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Hi Bea, welcome to VENTS! How have you been?
Hi! Thank you so much for having me – I’ve been good, looking towards releasing the last track o the whole album and planning towards some live shows this year.
Under The Yew has been described as a “personal excavation”—what did you uncover about yourself while creating this body of work?
Under The Yew became a kind of emotional excavation because I was writing the songs as I was going through a lot of big life changes and so i guess the songs grew with me and simultaneously helped me to heal. The process definitely changed me emotionally. By the end of it, I felt more connected to myself and more comfortable sitting within uncertainty.
Your music blends orchestral elements with brooding electronics—how do you approach building that balance between organic and electronic elements?
I’m always trying to make the organic and electronic elements feel emotionally inseparable rather than contrasting. I love orchestral instrumentation it brings such a full body feel to the music, kind of like all of your senses being bought to life whereas electronic textures and a buzz which triggers memories in my head. So it is kind of a mind and body harmony.
Growing up inspired by artists like Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, and Donny Hathaway, how have those influences shaped your sense of melody and emotion?
Those early soul influences shaped me massively. Artists like Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin and Donny Hathaway taught me that technical brilliance means very little without the emotional side. The freedom and power that radiates from them when they perform is magical and is something that really stuck with me from a young age.
You’ve called songwriting your journal—how do you decide which emotions or experiences are ready to be turned into music?
Songwriting usually begins once an emotion has settled enough for me to observe it clearly. If something is too immediate or raw, I often can’t fully understand it yet. Writing requires a certain amount of distance for me – not complete closure, but enough space to reflect rather than react instinctively. Once I am no longer being consumed by it, that’s usually when it finds its way into a song.
Your collaboration with Dominick J Goldsmith has been central to this project—what makes that creative partnership work so well?
Working with Dominick has been incredibly important because there’s a huge amount of trust and intuition between us creatively. We communicate very emotionally rather than technically most of the time, which allows the music to stay instinctive. I think what makes the partnership work is that we’re both trying to serve the emotional truth of the song rather than imposing ego onto it. There’s a lot of listening involved, both to each other and to the atmosphere the song itself seems to ask for.
Tracks like “Lost,” “Unscarred,” and now “Written On Me” feel like chapters in a larger story—how intentional is the narrative arc across Under The Yew (Vol. 2)?
The narrative arc across Under The Yew is definitely intentional, although it unfolded quite naturally over time. I never sat down and planned a strict storyline, but the songs began speaking to each other emotionally as they developed. Tracks like “Lost,” “Unscarred,” and “Written On Me” all represent different emotional states and stages of transformation. The project moves from grief and fragmentation toward connection, tenderness and renewal. It’s less about arriving at a perfect resolution and more about learning how to carry your experiences differently.
“Written On Me” does a great job capturing the intimacy of falling in love—how did that song differ emotionally from the more loss-driven themes in earlier releases?
“Written On Me” felt emotionally different because it came from openness rather than survival. Earlier songs on the project were often rooted in grief, introspection or trying to make sense of absence, this song is about intimacy and being gently changed by someone being around. There’s still vulnerability in it, but it’s softer. It allowed me to explore love not as something dramatic, but as something quiet, patient and deeply transformative.
There’s a quiet patience to your music, allowing songs to unfold slowly—do you feel that restraint is something missing in today’s music landscape?
I do think there’s value in restraint and patience, both in music and generally in life. A lot of music now is understandably shaped by speed, but I’ve always been more drawn to work that unfolds over time. Some emotions need space and silence around them in order to fully land. I think restraint can actually make something feel more intimate because it leaves room for people to bring their own experiences into the music which is what I do.
You’ve received strong support from tastemakers like Lauren Laverne and Jack Saunders—how has that recognition impacted your journey so far?
The support from people like Lauren Laverne and Jack Saunders has been super encouraging, especially because they’ve supported the music from the beginning. When you’re making personal work, there’s always a fear that it may not connect outside your own little world. It gave me confidence to trust my instincts more. I also try to stay grounded in the reasons I started making music in the first place, which were always much more personal and because I simply needed to.
As Under The Yew (Vol. 2) approaches, what do you hope listeners take away from the project on an emotional level?
More than anything, I hope listeners come away from Under The Yew feeling understood. I hope people can find pieces of themselves within the songs and feel a little less alone in whatever they’re carrying. Even in its heavier moments, I want the project to leave people with a sense of tenderness.
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