom to capture spontaneous moments over several years and in different places. The aim is not technical perfection for its own sake, but professional and sincere visual storytelling that carries the meaning of each song.

The video was filmed across locations including Ramatuelle, Saint Tropez, the Valais region of Switzerland, the Esterel massif, the Ubaye valley, Oslo, Lavandou and La Croix Valmer. How did these different locations contribute to the visual story you wanted to tell?

Much of the footage was captured over several years and at different moments in my life. Videos and photographs are recorded whenever I feel inspired, then preserved in a digital archive until I find their place within a particular artistic work.

In the “To My Angels” music video, the variety of locations reflects the way memories travel with us wherever we go. The contrasts between coastlines and mountains also bring different emotional atmospheres to the story.

These images do not simply symbolise the passage of time—they document it. Changing landscapes, seasons, light, sunrises and sunsets carry traces of different periods of life, suggesting that grief does not follow a fixed timetable.

“To My Angels” is dedicated to people who carry the memory of a loved one in their heart. What would you like someone experiencing grief to take away from the song when they hear it?

Every loss and emotional journey is unique. The song began with my own story, but once released, it no longer belongs only to me.

Listeners may make it their own—as a memory, a tribute or a way to release emotions they cannot express in words, perhaps even by singing it loudly alone in their cars. If it helps someone feel less alone or offers a small sense of hope, then it has fulfilled its purpose.

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How did the experience of returning to music after eight years shape the way you approached DestroyHer?

I am not sure yet. I am kind of “IN IT” right now and just releasing material as a practice of sharing what I have. Making the record was definitely altered by brain injury. I am way slower than I was and sometimes have a hard time walking even today. I am very fortunate to have a small team who helps me navigate the digital world. I have a brain injury from 2015 so I need more help than someone with a fully functioning brain. I would say this era of mine – of launching music even though I am not able to do much of what I could before head trauma (especially with sound) – is a risk, cognitively, and VERY hard. The speed at which people and things move in 2026 is VERY hard with brain injury. In cities, there is more support for people with head injury. I am in the north so it’s different in terms of access to services. I consider my commitment to release music and ‘keep up’ brave, and I’m proud of myself for keeping going.

The album moves between deeply personal grief and broader political and environmental concerns. How did those two sides of the record begin to connect for you? 

I don’t feel like they have really connected yet. I felt a lot of added concern and guilt once the video for DESTROYER was made public, actually. When I first started working on that song, it was over 5 years ago and I did not anticipate fire season acceleration or the Palisades Fires, and many, many more disasters. That’s the disconnect – feeling hopeful even when there is little to generate hope. It’s so serious now (climate heat) that I feel bad for illuminating it. At the same time, I think it is my job as an artist to work through what concerns me. As far as personal grief and political grief, they are the same for me. The way we go one thing is the way we do all things.

“DESTROYER” came from a rough jam you discovered in your Logic 9 sessions. What was it about that imperfect recording that made you realise there was something worth developing?

I like the slightly metal feeling of it. The darkness matches my doomerism. I knew it was a hit, in the underground sense, for my listeners. The video has 300k views last I checked and that’s the most I’ve ever had, so I can see that some folks are digging on the imagery, and beat, and message. I am glad I followed my instinct to finish it and I think it’s a successful song and video because the team is strong. It’s all female team between writing (Kinnie Starr), production (KS and Ling Gardiner), mastering (Elisa Pangseang) and video editing and cameos (Diana Hellson). That is VERY rare in the music industry, and honestly, the women I know in the industry are generally more talented and next level smart because they have had to continue to work in an industry that crushes us.

You’ve described the idea that “we burn each other as we burn the land and water.” How does that idea shape the album as a whole?

It’s all connected. The heads of companies and governments that siphon water (groundwater especially but obviously lakes and rivers too) for industrial gain for example, and choke out the citizen’s access to clean water, this treatment of water as something to take, hold, dam up, misuse, poison… It looks very much like colonialism and the egotism of the Epstein Class and of the quest for more MORE MORE. Capitalism is so pervasive.  With capitalism and growth for growth’s sake (expansion) being looked at as the main way forward in so many parts of the west, to me THAT looks like misogyny and rape, of the water – take her, stop her from running, make her sick, poison her. This (capitalism) also reads to me like misogyny in terms of wanting to take, capture, control and harm women. I am making the claim that capitalism and water misuse and misogyny sleep in the same bed with each other, and that there is violence in their bedroom, too.  

“Waters: Redux” revisits a song you originally released in 2014. What made you want to return to it now, and what did you hear differently in the song more than a decade later?

It’s so, so much more serious now. It’s not about one me or you, it’s about whether humans will burn the whole thing down. In particular, generative technologies and rapidly expanding date centres are extremely problematic in water misuse. Data centres tabled before 2025 are all open loop technology. This is catastrophic. Ten years ago we didn’t have Open AI and Anthropic and Agentic AI.

What did Julian Taylor bring to “Waters: Redux”, and how did his gentler vocal approach influence the balance of the track?

Julian carries a kind of calm in his presence, in his voice and character. I really need that in my life and I like showcasing and hiring and making space for NDG and black friends, women and queer friends too. I’m scared – of technology, of humans, of group think, of water misuse, or the burning planet. Choosing Julian as a feature on the song was a good choice because he brings a certain gentleness and grace to an otherwise difficult topic: WHO WILL SAVE OUR WATERS?

DestroyHer deals with grief, environmental destruction, colonial power, consumption and technology, but there’s also humour and resilience throughout. How important was it to leave room for those lighter moments? 

Critical. Humour saves us all. 

You produced the album alongside Lin Gardiner and Elisa Pangsaeng, with women involved across production, mixing, mastering and visual direction. What did that creative community bring to the project?

Lin and Elisa are long time collaborators. I’ve always preferred working with other women over being the only woman in the room, which has often been the case in music. Not to say I only work with women, but I have looked for safety and home in the industry (and life) and I find it in women, in Indigenous friends and family, in brown and black and queer kin. I haven’t always been safe in music, or in life and living, in being a public figure, in just existing in this body. I also am committed to building up others who, like me, are outnumbered or crushed by society.

The visual world of DestroyHer extends into the All-Starr Archive and wearable art inspired by your original 1990s work. What made you want to reconnect with that earlier visual history?

It’s important to share skills and art. I’m not on board with the idea we have to make new, buy new, create more, post more, consume more. I like using what I’ve got. My colleague Alex designed the store too. It’s nice to have tactile objects around an album release in a deeply digital era.

After everything that shaped the making of DestroyHer, what do you hope listeners take away from the record?

I’m hands off in that manner. People can interpret, see, witness and behave however they like towards my music or art, or me as an artist or just as a human. I can’t get wrapped up into thinking about what others will think of me or of the material. I notice things, but It’s not my place to conceptualize how someone wishes to move in response to my record or me. I found the making of it cathartic and I did the best I could to outline a world without my brother, without my dad, and a world that is on fire.

OFFICIAL WEBSITE: www.kinniestarr.ca

EPK: kinniestarr.ca/epk

VEVO: youtube.com/kinniestarrvevo

INSTAGRAM: instagram.com/kinniestarr

FACEBOOK: facebook.com/kinniestarr

YOUTUBE: youtube.com/kinniestarr

SPOTIFY: open.spotify.com/artist/209owUSIqCjOCdahzFWdl8

APPLE MUSIC: music.apple.com/ca/artist/kinnie-starr/13331508

How did your creative paths first come together, and how has your partnership evolved since 2014?

We began creating devotional music together in 2014, drawn by a shared belief in meaningful melody, fresh arrangements, and sincere devotion. Hargun brought a background spanning Punjabi folk, Sufi, ghazal, Bollywood, and contemporary music, while Kirti brought more than three decades of composing and producing devotional music for Maninagar Shree Swaminarayan Gadi Sansthan.

Our partnership has since grown across languages and styles through releases including Shubh Swaminarayan Naam, Bapashree Nu Naam, Jay Ghanshyam Jay Jay Karnara, Swaminarayan Dhun (Acoustic), Swamin Mera, Saiyaan and its acoustic release, Bhull Fikraan Tu, Hansla Halo Ne, Chandaliyo, and the six-song album Surrender.

With Surrender and Chandaliyo, we are exploring two complementary sides of that journey: one creates space for stillness and reflection, while the other celebrates folk energy through a contemporary sound.

How did you balance preserving tradition with creating something contemporary on Surrender?

The words and their spiritual meaning always came first. Because these are sacred compositions, we approached them with respect and humility, never with the intention of changing the essence of the shabads.

Our contemporary language comes through ambient textures, chant-based passages, layered vocals, subtle orchestration, and carefully shaped rhythms. These elements support the melody and meaning rather than compete with them.

We wanted the arrangements to feel timeless yet accessible, leaving enough space for the words to reach both listeners rooted in devotional music and those encountering these texts for the first time.

Did you conceive Surrender as a journey, and how important was the sequence?

Yes. We conceived Surrender – Echoes of the Eternal as a six-part devotional journey through “Ja Tu Mere Wal,” “So Satguru Pyaara,” “Saiyan,” “Kar Rehmatan,” “Guru Ramdas Rakho Sarnayi,” and “Ik Onkar / Mool Mantar.”

The sequence moves from invocation and reverence through grace and refuge toward oneness. Each composition has its own musical identity, but the pacing and arrangements allow the album to unfold as one cohesive emotional and spiritual experience.

Closing with “Ik Onkar / Mool Mantar” returns the listener to the fundamental idea of unity. We hope the journey leaves a lasting sense of peace, reflection, and connection.

Hargun, what were you looking for vocally, and how did you approach the emotional centre of the album?

My experience across Punjabi folk, Sufi, ghazal, Bollywood, and contemporary music has taught me to adapt my voice to the emotional world of each song. On Surrender, however, I wanted the voice to serve the sacred words rather than draw attention to itself.

Some passages called for a lyrical, melodic expression, while others needed the simplicity and repetition of a chant. I approached each piece by allowing its meaning to guide my phrasing, tone, and restraint.

The emotional centre of the album is letting go. For me, surrender is not giving up; it is an act of trust, humility, and connection with something beyond oneself.

Kirti, what sounds and production ideas were important in shaping Surrender?

The production is melody-led and rooted in Indian classical and devotional traditions, but expressed through a contemporary, cinematic palette. Ambient textures, layered vocals, chant-based passages, subtle orchestration, and carefully shaped rhythms give the compositions space to breathe while keeping the traditional material central.

I wanted each prayer to have its own sonic identity without breaking the cohesion of the album. The arrangements therefore build gradually, balancing intimacy with expansiveness and leaving room for Hargun’s voice and the spiritual meaning of the words.

The aim was never to overwhelm the listener, but to invite stillness, immersion, and inner reflection.

What inspired you to bring a 200-year-old traditional chhand into a modern rap rhythm in Chandaliyo?

What excited us about Chandaliyo was the chance to place a 200-year-old traditional chhand associated with Sadguru Shree Brahmanand Swami, renowned poet and lyricist of the Swaminarayan Sampraday (Faith), in an unexpected musical setting.

Its lyrical, memorable melody and Gujarati cultural warmth remain intact, while the modern rap rhythm gives a new pulse to the composition and opens another way of experiencing its devotional legacy.

The experiment reflects a principle that guides our work: heritage can find a fresh expression without losing its identity. Innovation becomes meaningful when it encourages new listeners to engage with the tradition behind the music.

How did you approach the contrast between the stillness of Surrender and the dance energy of Chandaliyo?

Both projects come from the same devotional foundation, but they reveal different emotional and cultural possibilities within it.

Surrender uses ambient space, chants, and gradual arrangements to invite introspection. Chandaliyo draws on the pulse of raas and garba, combining lyrical melody with contemporary rhythm to create movement and collective energy.

We value both experiences: music can guide someone into a quiet, personal space, or bring an entire community together through dance. Moving between those worlds allows our collaboration to remain rooted yet open to experimentation.

How do your different cultural and musical backgrounds come together as a duo?

Hargun grew up in Amritsar, Punjab, India, surrounded by Punjabi folk, Gurbani, Sufi music, literature, and poetry. Her work as a singer-songwriter, composer, performer, and researcher gives her a fluid approach to genre and a strong connection to words.

Kirti comes from the village of Madhapar, Bhuj-Kutch, Gujarat, India, and his musical outlook has been shaped by faith, His spiritual gurus, family, decades of devotional composition, and guidance from musical mentors including Kalyanji Shah and Viju Shah.

We do not try to make those backgrounds identical. Hargun’s Punjabi and vocal traditions and Kirti’s Gujarati, compositional, and production sensibilities complement one another, creating possibilities that would not emerge from a single musical tradition.

What does it mean to reinterpret traditional devotional material for new listeners?

For us, reinterpretation means creating an entry point without diluting the original meaning. Traditional devotional music carries generations of faith, culture, and lived experience, so every contemporary choice must serve the words and their spiritual purpose.

Modern production can make these compositions more accessible and relatable to listeners across generations, cultures, and the Indian diaspora, including people who may not otherwise encounter them.

That opportunity also brings responsibility. We are not using tradition merely as a musical aesthetic; we are engaging with material that holds deep significance for many people.

Our hope is that the music offers inner peace while also inspiring curiosity about the original texts, their meanings, and the traditions from which they come.

What do Surrender and Chandaliyo tell you about the future of your creative partnership?

Surrender and Chandaliyo confirm that the common thread in our partnership is connecting heritage with contemporary expression while keeping devotion at the centre.

We want to explore more regional traditions, languages, original compositions, instrumentation, visual storytelling, and collaborations that bring diverse sounds and cultures together. Through Tak Dhoom Music, we also hope to extend this work to wider international audiences across the world.

Individually, Hargun will continue developing as an independent artist, songwriter, performer, and researcher, including her PhD work on sustainable careers in the Indian music industry. Kirti will continue composing for his faith, performing internationally, and supporting nonprofit work through Kachchhiyat Foundation and Maninagar Shree Swaminarayan Gadi Sansthan.

Ultimately, we want to create sincere, distinctive music that can reach across generations and cultures while remaining grounded in the respect, curiosity, discipline, and spiritual purpose that brought us together.

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kirtivarsaniofficial/

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@kirtivarsani

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/kirtivarsani

Instagram: @iamhargunkaur

Facebook: Hargun Kaur on Facebook

Official website: hargunkaur.com

I always loved cameras as a physical object and when I had the chance at art college to have one as part of my course, that excited me more than anything. I think the results that I got with the camera were far more fulfilling than the art that I was creating because I could really capture what I saw rather than do my best to try and replicate it.

I feel like everyone doesn’t want to have their photograph taken so I always go into every shoot trying to connect with someone: to have a connection, to have a few moments of shared moments, and try and make it as painless as possible. I’m always striving to get something that’s a little bit more than just a snap of someone, if you know what I mean. I want to get behind the mask a little bit or something that feels a bit looser.  I’ve been lucky enough to have quite long-standing relationships with some of the bands that I’ve worked with and it’s always such a pleasure to go back and shoot. For example Billy Corgan recently, who was putting on his Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness opera in London at the Royal Festival Hall. I’m going to be going out with Placebo on some of their dates to celebrate 30 years of their first album so that feels like a real blessing.