sweet93 on Authenticity, the Blues, and Radical Artistic Truth
After stepping away from a spotlight that felt far too scripted, sweet93 reclaimed her voice and redefined her career in the pursuit of something much more enduring: the most radical artistic truth.
Raised in Nashville, she grew up surrounded by classic rock, the blues, and the weight of Southern storytelling, deepening her love for unadulterated, raw emotion. But instead of chasing a polished sound or a predetermined path, she embraced irresistibly instinctive music that not only welcomed discomfort, desire, and the beautifully unresolved, but set out directly to chase it.
Now based in New York, sweet93’s sonic dreamscape is a hazy, emotionally textured blend of shoegaze, grunge, and late-'90s alt. But beyond genre, what defines her work is its emotional honesty. sweet93 doesn’t pretend to have any answers; instead, she offers listeners a comforting kind of permission — to feel lost, to linger in sentiment, to let things be ugly and beautiful all at once. Simply, sweet93 wants her music to sound like “a smoke break or something… A reminder that it’s all going to work out, or maybe it won’t, but that’s still okay.”
That sense of gentle defiance — of making peace with unflinching uncertainty — is what makes sweet93’s work the most comforting, irresolute refuge — not because it soothes the ache, but because it lets it breathe.
KP: As I’ve told you before, you have one of my favorite voices of all time. The first time I heard you nearly ten years ago, I knew it to be true within just a few bars of hearing you.
I was reading about your influences, and you credited Stevie Nicks’ emblematic voice with helping you find and become comfortable with your own. You said, “Looking back now, I really needed to hear a female in that space. It taught me that I could create music for my vocal register.”
Can you speak more to what it meant to finally hear yourself reflected in someone else’s sound, particularly a woman’s? How did that recognition shape not only your voice, but also your sense of artistic belonging?
CK: Stevie Nicks is definitely one of my earliest and favorite influences. There was something so free in it — there’s a perfect balance of the whimsical and something also extremely rooted. I feel like she really hangs onto melodies with that huskiness and rasp. She really showed me that a beautiful voice doesn’t have to have this one type of smooth, airy, soft tone; it can also be extremely powerful — and extremely imperfect.
I think that's what I really liked about her artistry — her entire solo career as well as Fleetwood Mac. I’m also blown away with how consistent she is. It's taken me a long time to get to the place that I'm at now with my music being 100% from me, just this music that I write when I'm alone in my apartment, just creating. It took so many twists and turns to get to that specific place, so I'm honestly blown away by her even more because when you really do your research, this was always her. It’s just innately the sound that she’s always had. It was never a performative thing for her. It was truly in her soul, you know? And she's still doing it.
It's actually crazy that you asked this question, because I just got to see her live for the first time last year with my mom. I had never seen her live. It almost didn't even feel possible — even though that's really weird, because she's always touring — but I just felt like I wouldn't ever be in the right place at the right time. She sounded so good. She also brought out her vocal coach and tipped the hat to him, saying that he was the only reason that she could still sing like that. But even that representation I really appreciated because when you have a little rasp or a different energy to your voice, you do wonder how it’s going to work.
She’s a leader in my life. She's a queen, you know?
KP: She truly is. And you sing her so, so well. Honestly, you do it the best that I have ever heard.
The musical influences that you’ve cited are rooted in an unmistakable sense of authenticity. I deeply relate to the experience of making a very sharp turn in your career in order to feel more aligned with who you truly are — to let go of what no longer fits and to begin again with a greater sense of honesty. In 2020, you did just that, reshaping the direction of your music as part of a deeper personal rediscovery.
Can you take us back to that time? I know for me, there was a very clear moment in 2013 when I realized I couldn’t keep going the way that I was and still consider myself an authentic person. Was there a similarly defining moment for you, or was it more of a slow, internal shift that built up over time? Either way, your journey is incredibly admirable.
CK: I think the truth is that I just didn’t know how to listen to myself. It’s really taken a while for me to get to a place of feeling the way that you just shared so beautifully. The way that you just put that I will probably bring with me in my life moving forward, to be honest. But yes, I do feel very authentic to myself now, but there was a period of time where I allowed decisions to be made for me and all around me, which seemed like they were actually being made by me.
Things changed completely for me during COVID, when I really stepped out of my own little place. All of the noise finally went away, and I was actually forced to sit with myself. The realest way of measuring how far off my path I had gotten I found just by sitting in my room — I had this realization that I couldn’t make any of the music that I was releasing just by myself. I started so pure in the beginning, but I had definitely become more manufactured and more of an idea over time.
I think that artistry, real artistry, does require a little bit of that — you do have to kind of see past yourself and move a bit out of your comfort zone. But I was way out of my comfort zone for a while, which became too familiar.
But to go back to your question, it's kind of both, weirdly — it was a sudden moment of realization and also something that I was slowly coming to terms with over time. Being forced to sit in silence truly made me realize that I was on a path that I never intended to be on.
If I'm really honest now, in retrospect, I think the entire time there was a common thread — there was a voice the whole time inside of me that was chipping away, being like, Is that really what you want? Is that really who you are? I guess I just didn't know if that voice was just fear, or if it was true.
There are so many things that you can absorb from working with other people, from being in situations with other people — that's why now I've almost completely swung the opposite way. I'm very alone, and I'm very in my own head. I will process and mull over things way longer by myself before I get the opinions of others, if that makes sense.
KP: It definitely does.
CK: So yeah, I think it was both — this one big event during COVID and then also sitting in my room and realizing that I couldn’t even write these songs myself that I’m claiming are my soul. And that's totally no shade to anyone who writes with other people, because that's not what it’s about — you can still write with others and have your truth being brought forward. But, for me, the littlest part of it was what came from me naturally — the bigger part of it was this manufactured idea. That's really when it hit me.
I picked up a guitar and was just starting to learn when I realized that the sound that was coming from me publicly was not the same sound that I had attempted, you know? That's when I realized that I needed to take a second to look at the big picture — how long do I want to be playing music? The answer is forever. I want to be able to write a song on the road. I want to be able to write a song no matter who I'm with. I want to have that truth come through, which it only really does when you are doing it from a place of authenticity.
Your art is not going to be for everybody — but that’s the beauty of it. The ones who do love it will really love it, and in the end, that’s all you’ll ever need.
KP: That’s the best work anyway!
CK: Exactly! And at least now I don't dread any opportunity that comes my way. I figured out how to make it work, whereas when I wasn’t sure about what my direction was, I would almost reject everything that came my way because it was all too much. The root of it was that I wasn't being myself. I wasn't listening to the voice inside.
I’m sorry if I rambled, but that's it!
KP: No, no, no! That all makes perfect sense. And I definitely relate to a ton of what you just said on a very, very personal level.
On the topic of authenticity, you’ve spoken about your deep connection to the blues — a genre that, like you, refuses to be anything but raw and real. You once said, “The blues is so serious, so personal, so deep, so authentically pure, and I felt an instant connection to that, as someone who has never been able to fake it.”
What do you think it is about the blues that gave you permission to fully inhabit your truth? And in today’s music landscape — where so much is curated and performative — how do you stay rooted in that kind of emotional honesty?
CK: That's such a good question. I feel like the blues was actually the first place that I truly felt at home with my vocal register, as well as with my natural timing and cadence. I just love it in a way that feels very different from all of the other genres and sounds. I also think that could be because it’s literally the starting point of most genres that we know today. I was just super inspired by it.
I'll never be able to replicate its true pain and its true honesty, but that’s why the blues is what it is. It never even needs to be replicated by someone like me, because it was the outlet of all outlets for black musicians at the time. It was their freedom of expression, as well as their truth.
So in the little way that I can, I just felt so magnetized to it and just wanted to learn as much as I could — to be as close to it as I could get. It'll always hold that space for me. It's fun because the music that I'm making now is kind of a blend of classic progressions but also shoegaze and just general walls of sound. For a while, I felt like my influences were all over the place, but the longer that I'm on this journey of life, the more I realize that it’s all connected.
Those early days of playing with blues musicians really drew me in — everyone played at full volume. I feel like with my whole life on stage — with any band I'm in — everyone is always like, “Can you guys turn that down?” [Laughs]. I love the raw power of guitar, bass, and drums. I love all of the ways that you can weave those sounds together. That's also how I feel about my vocals at this point — I love to sing, and I love both the truth and the honesty.
I drew so much of my inspiration from the blues, but I love refashioning it into what feels most honest to me now. Not every song of mine has a blues influence, but one of my favorite songs that I've put out, “Stars Above,” just fell out of me and my best friend, who is my writing partner. We make all of the sweet93 music together, and I just remember that song specifically taking only a total of 30 minutes. It was just so raw, which I think is because it has these natural blues progressions. There's so much room to play in that area, which is crazy because those same progressions have been replayed and reimagined in hundreds of thousands of ways, yet they never get old. There’s magic in them.
I guess that's my long and short answer — the blues truly captivated this real musical magic in me, and that's also why it stands the test of time. I really hope that I can even get just a fraction of that honesty across, you know?
KP: I definitely think that you do.
We both come from relatively conservative families — you in Nashville and me here in New York — and I know how easily that kind of environment can possibly stifle creativity if you let it. Did you ever feel that your upbringing was limiting to your creative expression? And how did you find your way forward in becoming so unmistakably and unapologetically yourself?
CK: I think there are two parts to that. Firstly, I didn't have a direct connection to the music industry — like a lot of musicians and artists — so, for me, I was desperate to find something to attach to, which is why I think my first icon was Britney Spears. Sometimes I wish that I was 9 and listening to Patti Smith or something, but that just wasn’t the case because I didn't have that type of access. I guess I could have somehow searched for it, but I was also just a product of my environment. I was just a kid.
KP: Well, this was very pre-internet too, you know? We were both born in ‘93. So I think, at that time, you just grabbed from what was around you. My personal hero is Pink because she was always the antithesis of Britney, which I really understood. So having those heroes in pop culture was so vital during a time that we didn’t have the access to the wealth of information that we have now.
“Your art is not going to be for everybody — but that’s the beauty of it. The ones who do love it will really love it, and in the end, that’s all you’ll ever need.”
CK: Yes! I love Pink, too! I love Britney, Pink, and Christina — especially the “Dirrty” era. I loved all of that because of the power that was found in different types of femininity. The Spice Girls were big for me, too! I loved the fearlessness — I was doing dance routines with my friends. [Laughs].
But, I guess the other part about being raised extremely conservative and extremely religious was having my entire reality shaped around something that has now fully and totally evolved completely since then. I've moved away from my upbringing, but I think that I took the pieces of it that still hold true to me, which is treating everyone with kindness, loving people… The parts of it that are intended to heal and to help. Every other part of it has been manipulated into this fear-based, quite disturbing reality. I want no part of that.
KP: Likewise.
CK: I have this one note in front of me, and it says, “Truth is buried inside of what you don't know.” That phrase has been following me recently, which I would honestly say weirdly applies to my upbringing. I think that truth was buried in all of the things that I didn't know at the time.
I felt that my personal beliefs and my art were going to transcend the space that I was in, but I didn't know how, and I didn't know when. I didn't know what was going to happen with that, so I just kept trying. It’s a battle when ideologies are placed upon you and they're contradictory to who you are as a person. You're young, and you don't know how to navigate what's going on, but the voice inside knows the truth, right?
I wasn't comfortable because I wasn't really able to occupy that space and be honest with myself for my entire life. So I think it’s no surprise that it was also a huge journey in the beginning of my music. I had blips of where I would touch it and I would be authentic, but then I would be kind of re-routed. It was a bit of the ragdoll feeling, you know?
I really just wanted that freedom. I wanted to feel free to be the person that I always wanted to be. It was such a pressure cooker to be in that environment, and I’m so far removed from that now. You really just need to listen to yourself. That's the main thing that I tell my sisters; I’m the oldest of 4 girls in my family. I feel weird even giving advice, because everyone is going through their own things, but what I tell them over and over is to pay attention to what they’re actually feeling. That’s all that matters.
I don’t regret my journey at all, because I don't think that I would be as cool.
KP: You wouldn’t be for sure. And, well, I went to Catholic school my entire life until I got to college and went to Parsons, so! [Laughs].
CK: Oh my god, so you know what I mean.
KP: I do! But we did okay.
CK: Yeah, we did.
KP: Going back to New York, you relocated here years ago. What was it that drew you to this city? And what is it that’s kept you here?
CK: I’ve always loved New York. I always loved the idea of New York. I never ever thought that I would live here, but the group of friends that I had at the time were all more in the visual art world — painters, photographers, videographers — and they all decided to move to New York together. It finally hit me that I could also do that myself, so I really just went on a whim, which was probably one of the more whimsical large choices that I've ever made in my life. I still don't really know how I just said yes to that, but I did, and I've been here ever since.
I obviously still visit home — I’m from the South, so I miss the nature aspects of living, driving… It has a different air, you know? So I still visit there a lot, especially to see my 3 sisters, but New York is just amazing.
I love the community that’s here, which is how I met all of my best friends. Every part of bringing sweet93 to life wouldn't have been possible without moving here because I also weirdly moved here to move in with my friend, Evan, and all of our other friends. There were, like, 5 of us total that were going to live together. Evan ended up moving away somewhere else, but that's who I write all of my music with, so I wouldn't have even had my music if I didn’t make these whimsical decisions that I did.
But I really love being here. I love the scene. I’m a bit of a homebody, so I always do feel a little pang of guilt sometimes, because I know that there's always something happening here, always something magical. But recently, it’s been kind of nice to unwind more. I’ve been here for 7 years now — I think at first I was just trying to keep up with the speed, going from literally nothing happening most weeks in Tennessee to having everything happening here. For the first 4 or 5 years, I wanted to do it all, but I’ve definitely settled down. It’s nice to live here in your own way, getting the full version of that transplant New York experience.
I love it so much, and I love that there’s a completely different way of life here. I needed it to bring me out of some of the more lasting effects of being raised in the South, you know?
KP: I really do. And I also think that it’s important to live in a green neighborhood here. Even though I was born in Brooklyn, I still love that green space — I live in Park Slope, right by Prospect Park. I need that type of calm because I’m very much a homebody, too. I went from coming home every night at 8 a.m. for years on end to barely leaving my house now. [Laughs]. It’s nice to experience both. I feel like I’m retired in Park Slope now. [Laughs].
CK: Yeah, exactly.
KP: Like you said, you could really build your own life here — it doesn't have to be just one way.
To move onto your work, one of my favorite tracks of yours is “what’s true?,” which you released just last year. Can you walk us through its writing and recording a little bit? What inspired it, and what does that particular song mean to you as the artist?
CK: Oh my gosh. I'm so glad that you love that song because I really, really love that song on stage. It’s literally like being in a sound bath…
KP: I watched your performance of it at [Night Club] 101 online!
CK: Oh my gosh, okay. So you know!
KP: I’m obsessed with it. It’s been on repeat all day.
CK: That makes me so happy. That song just surrounds you. Honestly, the journey of it is so funny. Evan and I were just talking about this yesterday, so again, it’s so funny that you ask. It was a completely different song. It was originally called “My Lock and My Key” and it was so, so bad. I was actually like, “Dude, have we lost our spark?” [Laughs].
KP: [Laughs]. That’s so funny. Okay, well clearly you didn’t, because it turned into a fucking masterpiece!
CK: It seriously was like, “You're my lock and my key.” It was so weird… [Laughs]. Anyways, so we had this song called “My Lock and My Key,” and we admitted to each other that it was horrible. It was serious shit, so then we were both like, “Okay, let’s change the verse. The chorus is great; let’s change the verse.” So we started the journey of changing the verse. We’re thinking about what we want it to feel like and we settled on the concept of rain kind of falling at different speeds — we're talking crazy. But we get to this, and we're just experimenting with some drone tones, and I was like, “Damn, that's pretty fire.” But then we changed the verse but kept the chorus. Then we literally get to a whole other song, and we're like, “You know what, we need to change the chorus.”
KP: [Laughs]. Oh my god.
CK: So we changed the chorus — it's just me and him on Logic, zapping sessions back and forth. We both breathe life into every song; it's crazy. But then we got to version 3, and we were like, “Let’s redo the chorus over again.” I’m not even joking; then we said, “We need to change the verse again.”
KP: You didn’t. [Laughs].
CK: Finally, version 4 was the lucky song. I think it was around version 3 that I was on the floor in this room right here — literally on my bedroom floor — I had all of my stuff around me, and I was trying to write this song. It was some version of a love song, but honestly, I don't even know why I was doing that because I really can't write like that. I'm a horrible poet.
KP: Oh, come on!
CK: I really am. You will never catch me doing that — I’m talking pen to paper. I'm going to be like, “My heart knows no bounds.” It really is not giving philosophical.
KP: [Laughs].
CK: No, really. There are no beautiful words strung together. You know, I made, like, a PowerPoint for this interview. I don’t even know why I did that.
KP: You did what?! [Laughs].
CK: For real. Like, why did I make a presentation?
KP: [Laughs]. I’m dying. Okay, put it up. Share it with the class.
CK: I literally wrote, “Music mystery and the beauty of nothingness.” That's a perfect example of what I'm talking about — um, no. And then I wrote, “The truth is buried inside of what you don't know.”
KP: Well, we did speak on what’s true!
CK: I mean, we did.
KP: So that was a good guess! [Laughs].
CK: I'm working on this song, trying to find the truth of this song, but it was like I was forcing this detailed love story. Then, finally, I was just was sitting there and was like, What am I doing? This was also at the beginning stages of this round of the war in Gaza and the brutalization of the Palestinian people, and I'm on my floor to write a shit love song? Honestly, I was just so over it. I was thinking about how anyone could even share music at the moment. Like, how are we just doing that? How is this real? What’s real? So I just followed that. I was sitting on my floor, and I just accepted the fact that I have no idea what's actually real right now. Everything feels like depersonalization or derealization. I felt so far away from any version of truth, so just tried to talk about what was happening. Because all that I know is what I don't know — this idea of truth is buried inside of what you don't know — it’s a blank canvas and nothingness.
I feel like that scares a lot of people, but the truth is that this trance-like state of feeling is far removed from reality, feeling like you’re on the other side. Completely living in a dream is not the answer, and that’s definitely not what needs to happen right now, but somewhere in between is the sweet spot — and that's where that song came from.
I couldn't stop just singing that — “What's true?” And then when I finally found the chorus — that note — it felt so true to me. I know what’s true in terms of my reality, but all of these arguments and all of these ideas that have been put on me my whole are just noise. You have to try to find the truth every single time.
I feel like every question that you’ve asked me is so on point — we’re actually so in sync.
All of my music at this point as sweet93 feels very precious to me, and it also does feel cohesive, but I felt like “what's true?” was a bit of a step further into this dreamscape sound bath territory. I wondered what people were going to think about it, like, are they going to wish that this was more like “Stars Above” or that this was more like the really dense shoegaze stuff, or whatever? But I just didn't care because, like I said, at this point, I now try to put very little thought into the noise around me. I really try to focus on the voice within, and the voice within told me that this is the song. I was actually supposed to have a whole project that I ended up scrapping because of this song and the journey that started once this song was written. So there will be a continuation of this within my upcoming project.
KP: That makes me so happy. Please do, because it works so well. I really had it on repeat all day. I’m so in love with it.
In speaking of your music, you’ve said that you want it to feel like “a smoke break or something… Like a reminder that it’s all going to work out, or maybe it won’t, but that’s still okay.” That really hit me, because whenever I listen to your music, it sounds so wistful — hopeful, but not promising, which is perhaps the best place to be.
CK: Wow.
KP: Can you talk more about that feeling — of creating music that offers comfort without promising resolution? Where does that perspective come from, and what do you hope listeners carry with them after the song ends?
CK: Wow. I haven't heard it put that exact way, but “hopeful, but not promising” is so beautiful. I feel truly honored that you said that, because I didn't even really know to put those exact words together. Wow, that really hits the nail on the head for me.
I think I have often felt very misunderstood as well — like you shared earlier, with Pink being your early icon, because she kind of fell into this category of being misunderstood — but I think I had a lot of pressure growing up to be some version of the best girl that I could be. I took it really seriously, to the point where I think that's where the disconnect from my inner voice first came from. I think that being misunderstood is a good thing. You can create way more from those abstract emotions.
KP: I completely agree with you.
CK: It's the in-between feelings for me. It's like describing very weird details of a situation that I'm in without being so direct, because the truth is that I'm scared to be direct. I don't love confrontation, so within my songs, the number one thing is trying to turn off my brain and enter into this trance-like state. I‘m always in front of a computer or next to a guitar where I can be intentional with writing, but it's incredible when you find a groove or a riff or a chord or a baseline or something of that sort that works — I don't do beats. I'm going to be really honest right now: I cannot make a beat to save my life. I’m a writer that it doesn't really fall out of the sky for — I don’t really hear from silence; I usually need a couple of chords. I'm not even that crazy — I think of 2, 3 chords if I'm lucky, and they're just going back and forth. I have to take them on walks — I have to walk to pass Union Square, walk, walk, and walk. I have to distract myself, because I think when my brain's on and I'm trying consciously again to write, I have to fight all of those years of manufactured ideas. I have to kind of trick myself. It's weird.
KP: I completely understand that.
CK: Yeah, it’s like I have to distract myself to get into this flow state, which is this really beautiful safe space that I've created for myself where I just let it go. I try to access the feelings that I'm a little bit uncomfortable to share in my real life. I still struggle. I can talk a lot, like I am talkative, but the truth is that the most vulnerable things within me are layers and layers deep. Music really is like that space for me. If I can be honest, the realest that you're going to get from me is what I'm saying in a song. And then the truth is that it's still very abstract, but I think that's because that’s kind of me at my core, you know? That’s why I think the concept of a “smoke break” makes sense for me. That’s how I feel when I listen to Slowdive, when I listen to the blues, when I listen to an old Robert Johnson tape. I just have this feeling of letting out a breath — like you said, this comfort within my songs. I'm not trying to do that by any means intentionally — it’s just this trance-like meditational state that I just occupy and then allow myself to go to.
The freedom to play around in something that feels like a blank canvas is great and it can be really scary when you don't have a concept, but, for me, just going in blind and closing my eyes and making myself sing is what’s best. Even if it doesn't make sense, I'll just isolate or solo my vocal — then I can hear that I'm saying something, and it starts to flow. Like everything around me, there's so much that I can't control — there's so much that I do not know.
I don't know what's true outside of my own truths. I don't know how to pinpoint it, and it's a struggle for me because I'm also a Capricorn, so everything feels like it needs to be extremely black and white, you know? Like extremely lined up, and I'm just realizing that surrender is where the beauty and the truth best come. So the relief of the smoke break is weirdly an easy way to package that. I remember when I worked at a coffee shop for a few years, that 10-minute smoke break was the difference between a moment where you're going to just lose it or be able to keep it together. This is in 2021, and I just remember realizing that those moments were the only reason that I could continue.
So I hope that's what it feels like — even just a fraction of what a physical smoke break is, you know?
Also, I'm not trying to get to a part of the song that I feel like I need to get to. I'm not like, I better get to that pre-chorus in 30 seconds, which I think is very different compared to a lot of the music that is more mainstream today.
I'm obsessed with nothing right now. I'm just obsessed with the nothingness.
KP: I love that. When's your birthday? You’re a Capricorn?
CK: Yeah, December 29th.
KP: I'm the 24th! And you're 1993 too, right?
CK: Yes. You too?
KP: Yeah!
CK: No wonder. Okay cause yeah, I feel like we're vibing.
KP: We get it! And speaking of our birth years — your name, sweet93, you’ve said is a tribute to your birth year and all of the incredible albums of ’93, from Radiohead’s Pablo Honey to Mazzy Star’s So Tonight That I Might See, which is such a devastatingly good record.
What do you think it was about 1993 — or the early ‘90s in general in music — that felt so unmistakably authentic? And where do you think we’ve gone wrong as an industry — or as a world — to stray from such genuineness?
CK: I feel like the ‘90s are a direct reflection of where we are right now. I feel like the energy of ‘93 is fully here. I think it's a combination of world events, political animosity, distrust of the government, and this overall nihilistic feeling — it just forces a certain genre and a certain rock influence. Maybe even more of that genre-specific indie rock — slowcore, shoegaze. It forces you to think about music differently. I would be absolutely out of my element if I tried to bust out a happy-go-lucky pop song right now. I don't even know where you would be drawing that inspiration from, if I'm being honest. I don't understand it. But that’s not me — that’s someone else’s job, luckily. Music feels directly connected to the chaos that is ensuing from all sides, and I have no choice but to want to drone it out and get up there and just want to pause. You know what I mean?
KP: I do!
CK: I just want to pause. I want to fully invite us there while not actually being front and center. I mean, I'm in the back sometimes — I'm, like, behind the drummer, hiding sometimes. I don’t even know, but I just want to invite you to close your eyes and go somewhere. Or you can look up, but we're going to make the lights low because the feeling of where I'm at personally with music is that it needs to be deeper — what's going on? I feel like music walks hand-in-hand with me, like I'm seeing lines being crossed. I'm seeing starvation. I'm seeing pain, devastation. And then when I've shared my own fears about sharing music, I'm reminded that music is the only thing that actually holds us. It can hold everyone, and it goes everywhere, just like water. I've been reading the Dao De Jing, which says that the Dao is like water — it goes even where it's not invited, where it's not wanted, or even asked to go. Water goes on changing lives and saving people. I feel like music is that exact same thing. Music is literally the water of life. It goes where it isn’t wanted, and even where it isn’t invited — it heals and it changes things.
I'm bad at linearly connecting, but thinking about the ‘90s and thinking about its political climate, its social climate, and what was happening — thinking about Woodstock ‘99… Wasn’t that so raw? It was dreamy, and then it was violent. I feel like it was everything. It was very anti-pretty. It was raw emotion, and I feel like that's what's happening now. We’re seeing the return back to underground culture. I love that — similar to the ‘90s — artists are building their own cult followings. You don't have to have this exact path that the suits tell you. You don’t have to do it that way. You can absolutely go your own way, and you can be authentic. People in power don't want to tell you that though, because that's not easy to manage. That's not easy to control, but that is the truth.
“Music is the only thing that actually holds us. It can hold everyone, and it goes everywhere, just like water… Music is literally the water of life. It goes where it isn’t wanted, and even where it isn’t invited — it heals and it changes things.”
But yeah, the direct connection with audiences is where music went wrong — walking away from the truth. So it went and fully swung back. I feel like the early 2000s were the years of very manufactured pop. It was what rose up to the top, you know? And rock kind of faded away. We got a little back into it with Indie Sleaze, trying to bring back something that was raw and imperfect and swag and beautiful. But now I feel like we're kind of back to this ‘90s stage of angst and rebellion.
You know how some people wish that they were in another time? I’m actually so fucking happy that this is exactly where I'm at, at least as far as having a voice in music right now. I would either want it to be right now or the ‘90s, and I'm glad that it's now because of social media. Part of me wanted to say at first that social media is where it went wrong, but I don't actually feel that way. I feel like that is a direct link to connecting to real people. Although, I will say, the people who are commenting and hating on people online — those people aren't real. You just have to not pay attention to that at all. I spent way too long caring about people’s opinions online. Who even does that? Even if something is great, I don’t comment! [Laughs]. I’m not even like, “You go, girl!”
That's what I shared that one time on my Instagram — I said that most people are void of inspiration and creativity. They're not being authentic themselves, so don't listen to people who are like that. Those aren’t the people to get opinions from, because people who are putting themselves out there and creating would never be in the comments hating like that.
I get that my art's not for everyone. but no one’s is, and that's what makes it amazing, right? It's honestly more questionable when it’s palatable to so many people. If it is, I question its depth, you know?
KP: Absolutely so.
You’ve said that one of your favorite tracks is “be my best.” Why does that song stand out to you personally? Was there something about the writing or recording process that felt especially meaningful or transformative? And do you think it captures something essential about who you are — or maybe who you were becoming at the time?
CK: Well, first of all, thank you. I think that song means a lot to me because it took me 2 years. This one — at least when it came to mixing — we were just overall like, “Whoa, what did we just write? That is a ripper.” I knew the meaning behind that song, which, to me, has always kind of been about my experience — a female experience of the world and a relationship, and how you feel like you have to put on your best and be your best all the time, you know? But then, when you are your best, that's somehow still not enough, and low-key, people are going to be shady anyway. So there really is no ultimate win for being the best girl, which, like I shared, I think growing up was the only thing that I thought was the point of my existence — being the best girl in the world. It’s crazy that it was my guiding force in life for so long. It's nuts, and I'm so glad that I'm out of that, but that song was written from that perspective — all the ins and outs and subtleties of how it feels. I love when that giant wall of guitars just hits. I guess it’s a cool juxtaposition — whiny and soft and kind of feminine, with then this screaming wall of guitars. It just felt very different and very exciting.
But when we were mixing it, we didn’t really know about it at first. That one was written really, really shortly after my first album, All the Same All Ok, and then it literally just sat on ice for 2 years. I think when we were going through some of our concepts later, we were like, Wait, what is this? This is a complete song. So then we spent another round of several months mixing, just trying to get the tones right. It ended up becoming this huge track, and I couldn’t even believe that I was ever unsure about what to do with the song, because it’s actually so me. And I’m also making fun of this feeling of wanting to be the best girl in the world, just being kind of catty with myself. Like I think I’ll just get off on that a little bit up there with the blue light — taking down all that stuff that felt so pinned on me, all that aggression that I felt towards the concept of trying to be the best, cutest girl in the world. I'm just bored of so much pressure.
KP: I totally understand that. It’s a great thing to deconstruct.
As someone whose career has had many turning points and defining moments, what advice would you lend other women about discovering their inner truths and living their most fulfilling, authentic lives?
CK: Oh, wow. Well, first of all, what I said earlier — you absolutely should not compromise. Maybe you should in a relationship with your partner of several years, but in your career? Absolutely not. I think that’s one of the biggest lies force-fed mainly to women — that we need to learn how to compromise — but it's like, Actually no, I don't. The only thing that I should be doing as an artist is exactly what I want to be doing, because as soon as you go down that path of saying yes to things that you don't want to do, it’s over.
And I'm not talking about hard work — we're past that. We're not talking about that. Women want to work really hard. People want to work really hard. People want to do what they love. I just mean that sometimes you get this opportunity that doesn’t feel like your identity, that doesn’t feel like something that aligns with you, but a friend or a team member tells you to say yes. The answer should have been no, because that's not you being you — that's you being someone else. So, that would be my first thing.
If I could go back, I wouldn’t have regrets, but I just would have had a stronger peek into listening to that voice inside. I wish I knew what I could have created if I listened to myself sooner. I know that sounds like a shame cycle, but it doesn’t feel like shame to me. I feel very strong and secure in it now, where I can at least admit that it’s not how I waste time anymore. I guess it's the best way to put it. Maybe it's like a motivating thing.
But then I also have this thought that I shared the other day on my Instagram. I’m working on my next project, and I had a breakthrough with this one idea that I shared. This might be a good thing to say: “I feel like the only way to really be content working in an art form is to admit that you have no control. As soon as you think you have it all figured out — this is as far as music and the creation of any art form goes — you will be faced with the reality of the situation. Your art will be empty. Truth is buried inside of what you do not know, and the true path of creation will not always be on your schedule. Beautiful art comes from desperation and dedication and infatuation with finding what serves the art best — not your ego.”
That is my truth that I'm holding onto right now as I'm finishing up this project. It sometimes makes me feel like I'm losing my mind, but no — a song, a piece of music, a painting, or an interview, anything that's going to live and exist for a long period of time — that's not going to only happen on your schedule. That doesn't make sense. It's going to happen through life, because art is just life. So, you're going to have to live in the meantime. It's not going to just be Tuesday at, you know, exactly 5:00 a.m. that I will write this song. That's kind of where I'm coming from with it — even when I try to say that I’m going to finish a song this week, I’ve redirected my mind to instead say, “I hope to.” I hope to finish the project this week, but who knows?
And that's like how I'm kind of going about it now. I recently got managers — I'm starting to trust people again and work through some of those previous trust issues. I’m working on getting to the point where I can be honest with myself so that I can be honest with my team and share with them, too. “I don't know when this is going to be done, but I'm hoping for this.” You know what I mean? Music is a living, breathing thing. Art is alive.
KP: I think that’s great advice. Let art live on its own terms.
What advice would you lend women about life, work, or love?
CK: That's such a good question. I know that I said a part of this earlier, but I do feel like I'm just in my element right now. I'm in the middle of finishing up a project that's taken a lot of time, and I'm also on the cusp of an about 90%-confirmed-but-very-cool opportunity that I was feeling kind of at a standstill about. I was feeling a little antsy about not having played in front of people — I need to connect. I just feel the most beautiful right now in a way that has nothing to do with physicality. I feel the most aligned with myself when I'm on stage. Not in a “look at me” way because, like I said, I literally hide in the back, but I feel that way when I'm just connecting with people — it could be in a room on the floor. It can be anywhere with people. I'm getting to do what I love. I'm getting to sing with my eyes closed — that is truly where I feel like things make the most sense to me. I think that everybody has a version of that space — they might not know what it is yet, but I would encourage them to think about what that might be. I tell my sisters and my family this all the time — however you can access that or find it is central to the human experience. It's a thing just for you that can somehow still connect you to others in the purest way. I don't think I've ever felt as secure as when I'm in that space, so I would say that it’s probably what I would tell anyone else. You've got to find that zone for yourself because no one else can find it for you.
KP: I think that’s very sage advice.
And lastly, what do you feel makes a provocative woman?
CK: I feel like I kind of just weirdly touched on that in a way. I think you need to not apologize for those in-between feelings. I just find that in every emotive state that's not happy or down to fuck, like for some reason, all of those require an apology or justification, like we need to have excuses for why we acted all these ways as women. It's exhausting because it's so not real. I'm really tired of that performative energy. We’re always on the defensive, and we hold so much tension. The other day, I was taking a nap, and I realized that I rest with my hands in a fist — I’m not even fully relaxed. Even when I’m sleeping, I still feel tense.
I love the word “sweet.” There's something a little bit fun about using this word, but then filling the sound with things that can be so crushing. Sometimes it’s made up of very razor-like guitars, which reminds me of playing with this concept of a provocative woman... I'm not going to just do this in one packaged, pretty, whimsical way. I will entertain and enjoy those sounds, but I'm also going to enjoy a song that would make people mosh. I'm also going to enjoy 6 layered guitars all making a horrible fuzz tone — I'm going to enjoy it and do my sweet whimsical vocals over that. I’m going to have that freedom, and I’m not going to apologize.
Photography: Jin Kai
