I’m a decent editor and writer — but when it comes to being a producer, I’m armchair at best. As always, with this April cover story, things were coming together at the last minute. I had Alexis Gross’ haunting, witchy mood board as a solid guide, but we were just hours away from talent traipsing on set when I finally settled on our shoot location. And as quickly as I found it, it fell through. As did my second option. Then the third. Stomach now sinking to my knees, it was time for number four: a massive, abandoned warehouse downtown, where years before I’d forced a miserable crew, and Yves Tumor, to bake in blistering summer heat while taking in lungfuls of mysterious airborne grime.
It’s a cavernous space, full of dusty corners and hidden rooms, each more unsettling and undeniably unhygienic than the rest. A rusted meat hook hangs from the rafters. What looks like a chemical spill has obliterated what would be the back “yard.” Yes, it was the evil I knew, and an aesthetic adventure, but I was nervous to be dragging talent through the — literal — mud. Would they show up with racks of expensive, delicate clothing? Need an intricate hair and makeup setup? But when the evening arrived — so did our star, SOFIA ISELLA, with a giant hoodie, an extra T-shirt, and a little jar of charcoal powder in hand. The first thing she said was, “I love this place! I was just here yesterday!”
Read more: 20 albums that paved the way for alternative as we know it
But of course, ISELLA, an artist, songwriter and producer, a violinist, has been playing with the idea of discomfort for years. It’s present in her first viral songs like “The Doll People” and “Hot Gum,” the moments they begat — opening for Taylor Swift, Melanie Martinez, Florence and the Machine, Tom Odell — and across all four of her EPs. ISELLA, who’s self-described as “a slut for words” is making pop that takes no prisoners when it comes to lyricism, spitting out venomous lines like, “Everybody supports women/Until a woman’s doing better than you” and “I’ll be out in your lawn, covered in snot/I get away with so much shit ’cause you think I’m hot…” Onstage, covered in soot and sweat, swallowed by dark, oversized clothing, she moves in a way that’s feral — and also dancer-like — hitting a crescendo and hurling her drenched, giant T-shirt out into the crowd.
Everything through today, with the arrival of her fourth EP, Something is a shell ., has been self-released, in large part self-produced, and born of time she’s spent alone with her ideas, and each song. What she emerges with has the same dreamy darkness and eerie intimacy of Chelsea Wolfe — particularly the artist’s latest project, She Reaches Out to She Reaches Out to She — though it can dip into a rougher delivery, a la PJ Harvey’s textural, breathier moments on “Rid of Me.” With this brutalist and ethereal cadence, ISELLA plants her lyrics on a foundation that draws from contemporary alt-pop artists like Billie Eilish and Halsey, as well as her favorite band, Nine Inch Nails — both sonically, in their analytical, electronic-infused anger, and in how they hold a mirror to the audience.
Certainly, ISELLA has done a good job of holding mirrors, manipulating us as listeners, and forcing us to talk, think, question uncomfortable topics like sexual assault, misogyny, the ugly parts of the world we live and move in. But she’s also incredibly talented at avoiding answering questions, often turning them back on me before I’ve finished asking. I can respect an elusive aura, but will keep trying. By now, the shoot has wrapped, and it’s dark out. We sit on two filthy, discolored chairs in the back of the warehouse. I ask, “Four EPs in, after making Something is a shell ., do you feel more exposed or more protected?”
For other questions, she’s tried to make each member of our crew answer the question. Ryan, holding the camera. Nick, holding the boom. Me, sitting across from her. Finally, she can’t push this one off on us. “I feel exposed,” ISELLA says, putting a charcoal-stained fingertip to her chin. “But I like being naked, so…” Read our whole conversation below.
Hi. What have you been up to?
I’ve been preparing for tour. I run in circles in my living room while singing. I recently added a new instrument into my set: the banjo. And in rehearsal, I snapped one of my thumb picks in half, so I had to go get a bunch of new thumb picks so that I won’t destroy property.
That’s incredible.
What have you been doing?
Working.
Do you interview people all day?
On good days. Most of the time, I’m just sitting in front of my computer talking to people.
Are you always… Sorry, I’ll switch the questions around at some point, but have you always been a question-y person? How did you get into interviewing?
Historically, I have been pretty socially anxious, so I don’t really know how I got into this, but I feel like the one thing that I can talk to anybody about is music without having that anxiety.
Do you play?
No, I don’t, but I grew up in a musical family.
Nobody around me played music growing up. My mom is in writing, and my dad is in film, so all creative, but no one… I’ve heard my great-grandma played violin, but I did not meet her.
So you found Irish fiddle by yourself?
I found Irish fiddle — also Scottish, it was a mix of stuff — when I was 7, 8,, but it wasn’t my plan. My mom had this epiphany that Scottish fiddle camp must be a thing somewhere, and we found one and just showed up. It was somewhere in California. It’s a little drive in the forest. It’s very beautiful. That was what got me liking violin again, because I was classically trained, and there was a time where I was really bored with the amount that you have to be doing with upbows and shit… Once I learned an upbow, that completely fucked with my brain consciousness. Downbow is the normal way [of playing], and then you start on an upbow. But when you’re 5, that shit will bake your brain.
Sounds like getting to the third person when you’re learning a language. So you went to Scottish fiddle camp. You made lifelong friends. And what did that change about the way that you, as a person, experienced music?
I mean, that camp has all of my favorite memories of all time. There was this time where we were in a lesson, and the main leader of the camp just paused the class for 30 minutes and went on a whole rant on how when you go into the outside world, there’s going to be things that are going to want to remove your joy of music. And I don’t even remember the rant, but I was sobbing, and everybody in that room… It was perfectly still. There’s so many of those moments that are still highlights of my life.
I found my love of music at this place just because of the vibe, not even necessarily the stage or the classical live music. There was this night where we stayed up till 2 a.m., and it was pitch black, in this lodge cabin, and me and a bunch of strangers were singing karaoke, but it wasn’t with a screen — it was just instruments and vocals. So we were singing Freddie Mercury in the pitch black, in this tight little room with a bunch of strangers singing songs that we all knew, but we’re all from different corners of the world. Do you know what I’m saying? Cry, cry, cry… Then, there was this other summer camp I went to called Camp Winnarainbow, and it was a circus camp, and you’d walk on stilts, and you’d unicycle, and you’d climb on silks. That was great. It was a different type of experience, but I loved it.
The circus camp and the fiddle camp, were those both your mom’s visions or—
I mean, I definitely didn’t think these up, but I was happy to be there. That did not come from my creative brain.
So, after camp, but before the SOFIA ISELLA project, how would you describe your relationship with music?
Jesus, hardcore. I would practice violin three to five hours a day. I would practice if I were sick and puking. I would practice violin over the puke bowl. The consequence if I did something wrong would be taking away the violin. Hour one was just reserved for scales. So just perfecting scales alone for an hour, very, very intense. I’ve always been a workhorse and finding tasks to complete and get in my hands.
Do you think of yourself as an obsessive person?
Certain things, I suppose, but I think I like to be consumed by something.
When you first started making your own music, was it an effort to prove something or to figure something out?
Oh, there was nothing to prove. I didn’t understand the concept of proving. I was 8, and I was not around peers my age a lot, so I was very much fucking around and not having a real concept of things that… I had no concept of being mocked. My parents also never asked me to prove anything. There was no supplemental message of trying to be impressive. And anything I did, they’d clap. Even if I look back now, I’m like, “I was 8. How much shit can you give it?” So I had no concept of proving. I had no concept of trying to walk any line.
So I’ll ask the second part of that question: What do you think you were trying to figure out at that time, if anything?
When I think of that time, I was bored out of my mind, but in a great way. I would write three songs a day and produce. And I’ve always been very much trying to figure out exactly what it is that I like, in the most specific dot of an example. This career is very self-obsessed. I think it’s the most self-obsessed career you can take. You’re just constantly asking, and you’re thinking, “Oh, what do I like?” All fucking day long! “What do I think about this?” It’s the most egotistical career one could possibly achieve.
But that’s what I did all day. I was constantly trying to figure out songs. I’m a very gold-star person, but mental self-gold stars. Gold star, gold star, gold star. I think this was triggered by violin — my first violin teacher had this sticker sheet, and if you practiced seven days a week, you got a gold star. Or any star of your color, to be frank. The cool kids, the older girls got perfect lines of stars through the years, and I wanted to be those cool older girls — so I would make sure that I would practice every single day so I could get my whole row of stars. They were just legends. You know what I’m saying?
I guess in that regard, maybe there was something to prove.
I guess, but I never knew these older girls. They were more of a concept. It was just hanging up in her office. A metaphor.
What is an instinct, creative or otherwise, that you had really early on that you’ve had to unlearn?
I’m trying to put this into words. It’s not a creative thing. I think this world tells you that somebody is going to come and save you or notice you, and push a golden button. That there is some kind of magic to this business — there’s obviously the creative magic, but I’m talking about business magic — and there’s not a lot of it going on behind the curtain, Wizard of Oz shit. But I think that there’s a lot of power that comes with that. I’m unsigned, and I’m releasing through TuneCore $29.99 a year, and it’s just so freeing right now to be able to flick out a song with no one telling me what I can and cannot do. It’s really lovely.
I didn’t realize until recently the extent of your independence as an artist.
Yeah. We met with these lovely, lovely people, and they’re incredible, but… What’s that movie, The Incredibles? “I work alone, buddy.” Have you seen Incredibles? You know what I’m talking about?
I saw The Incredibles when it came out in theaters, which was probably 20 years ago.
Oh, wow.
What stands out to you when you listen to your super early work?
I was pretty dark, right away, around 8, and I lasted pretty dark for quite some time. Then I had this lighter touch when I was 12 to 14. I think hormones kicking in make you a gentler, softer person.
It was definitely the opposite for me.
I mean, for me, it really tampered me down for a second. Then I don’t know how it came back. But I also don’t consider it very dark 1776349869, to be honest. I would describe it as just how I see things, which I think people interpret as dark. I understand that. I can see that.
It’s realist.
Sure.
I wanted to talk about being homeschooled because I know you’d mentioned that the other day. I don’t remember the question I asked you, but you definitely used “I was homeschooled” to get out of answering. So I wanted to hear more about that experience and how you think that has shaped you.
Homeschooling was the biggest blessing for me to have, ever. I mean, I had no concept of bullying. I was totally free. I was bored out of my mind, and I just think being bored is the greatest thing you can be. So I was really lucky. I think boredom is the key to anything. We live in a world right now where boredom is just being sucked out. We’re entertained with screens and shit that just take away any bored moment. I mean, I’m trying to fight that as best as I can, but I am also an addict.
Do you trust your instincts more now, versus when you started, or do you question them more?
I don’t know if I’ve changed that much. I think I’m trying to be more specific now, and I know what I want more now, which puts me in a nice lane to paint in. Back then, I don’t think I was… I wasn’t aware of instincts. I wasn’t aware of trusting anything. I was just doing shit. There was no strategy. I was in Apple Loops when I was 10, layering the untz untz untz over lyrics about Henry VIII’s dead wives. There was no strategy, and I think that’s great. I guess you could say that was trusting instincts, in its purest form. I do that in different ways now. We’re going to get a chicken sound, and we’re going to put a bunch of farm animals in one MP3, and then we’re going to have a great time, aren’t we? That’s kind of my instinct-trust thing that’s happening now. It’s not Henry VIII’s wives. I’ll tell you that.
Is there any part of being an artist that feels unnatural to you?
Interviews? I am a big question person in the sense that I like to give people questions.
You’re about to turn this on me, aren’t you?
I don’t like to be the victim of the questions. It’s a horrible experience for all involved, which is why I prefer to ask questions to you. I’m much more curious about how you’re going to answer questions than how I am. What would you say to the most popular question you ask?
One is, what was the first thing you heard or saw that made you think you could be a musician?
All-female mariachi band, when I was 2.
What was the first album that you bought of your own accord?
It was probably something from that Scottish fiddle camp, because they sold CDs at the gift store. It must have been one of those.
What’s something about your music that you think people don’t notice?
They notice everything. There’s this one thing in “Doll People…” I don’t even fucking remember what the sound is. I’m pretty sure it’s a cat meowing, and it’s tiny, and it happens once. It’s so minuscule. To be frank with you, I’m pretty sure I forgot I put it in there. Then I go to one of my fan accounts, and they’re like, “Why is there a meow at two minutes and 57 seconds?” And I totally fucking forgot about it. They’ve noticed a lot.
With the new EP, what are you most excited for people to hear?
“The Chicken is Naked and Afraid.” Really excited.
What’s the intention? What do you want the reaction to be?
I just want people to have fun with it. I feel like I haven’t had a song where I’m just… It’s not so fucking serious. I just want to shake my music by the shoulders, “Just fucking have fun!” That song has changed my perspective on so many situations because of how much fun you could be having at all times.
That’s a good observation. Separately, what do you do to have fun? Oh, my God, I hate that question. It sounds so stupid, but I’m genuinely curious.
What do I do to have fun? I knit. I hang out with people that I love. I’m a big cuddler. That sounds predatory for some reason. I love watching movies. I like to work to have fun. I am a big worker.
If you could only listen to five albums forever, what would they be?
Oh, my God. I can’t even think of one album that wouldn’t drive me crazy after a while. I feel avoidant of even saying my favorite albums at all, because I wouldn’t want to destroy them with time.
Here you go: What are the albums that are most meaningful to you right now?
I’m going through Nine Inch Nails’ catalog a lot recently. I’m a very loyal fan where I’ll find an artist and just listen to them, nonstop. There’s albums called Year Zero and Bad Witch… I fucking love them. Also, that first Billie Eilish album, WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO? There is not a song on that album that I don’t like. That was really, really meaningful to me. She was my first experience with deep-diving into an entire artist’s world. I love that album.
What is it about that album?
It feels free. That’s the word I would say.
What’s your own songwriting process?
I do a lot of pages. I do a lot of brain drains, and a lot of lyrics will come from that. “Doll People” came from that. I mean, most of the songs came from that. That’s how it will go. Then either I’ll produce it out myself entirely alone — like “Everybody Supports Women” and “Doll People” — or I have Mr Hudson, lovely guy, and we’ll go into a studio like professionals we are, and we’ll do a bunch of sonics and guitars and screaming shit and get weird. The session will be 20 minutes long. Then he’ll send me that session. I’ll go home, and I’ll take that session and wrangle it into a proper song. I will write the lyrics and the melody, and then I’ll arrange it. I’ll produce it out. Then I’ll hit him up if I need a certain guitar I can’t figure out or the sound of an instrument. Then, there you go.
How diaristic is your music?
Great word, by the way. I love that. Writing it, it feels like this different version of myself, but there is one song on the EP, “Evergreen Soldier.” This song is very, very, very different from other songs that I’ve written and definitely that I’ve released. It was written in the heat of the moment, which is a state of mind that I never like to write in, because the song becomes very simple and romantic. The lyrics are very… Just as it is, not dressed up in anything. It’s very innocent and vulnerable. It feels like my 14-year-old self wrote that song. I’ve never released a song written in the heat of the moment before. So that song to me feels very diaristic.
Do you feel like you’ll be doing more of that?
It’s not really up to me. I didn’t want to write that song. I didn’t plan on, “I’m going to go torture myself today and then immediately pick up guitar.” I wrote that song on tour. I was on a USA tour, a few tours ago, and I was in the back of this van, and I was just strumming the chorus again and again and again. I would perform during soundcheck on that tour before anyone came in, and… I could not finish the last line. The last line of this song just fucking kills me. Oh, my God.
What makes you feel ready to let it out there? Do you think it’s been enough time that it doesn’t feel as raw?
I don’t feel threatened by people watching me. I don’t feel threatened by people seeing what I’m saying. Me releasing music feels very … What’s the word? It’s not tangible. I don’t even feel the concept of people listening to it. I don’t think people listen to it. Every time I get recognized, every single time, it is the most mind-blowing “what the fuck” experience, because I just cannot believe people know who I am. Outside of these shows, the world is such a different experience to me. When I’m on tour, it’s this other dimension where people know who I am, and then I’m back into my real life where nobody listens to my music, nobody knows who I am. Very mind-blowing experience every single time.
So I would imagine, then, that you are not somebody who reads comments.
I stay pretty far away. Since I was 14 or 15, I knew that this was exactly where I wanted to go with my career. Even since I was 12, I would say I knew how I would want to handle it. The thing about comments is that eventually, if I become successful enough, it doesn’t matter how incredible I am — I walk the plank. Notice there is not a single, especially female, artist who has not been tsunami-waved at some point in time. I recognized that when I was 12. People can only handle loving you for so long. This sounds so fucking dark, but I signed up for it. That’s how this world likes to operate.
So your process has been a lot of radical acceptance around that.
I think you have to accept it, and I think you have to not take it seriously. I haven’t had a huge bulldozer over me, which I think keeps me still somewhat innocent in this business. I think this is a message for anyone who’s on social media: Nowadays, you can get love and hate. I think you have to treat both adoration and hatred similarly, in that you can’t take either of them too seriously. I think they’re both equally damaging. Even if you take the love with a lot of weight, you’re going to take anything else the same way.
Oh, that’s so well said. I love that. Do you feel like there’s anything you might disagree with yourself about when you look back on this EP?
I don’t think so. So far, even when I look back at what 8-year-old Sofia said, I don’t disagree with her.
