Music Interviews

“Are We Running Out Of Time?” explores the realisation that the people closest to us won’t be around forever. What brought this idea into focus for you, and when did you realise it was something you wanted to explore through music?

I confess my biggest enemy is how cleverly I convince myself not to face my demons. I’ve been working on that. But like many songs I write, it was less that the thought came into focus and more that it busted down the door and barged in. Dad and I had to cut a trip short because he wasn’t feeling well just before I started writing this song. That pushed me to confront these pacified worries. It’s one of life’s greatest hurdles: people die. Some doors close forever. Can you ever say you’ve done enough in the meantime? I could have been a better son. It’s a worry that never leaves. That’s what the song is about, in few words. The good news is, that door is still open, and all that matters is what we do while it’s still open.

You wrote the song with your father in mind. Did writing about your relationship with him reveal anything about yourself that you hadn’t fully considered before?

We both still get quite emotional whenever we play that song. On my end, I realised that simply acknowledging and, in fact, accepting the fact that we can’t have anything forever is what puts us in the position to fully appreciate what we have while it’s here. I suppose it sounds obvious, and I always knew that was the case, but this song forced me to look it in the eye. Now I get it, if that makes sense, and that makes it so much easier to be there, consciously, with less panic, and more gratitude.

The line “Every time I see your face, I am staring back at mine” connects the relationship between father and son with identity. What does that line mean to you personally?

I suppose it’s quite literal, honestly. In a moment of openness and confession, I addressed to dad my own harshness at him, saying: “I punish you for all the ways in which we are weak alike.” When I stepped back to take a broader look, I realised we are much the same, yes in our dysfunctions, but also in so many beautiful aspects of ours. I find myself following in his footsteps and reaching from atop his shoulders, so to speak, more and more as I grow.

The song finds meaning in ordinary moments, like counting trees while travelling together. Why did you choose to build the story around these small details rather than a specific event or major turning point?

Time doesn’t announce its own passage. Our lives are much more made up of the repetitive, small moments that etch themselves into our growth rather than some big thing. You just look at old photo books and realise the hair wasn’t always white, and you weren’t always too heavy to hold up. It’s a grand thing, because its magnitude is cumulative and unstopping.

The arrangement moves between fragile, intimate passages and expansive full-band crescendos. How did you approach translating the emotions behind the lyrics into the dynamics of the music?

Most of what I do is predominantly intuitive. I can’t say that I orchestrated the song’s arrangement carefully with the final thing in mind. It’s more like, I saw where the sounds and emotions took me. The stages of loss must’ve had some say in how the song pans out. Even though it doesn’t speak about loss, it speaks about the fear of it. So I guess I can feel it swell along with the process of finally coming to terms with something like that. Ultimately, I do throw a lot of ideas in the mix and hit “mute” on anything I don’t absolutely need. The good ideas are the ones that are left when you trim out all the fluff.

The track repeatedly builds in intensity before pulling back into moments of near-silence. What drew you to that push and pull, and how did you decide when the music needed to hold back?

I had a teacher that said “If you want someone to listen, don’t be louder, be quiet.” It’s easy to fall back on the music without really paying attention. The silent parts happen when my own moments of lucidity do. Suddenly, for just a moment, it’s just you and the question. Before you can fall back into the music, you have to (I have to) face something deeper. The song is a vessel too, after all.

The question at the centre of the song remains unanswered. Was it difficult to sit with that uncertainty while writing it, or did leaving the question open feel like the most honest way to tell the story?

I think my own discomfort was amplified by avoiding the question in the first place. The question in itself doe not have an answer than can be known, nor one that matters, in my opinion. I am happy to live with that question because having posed it now makes me see myself more clearly. To wonder if the time we have is not enough suggests that maybe we’re not all that happy with how we’ve been spending it. To finally ask it aloud is to realize we want change. If the story is one of recognition, then the only question requiring an answer is: “Do you see it now?”

Has making this song changed how you think about your own relationship with time, or how you spend it with the people who matter most to you?

I used to wake up in cold sweats in the middle of the night with “Is it too late?” in the center of my mind. I spent all my early and mid twenties like that. I felt older than I was, like I was wasting my life away, as an artist, as a friend, as a son. Especially when I started noticing my parents are, in fact, older now, among my greatest fears has been to lose them while I’m still so young. My answer is my answer to living, really: The most important things live on the opposite shores of fear. The more I ran from my dissatisfaction with my life and my role in it, the less I put myself in the position to be accountable for changing. Technically, nothing changes I suppose, but when I stopped giving excuses, when I accepted that I’m not where and who I want to be, I stopped feeling like I was wasting time. This song is as much a byproduct as it is part of the fuel of this thinking. Being genuinely present begins with being present with yourself, I’ve learned.

The final crescendo feels less like defeating time and more like choosing to be present for someone. Was that sense of commitment always at the heart of the song, or did it emerge as the track took shape?

Any time I thought of time as an opponent, the possibility of defeating it was not one I considered. The song followed a genuine question. While writing, that commitment came by quite naturally because it was my own answer I ended up getting. Time is passing, that’s its thing. In the meantime, we are here, so why not try and get good at being here?

Looking ahead, what are you finding yourself drawn to creatively at the moment, and is there anything you’re exploring in your next music that feels like a departure from “Are We Running Out Of Time?”

I’ve been working on my first full length album this year! Though the songs are not out yet, the funny part is that I wrote them before “Cold Fingers”, “Talisman”, and “Are We Running Out Of Time?”. We just finished mixing so I’m happy to start looking at playing live. In the meantime, I’ve got a little bit of precious downtime, which I’m using to do some sewing and a lot of cooking, and an even lot-er of eating.

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“Three Missed Calls” is built around that very specific moment when someone you’ve finally moved on from suddenly calls again. What was happening in your life when you first started writing the song, and when did you realise you had something worth turning into a track?

It started with a girls’ night and way too much overanalyzing. Two of my friends were going through the exact same thing, and it made me realize we’ve all had that person who somehow shows up the moment you’re happy again and not thinking about them anymore. That’s basically where “Three Missed Calls” started.

There’s a really fun contrast between the subject matter and the glossy, upbeat sound of the song. How did you approach making a song about heartbreak feel playful and energetic rather than heavy?

I’m SO glad you noticed that!!!

Right from the beginning, that was the goal. I wanted the song to take a tough feeling and make the moment feel lighter. Sometimes when you’re going through it, you just want a song that acknowledges the feelings, but makes you smile.

You co-wrote the song with Tavish Crowe and Jared Manierka, who also produced it. What was the dynamic like in the room, and what did each of you bring to the song?

I really love working with Jared because I feel like he really helps me balance my influences. In this case, I think we both just knew the vibe right away which was that it was going to be heavily pop influenced with those country nuances, so the writing flowed really easy.

It was a two day write and Tavish joined us on day 2 of the write and he brought a fun energy that really made the song come to life.

You’ve described your sound as “pop country with a lil’ heartbreak.” Has that always been the kind of music you wanted to make, or is that something you’ve discovered as your songwriting has developed?

So, I really started writing in fall of 2025 and set this crazy goal in my last year of high school to put out a song every 4-6 weeks, so the songs over the past year have largely been influenced by my life, my friends lives or just random stories I’ve made up! My songwriting is very much still evolving.

You’ve recorded music both in British Columbia and Nashville, working with people including Trey Bruce. What has the Nashville experience taught you about songwriting and recording that has stayed with you?

Getting to work with Trey has taught me so much. He’s an incredible songwriter, but he’s also such a generous mentor.

Nashville writes are really different because everything starts with the story. People aren’t afraid to spend time finding the exact right lyric or angle, and I’ve learned that sometimes the smallest details are what make a song.

I got a text the other day about a week after a write with another incredible writer Trey brought in and he said, “Hey, I’ve been thinking about this verse and should we change it to this?”

So, being in rooms with writers like Trey has definitely made me a better songwriter.

You’re only 17, but “Three Missed Calls” is already your tenth single in less than a year. Looking back at everything you’ve released so quickly, how do you feel your songwriting and confidence as an artist have changed?

I feel like over the course of this year and my releases, I’ve really begun to find my style and my voice. I have all these ideas and enthusiasm that it can be overwhelming!

I feel like I’ve grown so much more confident as a songwriter and an artist, but I also feel like there’s just so much more ahead to learn and experience too.

You’ve already had more than 300K Spotify streams, and now you’re the face of Spotify’s Fresh Finds Canada playlist. What went through your mind when you found out the song had been selected and you’d be featured so prominently?

I mean it was totally crazy! It just felt surreal… like Spotify editors loved my song and thought it deserved to be heard!! That’s just so cool and it’s a hard feeling to describe.

My Dad was the one who saw the cover first and it took him by surprise and it took me a few seconds to really process that it was my face on there!! So cool!!

You’ve also been building your experience on stage through shows and festivals across British Columbia. What do you enjoy most about performing live, and is there a different side of you that comes out on stage?

So, I LOVE performing live. It’s such a rush. I love dressing up and those spontaneous moments with my band and interacting with the crowd. The feeling of people singing along with you or dancing, it just feels good. And I can’t really explain it but it just feels so natural to me to be up there as well, like I’m meant to do it.

With so much happening around “Three Missed Calls”, do you feel pressure to keep up the momentum, or are you enjoying the process and taking each release as it comes?

I always want to do too much and everything!! But it’s not really the pressure so much as I have just so many ideas and I love performing, I love being in the studio, I love writing, I love late nights by myself writing and playing… and I just want to do as much of it as I can right now.

When you look beyond “Three Missed Calls”, what are you hoping to explore next as an artist, and where would you love to see your music take you?

I just want to keep doing what I’m doing but even more if it! I feel like an EP is the next natural step and I’d love to join a tour and do more live shows.

For more about Kerrington Gillespie, visit KerringtonGillespie.com or find her on social media:

Instagram: @kerrington.gillespie                                                 
TikTok: @kerringtongillespie

Spotify: sptfy.in/kerringtongillespie
YouTube: @kerringtongillespiemusic

Reworking a song as iconic and provocative as “Closer” comes with a lot of expectations. What did you hear in the original that made you want to completely change the emotional perspective of the song?

I never wanted to change “Closer” just for the sake of making it sound different. That would be pointless. The original is such a beautifully uncomfortable piece of art, and I think its brilliance lies in how many different kinds of human desperation can exist inside it. Beneath the sexuality, aggression and provocation, I hear an almost unbearable hunger. A need to fill something that feels permanently empty.

I became fascinated with the idea of redirecting that hunger. What if the obsession wasn’t with another body, but with being accepted? Being wanted, admired, approved of? What if the thing we’re trying to get closer to is an impossible version of ourselves?

I wanted to take the song somewhere psychologically claustrophobic. To turn desire into submission, not to another person, but to an entire system of expectations. The original doesn’t need fixing or improving. I simply wanted to open another door inside it and see what kind of monster was waiting there.

Your version turns “Closer” into a song about validation, perfectionism and losing yourself while trying to be enough for everyone else. Was there a particular experience or moment that made those themes feel especially personal to you?

I don’t think there was one moment. It was more like recognizing a pattern that had been quietly growing around me, and perhaps inside me, for years.

Being an artist today feels like a strange psychological experiment. You create something deeply personal, sometimes from a place of actual pain, and then release it into a world that immediately begins measuring it. Numbers, reactions, engagement, approval. Suddenly something that came from your nervous system becomes data on somebody else’s screen.

And the most disturbing part is how easily you begin participating in your own evaluation. You start questioning your instincts. You wonder whether being yourself is enough, or whether you need to become a more acceptable, more attractive, more digestible version.

I’ve experienced that pressure, and I’ve watched it consume people around me. I think many of us have. The tragedy is that nobody necessarily has to force us into that cage anymore. We learn to build it ourselves.

“FEELINGS”, “APOLOGY” and now “Closer” form a trilogy exploring some pretty uncomfortable parts of being human. When you started this journey, did you already know where it was going to lead?

I knew what I wanted to investigate, but I didn’t know what I would find.

It starts with my lifelong interest in the contradictions of being human. Our ability to feel extraordinary tenderness and inflict extraordinary cruelty. Our desperate need to belong and our equally desperate need to remain individuals. The way we protect ourselves from pain by slowly disconnecting from everything that makes us alive.

I didn’t sit down with a perfectly calculated trilogy. It was more like a process. I followed the questions that wouldn’t leave me alone. One song exposed something that demanded another conversation. I think in this case work understood where I was going before I did.

I knew what I wanted to confront, but I had no idea how far it would take me. FEELINGS, APOLOGY and CLOSER became three different examinations of the human condition: our growing emotional numbness, the destructive nature of ego, and the obsession with approval that slowly erases our identities. Different wounds, but all connected. And the deeper I went, the more I realized that these weren’t separate stories at all.

Then came WHITE WALLS, which took everything somewhere much more intimate and unsettling. Because what happens to us after all that disconnection, pressure and pretending? What happens behind closed doors, when the performance ends and nobody is watching? WHITE WALLS lives in that space. To me, it’s the emotional consequence of everything that came before it.

And that’s when I realized I had far too much to say to contain it within a few songs. This whole journey has grown into something much bigger, something that exists beyond music alone. I’ve been creating a rather unconventional world around these ideas, bringing together sound, words, imagery and some very personal reflections that I haven’t shared publicly before.

This being said, I’m preparing something quite unusual for this November. I don’t want to reveal too much yet, because I want people to experience it as a whole rather than explain it away in advance. But what began as a trilogy has become a much deeper examination of who we are, what we’re becoming, and what we quietly sacrifice along the way.

And perhaps the most uncomfortable part is recognizing how much of ourselves we can find in it.

The idea of being reduced to a number, score or algorithm is central to “Closer”. What do you think constant digital comparison is doing to the way people understand their own identity?

I think we’re becoming increasingly fluent in describing our value and increasingly disconnected from actually feeling it.

We know how many people watched us, liked us, followed us, ignored us. We know how to quantify attention. But attention and connection are not the same thing, and I worry that we’re forgetting the difference. There is something deeply unnatural about constantly observing yourself from the outside. Imagining how you appear, how you compare, whether you’re performing your existence successfully enough. It creates a kind of permanent psychological surveillance. And I don’t think this is limited to social media. It’s becoming embedded in the way we work, create, love, age, and perceive our bodies. We’re encouraged to optimize everything, as though being human is a technical problem, the error that needs correcting.

The video takes that idea and puts you inside a completely sterile world where every movement is monitored and judged. What was it like physically stepping into that environment and performing that story?

The environment was intentionally stripped of warmth. No visual comfort, no distractions, nowhere for the character to hide. Just a human body placed inside a space that seems designed to examine rather than understand it.

I wanted to focus on the relationship between control and collapse. At first, I attempted to cooperate with the system, to behave correctly, to become whatever is expected. But the more I surrender, the less of myself remains.

Performing that transformation was fascinating because so much of it lives in very small physical details. A movement that becomes unnatural. A facial expression that stops belonging to me. The tension of trying to remain composed while something underneath is disintegrating.

I wanted the audience to feel uncomfortable watching it, almost as though they were participating in the evaluation themselves.

And then comes the moment of recognition. The possibility that the system only has as much power as we continue giving it. Which feeds right back into the people watching the video and sharing opinions about it. I knew this particular song would become a perfect social experiment involving the audience in the aspects of the story they might not even realize.

You handle almost every part of your music yourself, from writing and recording to mixing, production and even programming your live lighting. Is that level of control empowering, exhausting, or a bit of both?

Both. Absolutely both. Sometimes within the same five minutes.

I have a very specific relationship with the worlds I create. Music isn’t just sound to me. It’s architecture. It’s movement, texture, light, silence, physical space. I hear and see things together, and I have a difficult time separating them.

Having control over so many elements allows me to protect the integrity of that vision. I don’t have to translate every instinct through ten different people before it becomes real.

But there’s a price. I can spend an absurd amount of time obsessing over something most people might never consciously notice. A transition in the lighting, a sound buried somewhere in the arrangement, the exact moment when darkness should swallow the stage. I’m also learning that control and creative independence aren’t necessarily the same thing. Sometimes the most powerful decision is to invite another mind into the process. That’s why I now have a team of amazing humans who understand my vision and help me bring it to life. Working with people I trust, including Johnny K with whom we produce the new material together, reminds me that collaboration doesn’t have to dilute your identity. It can challenge you to reveal more of it.

So, I love building my own universe. I’m just trying to remember that I don’t have to personally manufacture every atom inside it.

Your music exists somewhere between industrial, darkwave, electronic and alternative rock, but your voice gives it a very human and emotional centre. What are you trying to communicate through your voice that production alone can’t express?

The imperfection of emotion.

I love machines. I love distortion, repetition, synthetic textures, sounds that feel almost inhuman. But I’m not interested in creating music that is emotionally sterilized. A human voice carries the story, it’s the evidence. Breath, hesitation, exhaustion, anger, vulnerability. There are things that happen between notes that no perfectly programmed instrument can reproduce in quite the same way.

You’ve worked with people connected to some of the most influential names in industrial music, including Raymond Watts, Rhys Fulber and Tim Skold. Has collaborating with artists from that world changed your understanding of where I Ya Toyah fits within it?

I have enormous respect for the artists who helped shape this musical universe. Industrial music has always appealed to me because it gives permission to explore things that are uncomfortable, abrasive, politically charged, psychologically complicated. It doesn’t demand that beauty arrive in a conventional form. It doesn’t bury the truth, instead it exposes it.

Being able to connect and work with people from that world is meaningful, especially because I came into it with my own perspective, my own history, and a rather stubborn need to do things differently.

But I don’t think my goal has ever been to find a comfortable place inside an established genre.

I’m much more interested in what happens at its edges. Where industrial meets something deeply melodic, where electronic music collides with the physical aggression of metal, where vulnerability interrupts the machinery. I respect the history, but I don’t want to become a museum of it. If anything, those experiences have reinforced the importance of having my own artistic language. I don’t need to sound like the people who inspired me to honor what they created. I need to contribute something that couldn’t have existed without my own particular collection of scars, influences and obsessions.

“I Ya Toyah” means “It’s just me” and “I am who I am” in Polish. In a culture that constantly tells us who we should be, does that idea of simply being yourself become more difficult or more important?

Both, and perhaps that’s the paradox at the center of my entire existence as an artist. I Ya Toyah comes from the Polish expression “a ja to ja.” It’s such a simple declaration, almost childlike in its honesty. I am me. Nothing to prove, nothing to translate, nothing to apologize for.

But the older I get, the more I realize how radical that simplicity actually is.

We spend so much of our lives being shaped. By family, culture, trauma, expectations, love, rejection, success, failure. Some of those influences help us grow. Others quietly teach us to abandon parts of ourselves in exchange for belonging. And I think being yourself isn’t necessarily about discovering one fixed identity and defending it forever. We’re supposed to evolve. We’re supposed to contradict our previous selves, change our minds, shed old skins.

To me, authenticity means being able to recognize your own voice through all those transformations.

As a Polish-born woman building an artistic life in another country, I’ve had to negotiate different worlds and different expectations. But I never wanted to erase where I came from to become more acceptable somewhere else. The name is a reminder, and sometimes a challenge. Am I still being myself? Or am I becoming what the world finds easier to understand?

If “Closer” asks what remains when we stop defining ourselves through other people’s approval, what do you hope listeners take away when the song ends?

I hope they feel a little less willing to betray themselves.

Not in some grand, cinematic moment of liberation. I don’t think freedom usually works that way. Sometimes it begins with something very small. Refusing to apologize for an emotion. Allowing yourself to be misunderstood. Making something beautiful without wondering whether anyone will reward you for it.

I think we’ve become so accustomed to asking the world for permission to exist that we’ve forgotten we were never supposed to need it.

And I don’t want people to leave this song thinking they need to become stronger, better, more fearless versions of themselves. That would just be another demand. Another impossible standard. Maybe the most radical thing we can do is stop treating our humanity as something that needs to be corrected.

I want the listener to remember that they were a person before they became a profile, a statistic, a body to be judged, or a collection of somebody else’s expectations.

And that person is still in there. Somewhere beneath all the noise.

www.iyatoyah.com

SUNDER captured a particular point in your life, but revisiting it through SUNDERLUXE means hearing those songs in a different context. Has your understanding of what you were trying to express on the original project changed with time?

I wouldn’t say my understanding of the idea has changed because in the end SUNDER is kind of the same resolve it was searching the whole time, but you definitely get even more clarity about that with time.

What made this the right moment to revisit SUNDER? Was there something you felt the original release left unfinished, or did you become curious about how the material might sound through someone else’s perspective?

SUNDER was this world I had spent a long time building, so I just wanted to explore it further and see where else it could go, and where others might take it.

Remixes can completely change the emotional character of a song while preserving its core. When you heard the reinterpretations for SUNDERLUXE, was there a version that made you hear one of your own tracks differently?

I was so hyped hearing all these artists I love, taking these songs and reimagining them in a way I never would’ve thought of, that was such a sick experience. How Mel Blue flipped SOUTH into this huge major key anthemic kind of UK breakbeat track that somehow fit so well inside the SUNDER world I still don’t know.

Your music sits between alternative R&B, soul and electronic production, with atmosphere playing an important role in the finished sound. How do you find the balance between creating something sonically interesting and making sure the emotion at the centre of a song remains intact?

Honestly those two things are what drives it, but the feeling comes first. I try to capture a certain feeling, and then I do what I can to make the atmosphere and the sonics sort of carry that feeling, that’s how it works for me.

The inclusion of an earlier version of “STILL DROWNING IN MY ROOM” offers a glimpse into the decisions that happen before a song reaches its final form. What did the original version capture that you didn’t want to lose, and what ultimately led you to take the song in a different direction?

There’s a feeling I get when I make something I really like and it’s what drives me to finish the idea, and I got that feeling when I made that initial idea, but I just couldn’t find the pocket for the vocals. After a while I stripped out all the house/funk rhythm sections and worked on a smoother half-time r&b type feel and the vocals came, but I never forgot the feeling of that first demo.

When another producer reworks your music, they inevitably bring their own experiences and instincts to it. How do you approach that exchange as an artist, particularly when their interpretation differs from what you originally imagined?

I think a big part of it is choosing artists that you feel will gel well with you and understand the vision, which they all definitely did.

Your songs often leave space for listeners to bring their own experiences to the music. When you’re writing, do you deliberately leave certain feelings or meanings unresolved, or does that ambiguity emerge naturally through the process?

A bit of both. I figure if I can make things a bit clearer to myself by writing, then maybe someone listening, in a way, might see what they’re dealing with in their own world in it, and hopefully it can even help them to make more sense of it. But I’m not trying to explicitly tell people anything, it’s just what I see.

As your catalogue develops, how do you recognise when a sound or approach genuinely reflects where you are creatively, rather than simply repeating something that has worked for you before?

If it gives me that feeling that I mentioned before when I’m making it, that’s the only way for me to tell really. Otherwise I just get bored with it or it feels stale, and I just leave it.

SUNDERLUXE brings together different interpretations of a project that originally existed in a more defined form. Has working on it changed the way you think about releasing music, collaboration or how long a body of work can continue to evolve after its initial release?

All of the above, for sure. The collaboration aspect has been a good time, especially with how insular the original SUNDER was, not just the story itself but how I made it, so it was cool to open that back up with other people and to keep building it.

Looking ahead, what are you feeling creatively that you haven’t yet found a way to express through your music? Is there a direction you’re curious to explore that might surprise people who have followed JVLY so far?

Yeah, I think so, keep an eye out

Stream:

https://bfan.link/sunderluxe

Socials:

https://linktr.ee/jvly

Credits:

Written & Produced by Kayle Butler

Remixes by Mel Blue, Contrecoeur, Lemonade Baby, dj poolboi

Mixing by Doug Wright

Mastering by Ryan Schwarbe

Photos & Artwork by Kayle Butler

I’m Retarded, You’re Fucking Stupid came out earlier this year and introduced Special Forces 805 to a much wider audience. Looking back at the record now, which parts of it feel most representative of where the band was at when it was written?

special forces because it was the first song we fully made together. It’s got our ethos ingrained in it which is to be yourself no matter what people call you. All

The songs are short, direct and often tackle subjects that could easily become overly serious or heavy. How do you find the balance between saying something meaningful and keeping the music immediate, chaotic and fun?

Our main focus has always been doing this number one to have fun, and number two to talk about issues that we care about. So I feel like the two of those we kind of just do our best to put them together, you know. Tyle

We’re fed up with overly serious beat down hardcore type dudes who think everything is corny all the time and tell people how to “mosh correctly” / gatekeep. So our focus is to stray away from that and make it accessible to everyone. Jose

There’s a strong sense of personality throughout the record. When a new song starts taking shape, does the music usually come first, or does an idea, experience or line of lyrics set everything in motion?

Definitely both of those, it’s a blend for sure. Micah

There’s a few songs where we come in, having an idea for. There’s also a lot of songs where we just like, all right, let’s take a few minutes just to jam something out, and if we end up really fucking with it, then we just try to see if we can expand more onto that. A lot of songs come through just by jamming that we build off of. Tyler

Sigma Ligma was definitely an idea first, while Red Hill and Billionaire Boutique were both jammed out. Jose

“Your Voice” and “Cerebral Ballzy” approach disability and identity from different angles. How much of the songwriting process involves figuring out exactly what needs to be said, as opposed to simply getting the feeling out?

Your Voice for sure was a “this needs to be said” type song. Our scene was just totally run by like indie / shitty alt rock cover bands all the time, and so the whole point was that there’s a lot of fucking shit happening right now and no one’s saying anything about anything. It just felt necessary, especially when we first had our first concert. I distinctly wanted to start with Your Voice because it’s like setting the stage for everything else. Jose

Cerebral Ballsy. That shit was like I heard a joke, someone said, oh, you’ve got cerebral ballsy, and I was like, okay, that’s a fun song idea, and I have all these feelings about being disabled. I express being disabled in Special Forces, but Cerebral Ballsy goes more into how the stroke has affected me specifically, and so then it’s kind of like how Ian McKay wrote Straight Edge, and then had other songs to explain what he meant by it more. So I feel like that was where those lyrics were coming from, especially the Stolen Valor line. “Call me Stolen Valor, but you were to blame” is a way to basically say that a lot of people don’t see me as disabled, but they’re kind of ignorant for saying it I’m faking it or not disabled enough to “count”. Jose

The album title is deliberately confrontational. What conversations did the title create around the band, and was provoking a reaction part of the intention?

That was the entire intention, I didn’t really love it at first but it’s just grown on me because of how confrontational it is and like in your face. Tyler

Yes, that was the total intention. And Reily especially was terrified by it. But now, I mean, I don’t want to speak for y’all, but everyone who comes up to me, at least, says “I had to listen to your album because they were like, ‘What the fuck does that mean?'” Jose

Yeah yeah it was the right move, I was on the fence too, I was like, “No we’re not gonna get famous and no, no one is going to ever really see it, so like, it’s probably fine”. Micah

I hated it at first. I love it now though, The Growlers have listened to it and shouted us out. It’s just how it affects you. I think all of our titles, even our name have the same thing about them. It’s just like how you can interpret special forces. Reily

“Red Hill” takes the band outside the more personal material and into a much wider political and environmental subject. What makes an issue feel important enough to turn into a Special Forces song rather than simply something to talk about?

Why? I think a lot of it was getting inspired by the Dead Kennedys and how they would talk about swept under the rug topics, or things that were happening underneath the surface. So I was like, oh well, maybe I should write one that no one would immediately think to speak about. It’s a very interesting multi-layer issue with land, culture, the military, and how people on the islands have been affected. Jose

Hardcore has always had a connection between music, community and confrontation. What does that relationship look like from inside the Special Forces 805 world, particularly when the songs are dealing with subjects that can divide people?

I actually feel like the community is pretty lovely, even though it looks insane, at the end of the day, everyone just is going feral and unleashing themselves. Reily

The community’s good, and it’s all about unity and loving / supporting each other. I feel like we try to foster that. Micah

The live side of the band has developed its own identity, with El Toro becoming part of the experience. What happens at a Special Forces show that can’t really be captured on a recording?

More passion more energy. Reily

If you come to a special forces show, we’re gonna make you get into it no matter what. Micah

The mentality of the live show for sure is not like oh there’s the band and then there’s the crowd. It’s like one force, one special force haha. Jose

“Live Studio Sessions” gives the songs another life outside the original album recordings. Did performing the material repeatedly change the way the songs felt or revealed anything about them that wasn’t obvious during the original recording?

I mean, one thing about the live recordings, I definitely feel like they had some more old school kind of punk vibe to them, just because of the way that they were recorded. But also, we couldn’t hear Tyler. Jose

Your Voice, for instance, we got a little tired of, but we had really good opportunities too to record those live sessions for free so we were like we might as well just use the opportunity to see if we can make some fun out of it. Tyler

Some of the songs got a little faster. Micah

San Luis Obispo has its own punk and hardcore history, but every local scene has its own personality. What is happening around the band right now that people outside the area probably don’t see?

I’d probably say just how close and meaningful the connections within SLO are. I can go to 10 different shows in LA and none of them will feel nearly as united as the SLO scene, maybe its just a small town thing, but growing up in SB it wasn’t like this over there either. Jose

The band has already established a distinctive sound, visual identity and live world with its first releases. How much of that was intentional from the beginning, and how much has simply developed along the way?

I don’t know if we necessarily intended for this logo to become as big as it has. Like I thought it was just kind of meh when we first made it. I thought it was just to get us by, I didn’t know it would become the main fixture of all of our merchandise. That being said, I think it developed a bit more because of the reception to it, people like that its just a good figure for the band. Tyler

It’s super identifiable and easy to DIY, which is another thing that I was thinking about. Whatever logo we got, my favorite thing is to DIY patches, so having a complex design makes that harder. If we have an easy accessible design than people can basically easily recreate it in their own way. Jose

There’s a lot of room for Special Forces 805 to evolve from here. What are some ideas, sounds or directions that have been sitting in the background that could shape whatever comes next?

It’s gonna be even more badass. It’s gonna be even better quality. It’s gonna be even better songwriting and singing, better guitar and bass, better drums. Its just gonna be better. Reily

What he said. Micah

Don’t want to give too much away but yea we are trying to branch out and not limit ourselves to any one sound. That’s all for now. Jose

“Ecdysis” is a pretty striking title. Where did that word enter the conversation, and why did it feel like the right one for the song? 

We came across the word and immediately thought it fit. Ecdysis is basically shedding your skin, and that’s pretty much what the song is about. You’re trying to shed this person and everything attached to them, but they’ve become such a big part of you that it actually hurts to get rid of it. It felt like a pretty strange but accurate metaphor.

What was the starting point for “Ecdysis”? Was there a particular lyric, riff, sound or moment that unlocked it?

We actually were lucky enough to be brought a fully fleshed out demo for this song that just felt right. Obviously there were some changes but the actual main riff is genuinely still just a re amped version of the demo

The song has a restless, almost claustrophobic quality to it. Was that something you were deliberately chasing when you made it?

Yeah, definitely. I think ECDYSIS was always meant to feel uncomfortable in a way. There’s this constant feeling of tension and movement through the song, and we wanted it to feel like you’re trapped inside your own head and can’t really switch off. We didn’t want everything to be polished and comfortable. There’s a lot of push and pull between the atmospheric parts and the heavier sections, and that tension is a huge part of what makes the song feel like The Local Romance.

Was there anything about “ECDYSIS” that surprised you once you heard the finished recording?

Honestly, how big it ended up feeling. When we were writing it, we knew we had something we really liked, but hearing everything come together made it feel way more expansive than we expected. There are little details and layers that you don’t necessarily notice when you’re just playing the song in a room, so the finished version surprised us in a really good way. It feels like a pretty big step forward for the band.

When you listen back to your older material, what feels noticeably different about The Local Romance now?

I think we’re much more confident in who we are. When we started, we were still figuring out what we wanted The Local Romance to sound and feel like. Now we’re a lot more willing to lean into the heavier stuff, but we also don’t feel like everything has to be heavy all the time. We’re more comfortable with dynamics, atmosphere and letting a song breathe. ECDYSIS feels like a really good representation of where our heads are at now.

You’re playing a Halloween show at Tomcat in Brisbane. What does a The Local Romance set look like when you’re not trying to behave yourselves?

Probably a complete lack of self-control.  Halloween is definitely an excuse to make things a little more chaotic. We love playing small rooms because you can feel everything. There’s no real barrier between the band and everyone in the room, so when things get hectic, they get REALLY hectic. We’re very excited to be back at tomcat though, that venue has been a key part is our bands life so we’re excited to be playing there again 

What have you learned about the band from playing small rooms that you probably wouldn’t have learned from playing bigger stages?

How important connection is. When you’re playing a tiny room and you can basically see every person’s face, you realise pretty quickly that you can’t hide behind anything. If the band is locked in, everyone feels it. If we’re not, everyone feels that too. It’s taught us to really feed off each other and the crowd rather than just going through the motions. Some of our favourite shows have been in rooms where the audience is right there in front of us (shout out blah bar in Lismore)

Brisbane has a lot of bands doing their own thing at the moment. Who are you listening to locally, and who should more people be paying attention to?

There are honestly so many. Brisbane has such a good heavy scene at the moment, and one of the best things about it is how different everyone sounds. We’ve been lucky enough to cross paths with some seriously talented bands and musicians, and I think there’s a really strong community here if you actually get out and see shows.

We’d definitely encourage people to go down to local gigs rather than just waiting for the bigger touring bands to come through. There’s some ridiculous talent coming out of Brisbane right now, and a lot of it is happening in tiny rooms.

If we’re talking about Brisbane / Queensland bands there’s so many favourites bigger bands such as Headwreck , Zuko, Same Pains and Total Buzzkill we all really like, but there’s bands like Cardboard Cutouts , itsacrylic and nervous light too! Flowers to everyone tbh 

Is there a song you’ve written that tells us something about The Local Romance that “ECDYSIS” doesn’t?

Still The Same probably does. ECDYSIS is very much about tension and transformation, whereas Still The Same is a lot more vulnerable. It starts off quite stripped back and gradually builds into something much bigger, and I think that says a lot about us as a band.

We’ve never wanted to just be the band that writes heavy songs for the sake of being heavy. The emotional side is just as important to us. If we can make someone feel something before absolutely smashing them with a riff, then we’re pretty happy.

What’s coming up for The Local Romance that you’re genuinely excited about?

Honestly, everything at the moment. ECDYSIS is out now, and it feels like the start of a really exciting next chapter for us. We’ve got more shows coming up, more music that we’re working on, and we’re really focused on pushing the band further outside of Brisbane.

We’re still very much in that stage where every opportunity feels massive, whether that’s playing a new room, meeting another band, getting onto a bigger show or having someone discover us for the first time. We’re just keen to keep building and see how far we can take it.

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‘Miracle’ feels deeply personal while still having a sense of lightness to it. What was the moment that sparked the song, and did you know straight away that you had something special?

I was in the studio with Tij who co-wrote, produced, mixed and mastered the song and I remember he sang the first line and I was like yep I love that. That’s when the idea was born, and we finished the song that day. We both loved the song from the get go, so it was super fun and exciting turning it into what it is now.

There’s a beautiful contrast between vulnerability and hope in ‘Miracle’. What were you trying to capture emotionally when you were writing it?

We really wanted to paint the picture of when you meet someone and the sparks are flying. We wanted to capture all the thoughts and feelings that exist within that experience. All the hope, the excitement, the youthfulness and the unknowns of it all.

When you look back at the person you were when you wrote ‘Miracle’, what do you think the song reveals about that period of your life?

I think the song reflects my inner dreamer. I am one to daydream and romanticise life and the people in it, and this song is a great depiction of that. I was kind of living vicariously through the song as we wrote it and was loving living in that world.

‘Miracle’ is also the title of your upcoming third EP. Did the title come first, or did the collection of songs naturally lead you towards calling the EP ‘Miracle’?

We had written the whole thing and I was pondering on the title for a little while and I landed on Miracle. It felt like a super special title for the EP because at the time I was really playing with the idea that miracles are everywhere and all it takes is being open to receiving them to experience them. I feel like the whole EP speaks to the journey of getting to that point. There’s yearning, there’s longing, there’s play, there’s romanticism, and of course there are miracles!

Across your previous releases and this new EP, how do you feel your approach to songwriting has changed? Are you writing about different things now, or seeing familiar experiences differently?

I think my approach to songwriting through my more recent releases has been a little more intentional but I’ve always liked to give myself space to experiment with sounds and be true to what I’m feeling at the time. I think now more than ever, though I like to write quite introspectively, I’ve allowed myself to tap into my inner child and have a little more fun with it. I write what feels relevant for me, there were some overlapping themes, and there were also many new experiences and understandings of life to draw from.

Your music has a strong storytelling quality. When you’re writing, how much of the story is drawn directly from your own life, and how much comes from observation, imagination or moments you’ve picked up along the way?

A lot of it is usually drawn from my own life but on this EP I really opened up to exploring stories of mine and Tij’s imagination and observation, treating it more like a stream of consciousness. I find it super interesting to see once the song is written, how my subconscious was speaking through the storytelling.

Was there a song on the EP that challenged you more than the others to write or record? What made it difficult?

Turning on the dial was probably the most challenging to record. The writing came quite easily but there was some trial and error figuring out the sound for it because it felt a little separate from the rest of the songs, but I really wanted it on there because of it’s storyline and how relevant the song felt for me at the time. After some chopping and changing we landed on what we have now and I’m super glad it’s on there.

What did you discover about yourself as an artist while making this EP that you didn’t expect to?

There were points throughout making the EP where I doubted my abilities as a writer, but I really worked through that and came back to the reason I love it so much, which is because it feels like a release of some sort when I write, and it creates a space for me to express how I feel. I learnt that for me it’s more about feeling into it, rather than being super logical and technical with everything.

You’ll soon be taking ‘Miracle’ and the new songs into a run of live shows. Do your songs change for you once you start performing them in front of people?

I think with some of the songs you can feel the audience really connecting with them and those always make the songs feel a little more special to me. It is so touching to see how people connect with the music.

After three EPs, what still excites you about making music, and what would you love to explore next that you haven’t had the chance to yet?

I find it super fun diving into new ways of expressing the goings on in my mind and in my life. Listening to other music honestly makes me excited, because I hear things I love and I feel so inspired. I love working with people, especially Tij and leaning in all sorts of directions creatively with him. I think next up I’d like to explore some of the music of my heritage and culture, and weave that in.

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How did ‘Badina’ first come together, and what was the starting point for the track?

The starting point for the track was really the vocal sample. We hadn’t made beats together in a while, and I was going through a new sample pack that had a lot of Shatta-inspired sounds. I started chopping up one of the vocal samples and combining it with a Dembow rhythm, and the first thing that came to mind was the hook for “Badina.”

From there, I just freestyled the verse, then Pinky freestyled his verse. That’s kind of become part of our style when we work together we’ll freestyle and get the ideas and melodies out first, then go back and add the actual words and shape everything around it. It keeps the process really natural and spontaneous.

‘Badina’ brings together Dembow, Caribbean and Latin urban influences with Shatta inspired rhythms. What drew you to these sounds for this track?

I’ve always been drawn to music that makes you want to move, and Dembow is a huge part of that for me. I wanted to bring in some of those Caribbean and Latin urban influences but also experiment with the bounce and rhythm you hear in Shatta. It felt like a good way to create something that still sounds like me while bringing in influences from different parts of the world.

The title ‘Badina’ is a playful twist on “bad Latina”. Where did the idea for the title come from?

The title came from playing around with the phrase “bad Latina” and turning it into something that felt more unique and playful. “Badina” just had a good ring to it. But with that being said it also can just be baddieI don’t want to concentrate on one type of female

You describe ‘Badina’ as a track about energy, movement and having a good time. What were you trying to capture when making it?

I wanted to capture that feeling when you’re out with your friends, the music is playing and everyone turning up. There’s no overthinking it, it’s about movement, confidence and having a good time. I wanted “Badina” to feel like a track you can put on and immediately change the energy in the room.

Jalmar and Pinky Promise come from different Australian, Chilean and Venezuelan backgrounds. How do those different influences come through in the music you make together?

I think you can hear those different influences naturally in the music. We both have different cultural backgrounds and different things that we grew up listening to, so when we come together, those influences just come out without us really forcing it. There’s the Latin side, the Dembow influence, Caribbean sounds and also the Australian side of how we’ve grown up making and experiencing music. I think that mix is what helps give our music its own identity.

This is part of your ongoing collaboration and the development of a shared Latin urban sound. How has your creative relationship evolved through working together?

I think we’ve become a lot more comfortable with each other creatively. When we first started working together, there was probably more of a process of figuring out what worked, but now we can pretty much jump into a session and start creating without overthinking it. We understand each other’s ideas a lot more, and there’s a trust there where we can freestyle, experiment and throw ideas around without worrying if something is perfect straight away.

What does the writing and production process usually look like when you work together?

A lot of it starts with the beat or just finding something that gives us a feeling straight away. From there, we usually freestyle a lot. That’s become a big part of how we work together. We’ll freestyle melodies, hooks and verses and just see what sticks. Once we have those ideas, we go back and start putting the actual words together and refining everything. I think that keeps the music feeling natural rather than trying to force a song from the beginning.

What was the most challenging part of bringing ‘Badina’ together from the initial idea through to the finished track?

I think the biggest challenge was actually knowing when to stop changing things. Because the song came together quite naturally through freestyling, there were a lot of ideas that we could have kept adding or changing. At some point you have to step back and realise that the original energy is what made the song work in the first place. So it was more about keeping that energy while making sure everything sounded finished and polished.

Jalmar created the artwork while Jonathan handled the mixing and mastering. How did you approach the visual and production sides of the release?

For the visuals, I worked with a new director, TMWR Media, because I wanted to try a different approach. I felt like I’d done a lot of dancing and had a pretty established style when it came to directing my own visuals, so I wanted to take myself out of that position for a bit and let someone else take the wheel and see what they came up with.

It ended up creating a more elegant type of energy, which I really enjoyed. It was nice to step back creatively and see the song through someone else’s perspective.

On the production side, Jonathan handled the mixing and mastering, which helped bring the track together and keep the original energy of the song while giving it that finished, polished sound.

Now that ‘Badina’ is out, what would you like people to discover about your music and the sound you’re building together?

I’d like people to discover that we’re not trying to stay in one box. We’re taking influences from Dembow, Latin urban, Caribbean music and other sounds we’re interested in and just seeing where we can take them. “Badina” is a good example of that because it has that Dembow foundation but there are other influences happening within it too.

More than anything, I want people to have fun with the music. Hopefully they hear “Badina”, feel the energy and then want to go back and discover more of what we’ve been creating together.

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Waiting For Today is described as a return to simplicity, with acoustic guitar melody and warm, unforced chords at its centre. What was happening in your life or creative process that led you back to this stripped back approach?

There is a meditation joke that goes kind of like this: You should sit in meditation for 30 minutes a day unless you’re too busy, then you should sit for an hour!

For me when life gets crazy, I balance things out by slowing things down and making things simple. This time it happened to be my music. I recently lost a duo partner, a singer that was a part of my acoustic rock band. We collaborated together for about 27 years. So, I haven’t booked any gigs, instead I re-focused my time and energy into creating pretty instrumental music. Re-creating myself without others so I can be a solid authentic musician with a solid foundation. I needed it.

You wrote much of the album while sitting with what you describe as the “challenging landscape of today”. How did that experience shape the mood, pacing and direction of the record?

Life is short. What are you waiting for? Hopefully you are waiting for today! Be here and now. So, every song is titled and sets mood, emotion, and energy for times that I felt strongly pulled me towards a clear, authentic and relaxed presence. For some reason when life feels short and fragile I tend to reminisce a bit. Most of the songs as you noticed have a component of this.

There is a strong sense of space throughout the album, particularly on tracks such as “Lingering In The Long Shadows” and “Wondering Home”. What do you want listeners to experience in those quieter moments?

That is all up to the listener. I am just creating a little breathing space, not having to rush to get somewhere else. I hope to let the music encourage your own relaxed thought space, lingering, wondering, walking, talking, waiting, thinking or just enjoying a cup of coffee.

You composed and produced all nine tracks yourself, working across acoustic guitar, electric guitar and guitar synthesizers. How did you decide which instrument or sound belonged to each composition?

Great question. I will often play the song on different guitars and with different background tapestries at home and when I go to the studio will take multiple instruments to play as I show up that day. I love some of the subtle sounds that represent more subtle emotions. All of this takes time and trial and error to hone in, yet for the most part, I find my voice in the traditional acoustic guitar with very sparse effects and generally live there. The electric and guitar synth sound usually add an extra emphasis to the emotion of the melody. Soft Furnishings is played on a baritone acoustic guitar. It gives a deeper sound that feels soft, luxurious and comforting.

Your music has a close connection with mindfulness, meditation, yoga and rehabilitative practice. How has your experience in those areas influenced the way you compose and approach the guitar?

Jon Kabat-Zinn defines mindfulness as “intentionally being present to the here and now without judgement”. Meditation is the formal practice of sitting still with this. Yoga is the practice of whole body movement with integrating breath in the same way, mindfully. Playing guitar for me is the next logical progression of my mindfulness practice. By playing for yoga and meditation classes it influences how the guitar parts move with thoughts, breath, body movements, flow, and silence or stillness. There are certain melodic phrases and tempos that work well at allowing the thoughts to settle into a type of simplicity and clarity.

You received your first guitar from your grandmother at the age of ten and later discovered players including Jeff Beck, Jimi Hendrix and Wes Montgomery. Looking back, what did those early influences teach you about what the guitar could become in your hands?

These players were all huge innovators and experimenters with the guitar and techniques. After trying to play with distortion, different finger styles, harmonics, or chord melodies just to name a few, it gave me freedom to find my own voice and techniques that have allowed me to find and feel confident and comfortable with my own style as they were with theirs. One of a kind unique and themselves.

“Waiting For Today” feels particularly interested in allowing time to pass naturally rather than forcing a traditional musical climax. What does patience mean to you as a musician and composer?

I kinda like to think of the songs indiviually and the progression of the album as away to find life in the slow lane, allowing for a space to find a balance from life in the fast lane. I think you hit the nail on the head, allowing time to pass naturally, rest, relax, be present. It is harder to be patient than it is to speed up. While composing I may meditate or sit with stillness before to clear my expectations, then while creating, allow the song to find its sweet spot to let it unfold in its own time. I find in that space, it has it has a star, power, and truth of it’s own.

Colorado Zen reached number eight on the Zone Music Reporter chart and received a New Age Music Award nomination, while The Space In Between reached number 11. How have those milestones affected the way you approach your music today?

I am energized to have such a reception and it supports me to continue to follow my hearts song in this journey. I am very happy that people are resonating with the music! Thank you listeners!

The album was engineered and mixed by Brian Hunter at The Mousetrap Recording Studio in Denver and mastered by David Glasser at Airshow Mastering in Boulder. What did you learn from the recording and production process of Waiting For Today?

The process is not about perfection it is about being present and doing the best you can. Ultimately, it is what we all do. When this happens, just enjoying the process..

Brian Hunter and I have been working together for about 25 years now, and he allows me time and space to do what I do while taking care of the recording process so that I can concentrate on my best performance. We have a great working relationship, he can anticipate my typical, and get there before I do some times, for the sound engineering pieces.

David Glasser has great ears and the coolest sounding mastering system. He has great intuition from so many years of mastering. It is a pleasure having a 2x grammy winner working on my music!

If someone puts on Waiting For Today without knowing anything about you or the album, what would you hope they take away from the 37 minutes and 50 seconds when the final track, “Soft Furnishings”, comes to an end?

I made up a meditation mantra years ago, it goes like this; a clear mind is peace, it illuminates truth, and lets love shine through! Here is to hoping that Waiting For Today provides a path for that journey, towards a relaxed attentive presence in the moment!

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“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.

As Consul General of Canada in Sydney, you join BIGSOUND 2026 as Canada takes on the role of Featured Guest Country. What does this opportunity mean for you, and why is BIGSOUND an important platform for strengthening the connection between Canada and Australia’s music industries?

BIGSOUND is an incredible event that has a sense of history, after 25 years of connecting the industry, and of fresh new opportunity. It was a great experience to be there with our Canadian delegation, recruited by CIMA and MMF Canada. The experience confirmed how valuable these industry gatherings are as a platform to meet, network, discuss global industry issues, and establish pathways to partnership.

How was your experience at BIGSOUND, and what has stood out to you?

It was fantastic – so many conversations and experiences throughout the week in Brisbane and during the Gold Coast familiarisation program. I’m particularly encouraged by the response of our Canadian delegates, who had business meetings and are generating long-term trade opportunities for their companies and for their Australian partners.

Canada and Australia share strong music cultures and geographically diverse creative communities. What similarities do you see between the two countries?

As Commonwealth cousins, Canada and Australia share many similarities despite our geographic distance. From respect for Indigenous heritage and Reconciliation, to the protection of national content and copyright in the age of AI and tech expansion.

At a basic level, Canadians and Australians enjoy strong friendships, and that forms an excellent basis for collaboration, particularly in the arts.

What has impressed you most about Australia’s music industry since arriving in Queensland?

The dynamism, energy, and passion for music were evident everywhere, from the artists and industry discussions to the venues. It all started with the First Nations opening ceremony in the mall. That was so powerful and connected everyone present to the significance of music and culture.

Canada has produced an extraordinary number of artists who have gone on to become global names. What do you think Australia does particularly well when it comes to developing artists, and where could the two countries learn from each other?

I’m impressed with the national presence of music and championing of artists in both countries. Australia has a well-established network of industry associations at various levels, from Music Australia and the #AUSIFY campaign to powerful initiatives in the well-being space, such as SUPPORT ACT, and local council involvement, such as the City of Brisbane and Gold Coast support at BIGSOUND.

As we continue to enter new terrains of globalisation with the impacts of AI – both positive and negative – this is an area where Canada and Australia can share expertise and pragmatic solutions as allies with common goals for the sector.

Have you discovered any Australian artists at BIGSOUND 2026 that you think could find an audience in Canada?

Too many to name! I’ll leave this with my Canadian industry delegates to help define and develop projects. One of our delegates has a business focus on touring an Australian blues artist in Canada. We had so many genre interests covered in our delegation – from experts in Hip Hop, Indigenous, Reggae, Neo-Classical, Indie-Rock, Heavy Metal, and Country – there’s something for every taste, representing the diversity of our music market.

What opportunities do you see for Canadian artists and music businesses looking to build stronger connections with Australia?

The camaraderie and collaboration raise potential for outcomes in many areas – from AI impacts and policy collaboration to sharing touring opportunities and garnering the expertise within each market. It will be important for follow-up to build on the momentum of Canada’s participation at BIGSOUND. This may include return delegations in both directions, individual projects, and sector-specific discussions.

There are some areas that may require a closer look to address irritants. Stay tuned, as we’re already in discussion regarding mission follow-up!

On the other side, what opportunities does Canada offer Australian artists and music businesses looking to expand internationally?

Like Australia, Canadians love their music! Opportunities abound as a similar-sized nation, with an array of festivals, events, venues, and industry gatherings across the country. I’d encourage Australians interested in Canada to find their like-minded allies in the industry and explore what’s possible. A good place to start may be via the delegation that’s just attended BIGSOUND and has Australia top of mind. See list here.

Music can be a powerful form of cultural diplomacy. What can music achieve between Canada and Australia that traditional diplomatic conversations sometimes cannot?

Music provides us with a safe space to meet and understand each other in a way that few other industries can. It provides a platform to share stories, knowledge, and experiences.

The Welcome to Country ceremony is a constant reminder of the entwined value of music and culture. At BIGSOUND, this was diplomacy that reflected ancient traditions expressed in music, dance, and story.

Today, this firsthand experience, of being on Country in Canada or Australia, and sharing music together, opens doors to discussion that can only be positive for diplomacy. In my experience, cultural diplomacy provides access and influence that traditional diplomacy alone cannot achieve.

When BIGSOUND 2026 is over, what would make you look back and say Canada’s involvement was a success?

I can already say it was a success, given the positive feedback from our crew on the ground in Brisbane for BIGSOUND. I look forward to seeing increased music flow between both our countries through tours, distribution deals, and other partnerships that help our societies grow, both economically and culturally.

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