Stella Rose Doesn't Want You to Know Where She Lives
Stella Rose is the signum of sub. Her sound is serpentine, while vocals come weaponized with vulnerability and wrath. She’s a writer at heart, or perhaps a collector. “When I write I might not understand the meaning or gravity of my words but at some point they explain where I was and how I’ve grown. That's how I make music - I collect things over time.”
And so her home is hostage to church doors, Virgin Mary’s and a somewhat dysfunctional typewriter, while her vocal collection thus far includes her two acknowledged singles Muddled Man and Angel, which were followed up and included in her first album Eyes of Glass, released last Spring, not long after she opened for Depeche Mode at Madison Square Garden. What sounds, and looks, like a winning formula is perhaps not tempting to transform. Unless you feel like the formula might begin transforming you.
It takes a certain courage to go against the–instagram grid–grain. Rose has got the guts. Conceivably, it's more than that, it's a desire, it's a demand: to seek beyond appearance in search for the essence. Its a lower case fuck off, its a capital take it or leave it - spelled out on in fresh dripping ink.
I looked up your name — Stella. Google says it's a “modern name with vintage roots.” Are you? A modern person with vintage roots, that is?
I definitely have an appreciation for traditional ways of doing things; I have a typewriter at home, I write in my notebook.
I wished for one last Christmas. All I got was a pen, which was obviously too precious to ever, but I somehow lost it.
You should try again next year.
Santa, please.
The one I have is an older version, so I have to get it fixed every so often. There was a point where I got so deep into it that — instead of writing emails — I wrote everything out on my typewriter, took a picture of the print and sent it to whoever. For example, my boyfriend is doing the visuals for my live show, so I sent him my list of deadlines from my typewriter.
After a while I realized that it was actually crazy and I didn't have the time to go on like that. Nowadays I use it mostly for songs and poems, or, if I want to feel like I’ve really finished a piece, I’ll then head to the typewriter and write it out. It feels more complete once I have the physicality of it.
What’s so precious about writing in tangible form is that it demands a certain cautiousness, but then again it can also force one to be too careful; sometimes I just can’t get it out in my notebook, but then I claim the idea to be too pure for an artificial keyboard.
Exactly, and I'm not the best speller. But sometimes I honestly find that to be quite charming, when you see the mess ups, the frustration, and the crossed over stuff. There are several ways to erase, and it's cool to show progress within the work — it's all the same in my notebook, things are completely scratched out.
And so, coming back to your question — sure I guess I’m kind of vintage but I’m also modern, after all I live in a modern society. I have a phone, it’s not like I’m running around in this retroperspective, that would be kind of nice, though. Multiple times I’ve thought about ridding my phone of everything except emails, you know, go kind of flip-phone-mode?
Did you ever get to experience those, that whole era?
My first phone was the razor flip phone.
All the cool kids had those, I had the almost humiliating Nokia double-fold phone in purple.
It was definitely a defining moment. Regardless, I think it’s good to have a little bit of both [modern and retro], but it’s also good not to drive yourself crazy trying to be retro. In my opinion, that’s just ridiculous.
My boyfriend and I just moved in together and that made me realize how many old or even antique symbols I have collected over the years — aged religious iconography, and I’m not even religious — most of it comes from my grandmother, she’s Greek, and not really religious either. I think it’s more so about the practice that she’s into rather than the ideals that are attached to it. It’s some Virgin Mary portraits and… I’m looking at them right now, I could even show you.
That's beautiful.
This one is an old church door, even on the backside it's really pretty too. I asked my mom for it, and she agreed to give it to me. All and all they just make me feel safe I guess. I don’t like material things all too much but I like material things that hold immaterial value, these relics kind of things. I also feel as if they give me recognition, almost as a reminder to who I am.
Do you ever visit churches around town? I’m curious where you find material to make music with, the city is striking but I also feel like it’s sucking my creativity dry — what feeds your inspiration, is it this intersection between the predecessors and the present?
It’s a good question because I feel like I’m at a point in my life where I’m starting to feel as if New York is no longer the most ideal place for me to be. The city is ever changing and a lot of the places that gave New York its character don’t really exist anymore, but that’s just my world, referring to the places I would go. I grew up in the West Village, and I just moved back to there…
Above the—?
Yeah. How do you know that?
I’ll keep that off the record.
The reason I brought up West Village is because I really do think that there still are some places you could just pop in to here and there and get that mysterious creative feeling, the one that somehow offers you a little bit of hope, is a little reminiscent, and tells you that you're on the right track to whatever creative endeavor you’re trying to dive into. Basically, a lot of the time New York sucks, but if you stick around you’ll start receiving these little gifts. I don’t know how else to explain it. I’m not talking about something spectacular but every once in a while you start seeing truly beautiful things around here.
I was uptown on 42nd Street station and it’s crazy up there. I’m usually never uptown, there are so many people, everybody is just running around, pacing all over you, but in that moment I just felt bliss. One of those slow motion movie moments. That’s a recent example of me being like, Wow, New York is amazing.
When you experience these moments of bliss, these “little gifts,” do you immediately write them down? Do you always carry your notebook with you in case inspiration presents itself?
I always have my notebook on me, even though most of the time I end up not writing in it. At least not as of now. Right now I’m writing my new EP so I’ve been very deep into another type of writing where I function in a different way; I observe a lot and I’m trying to spend more time by myself. Whenever I’m writing I get very insular, it can be kind of lonely. But at the same time, it has to be done that way. I learn about myself by going through that process.
That distance between alone and lonely is sometimes crucial for growth.
Also I’m just really excited for once these writings will be performed as songs because I’m going to do most of it on my own this time. I’m not going to have a band for the live show — it’s just going to be me solo while my boyfriend is doing the lightning. We want to make it into this Fever Ray one-woman-show, kind of stripped back and raw, simple and powerful; my voice and then some cool beat, truly 'avant-garde,' whatever that means today. Just none of the putting-on-a-face shit, I’m over it.
Done with the costume, can I just be my character?
Yeah, like this is me, take it or leave it, you either fuck with it or you don’t. It won’t be about the band or it won't be about me acting a certain way. I honestly just want to transform people with purity, similar to when you go to a techno set and completely forget about time and space. Ideally I’d want to combine the two; it shouldn’t feel like a rock band nor should it feel like sober electronic music. I’m reaching for an experienced type of thing, and above all, to show off my voice more. Naturally, when you’re in a band it’s hard to express yourself as a solo artist, and after some reflection of my own, I realize that that’s what I am.
People seem to be calling you Patti Smith left and right, do you work with a similar approach?
It depends. If I’m searching for something I’ll go through old notebooks and try to rediscover a passage or a line which may have been forgotten. But it can be really difficult to turn a poem into a song because many of them do not translate well. Songs have a certain beat and come with pacings, sometimes that means that you have to tear the poem apart or move things around. It’s a good exercise. Another practice I’ve been trying out lately is blackout poems, and, coming back to what we talked about earlier with things being slightly retro, I’m using our New York Times subscription to do it, so real physical paper. My grandmother got the daily print prenumeration for us, but we had to change to the weekends-only, the stacks of paper in here was getting crazy.
I bring the paper whenever I go to the studio, and I mean, there’s so much going on in the world right now, so there’s a lot going on in the paper as well. I’ve just been taking different parts of the pages and enjoy seeing what comes out of it. It’s been cool. Of course I try to do the crossword puzzles, but I’m like, Fuck this. In general though, just trying out different approaches with whatever you’ve got infront of you. I start out every morning with this new book of mine, the Book of Symbols. It’s got a big hand on its cover page, and it’s filled with everything from bones to different animals and various materials — everything has symbolism. I light a candle and act all witchy, put my hand on the cover and whatever symbol the book opens on I write a poem about.
There is so much you can write about at this age and in our time. To keep trying these various intentional exercises is a good way for me to keep going creatively, but also to learn how to address issues from another angle. Usually, people write about what’s happening, whether that be relationships, trauma, the world, etc, but I believe there is a way to still talk about these matters without having to mention them; it does not have to be so on the nose. Painters, for example, are really good at this. They emote certain feelings without portraying the exact thing, it's more beautiful, and powerful, that way, at least in my belief. It opens up for interpretations. You brought up Patti Smith, I think much of her work — or PJ Harvey’s, she one of my personal favorites — has a lot of curiosity in it. They seem eager to learn about new things, approaching art as an ever ongoing journey. I think it’s dangerous, even if you happen to be an expert at whatever profession you’re pursuing, once you start perceiving yourself as such. Then you get too comfortable, and it's seldom that great art comes from what's too familiar.
Tell us something unfamiliar, then.
I used to be a dancer, and so I went to the ballet yesterday, and you know what? It got me so freaking emotional. I teared up over this one dancer who was doing such a beautiful pirouette. I was like, Oh my god, I'm one of those people now, crying in the theater. Somehow it really got me. I guess I’m just amazed by that kind of person, those kinds of people — who work so hard to get somewhere and then you see them experience that connection with their art and it's just like… It’s so sweet that it’s almost beyond.
I don’t know. Maybe this is just a symptom of me having been sick. I’ve been on my phone too much.
Feels like one of those New York gifts.
Definitely.
I should try it out. In Paris you could get the nose-bleed seats for 12 bucks. If you were initially a dancer how did you end up behind the mic though, and at what point did [Don] Lawrence enter the picture?
Funny you mentioned him, I saw him as late as today. Singing was something I snuck in to. Nobody knew I was singing — I was secretly doing karaoke in my bedroom — until I performed with the jazz band at school. I sang a Nina Simone song and my parents were in the audience like, What the fuck have you been hiding?
And so I did a few coffeeshops and what not, but it wasn’t until I worked with Don that I realized my voice’s full potential. I no longer feared its force and didn’t make me uncomfortable hearing my own voice on recordings. He’s definitely been a key player.
I then had my band for a while where I really leaned into that borderline rock girl singer. I went full on for it, my hair was all long and there was a slightly different aesthetic going on. It was fun but I’m scaling back now — I just cut my hair and I’m rediscovering other parts of my voice again. I feel like it doesn’t have to be so loud anymore, my focus now is rather on picking and choosing what makes sense together.
Sounds like you’ve matured via your reflections since your last release, are you stepping into a new genre? Am I even allowed to call it that? I've heard that 'everything within one has been done already.'
I mean, there's definitely an identifiable genre within my album or the music that I've put out. I think it's a difficult question because we have so much access to so much music today, and I feel like most people listen to a range of different types of music, and so naturally people have more of a nuance to what they are making. But then again there are overlaps, I wouldn’t call anything genre-less.
It’s interesting that you brought up access as I read about it just yesterday, and wrote it down to talk about with you. The article argues that 'art has been democratized, but with it so has creativity.' How do you feel about everybody having a platform — has that affected your practice at all?
I almost felt like that was what I was doing with my band. Once I put out the album, I was trying really hard to create an artistic identity — to show off not only who I am as an artist but as a 'persona' if you like.
I actually think it made me feel more separate and at a distance from who I am creatively — that's also why I've spent some time reflecting. Even though it's fun to dress up and explore different avenues — I mean it’s great to do that, too — at the same time I do think it can go too far too quickly and suddenly you realize that you’ve ended up in a space where you’ve lost the point of what you’re doing, asking yourself, Why am I wearing this or why am I performing like that?
VK— At what point were you able to realize that, to be like, Hang on, I'm going down this direction, but this is actually not my path?
SR— Over the summer when we weren't playing as many shows, I started to write some new music for myself. I thought about the things I felt were still missing creatively from the performances, certain elements that didn’t hit quite right or wasn’t what I was aiming for. I felt like there was a shift happening, particularly this summer — everybody was doing their own thing! I jumped on that train, started doing my own stuff.
Although it’s not like I regret what we were able to produce as a band, I just think there’s a reason why we didn’t blow up. In retrospect, I don’t feel that I was showing my true artistic self. I’m talking about that sort of space where people can’t help but to love whatever you're doing just because it feels so authentic and true — that’s what brings people in.
VK— As with your ballet-moment from yesterday?
SR— Yeah. I mean I don’t know this dancer at all. She could be a horrible person while I’m crying over here about how beautiful it is.
At the end of the day I guess I’m a feelings-junkie. I love feeling emotions, whether those are happy or sad. I just want to experience things intensely. I’d much rather chase that then some false idea about what you should be wearing, how you should be looking. Besides, it’s not even like you can tell who a person is by their appearance anymore, as anybody can look the part. We all seem to know how to put on a costume. It’s weird.
VK— It’s almost provocative right? I’ve been reading so much about nihilism both within arts and in fashion lately and it’s like, Does anybody even know what that translates to or are we all just keen on a new edgy so-called 'subculture'? People only seem conscious of what they’re subscribing to.
SR— I agree. It's really strange. We live in a weird bubble right now. Is it going to burst? I don’t know, who knows. You just have to trust yourself, but it's difficult sometimes because in the midst of all this insane presence and pressure you're like, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but I'm going where I'm going.
VK— Where’s your music going? Is your new EP going to be in dialogue with the old one or are we headed towards a new era?
SR— There will definitely be some connections because it's still coming from me. There will be similar themes, but the sound is different, more symbiotic, while at the same time it hits a lot of different genres. The old album is not so much what you’d put on in the background while cooking dinner, for example, whereas with the new one is all just one flow. I've been listening to a lot of Boards of Canada lately. It’s going to have a fun beat, more introspective and sort of meditative.
VK— On an ending note, you previously mentioned how we’re not really sure where we’re headed, but when it comes to your music you’ve said that through it you could almost foresee the future — does that still feel true to you?
SR— When I’m making music or writing texts I realize only afterwards how I was able to find answers even before I knew what the question was. To look back on my text makes me move forward in life.
