Not Anything, Just Everything with Kristiane

Los Angeles-born, and New York-based singer-songwriter, Kristiane, creates songs that capture human emotions hard to name. Mixing pop and alternative, she is known for her pointed lyrics honed from her educational background in poetry, and melodies that you find yourself humming around the clock.

Her latest EP, Not Anything, Just Everything, is exactly the kind of record that rewards repeated listening, each play revealing another layer you somehow missed the first time around.

Just two weeks before we sat down together, I had the incredible honor of opening for Kristiane's Chicago show on the Not Anything, Just Everything tour. Not only did her voice and live performance expand upon her already moving digital discography, but her audience was a sight for sore eyes: filling the Schubas space, radiating with excitement and joy. 

Now fresh off the Not Anything, Just Everything EP release and tour, I got to sit down with Kristiane to explore her process and soak up just some of that wonder and inspiration she gracefully exudes. 

Your childhood is described as moving from neighborhood to neighborhood in Los Angeles. As someone who also bounced around as a child- I'm curious, how did that constant shift shape your sense of identity and how does it affect your point of view in songwriting? 

It's a uniquely strange experience. I moved around a lot in the same city in different neighborhoods and a lot of different houses. My parents were divorced and it was a very inherently emotionally transitory childhood. I think that in terms of my sense of identity, I grew up with a lot of siblings and I was a very insular child. I learned very quickly to handle things very much on my own. I think that was my role and I think it kind of lended itself to songwriting, because that was such an outlet for me. When I was moving around a lot or there was a lot going on in my family, I was like, this [songwriting] is a place that is just for me that no one is a part of. I really do feel that same feeling that I did as a kid writing songs now. It feels like my sacred little place that I go to be honest in a way that maybe it's difficult to be in real life.

Spending much of your youth and early adulthood in California, what was the push to move to New York? 

It was a lifelong dream of mine. I went to New York when I was a little kid and I was like, “Wow, I feel so aligned with this place.” I think a lot of people experience that with a certain place, no matter where it is. New York was mine. I got signed in college and then I stayed in LA and I was making music in LA. I was so incredibly fortunate to do that. And I love LA. It's so funny- I think when you're from somewhere, it's very easy to shit on it or outgrow it. But, I think that I was able to really reform my relationship with LA, especially after leaving. I think I just really wanted a new chapter and I wanted the energy that New York brings. I feel very grateful for New York. It's a very diverse, culturally enriching place to live. 

In your most recent Substack post, you've written about comfort and liberation and being alone. How does that preference for solitude coexist with the very public act of releasing and performing your own music? 

Still figuring that one out. It's a very strange thing for me to reckon with in terms of my personhood and the things that I like. I think that I am an inherently very private person. And, you referenced my Substack– which honestly, thank you for reading that– but I talk a lot about how I'm incredibly introverted and I've learned to really take comfort in being alone. But I also am so desperate to feel like I am seen and understood. I think that that's where a lot of my music comes from- this deep need for, I don't know, some sort of inherent belonging. I love making music. I love writing music. I love performing music. But in terms of sharing the music, I really struggle with it. 

I think that there's a level of privacy that is obviously hard to maintain. It's a kind of vulnerability that is different for me than the songwriting. It's very strange and I kind of wrote about it a little bit with this project on Instagram, which was terrifying. But, before this project, I kind of was like, “Do I have it in me?” I don't know if I am the kind of person that can be so relentless in making myself seen and it's still something I'm trying to figure out. 

Last June, you described the brutal nature of releasing music as an “incessant output into an overcrowded landscape, a Hail Mary of does anyone connect or give a fuck.” which I deeply relate to. Across 14 singles, three EPs, four albums in just five years, your output has been steady and continuously vulnerable. How do you protect the joy of creation from the harsh reality that you've described? 

I honestly think that’s something that I'm working on very much in this current moment of my life. What do I see for myself as a musician, as a career, but also as this being so tied to my identity and those things often do not coexist.  I think also this is advice I have, not that anyone's asking, but just if anyone ever reads this and is a musician too, you have to try to block out the noise a little bit and be like, “I know there's expectation, and fear, and all of these like very real realities of putting out music,” but you have to be like, “Do I like my music? Do I like listening to this? Do I feel like I have something to offer and give?” And if the answer is yes, I think you just have to keep going. If you still are in the place where you're willing to share, share. What's the harm in sharing? 

You've described Pins and Needles as mental nausea and Beacon as wanting to become your own source of light. Do you see your projects as emotional timestamps? Are they more like evolving conversations with yourself? 

I would say, honestly both. I do think there's an inherent evolution. It’s funny to look back on projects, and even something like Pins and Needles- I see the way that emulated behaviors in my life that I no longer partake in, but Beacon feels like a new version, but with a new perspective. I can see myself trying to access things that I did when I was younger. I really think of them as almost time capsules of my life. Even the way I felt about them then, I'm like, wow. Now I listen to this and find something completely different in it.

I mean they're living and breathing.

That’s such a beautiful way of putting it. Playing them live really does bring it into a new light for me personally. I'm like, “Oh wow, I really relate to this in a totally different way.” Which is cool. It is one of the greatest gifts of writing just in general. 

On your most recent EP, Not Anything, Just Everything, you said on your Instagram, you had no music left in you, until the songs just arrived. So what does it feel like when inspiration returns after doubt? Is it relief? Surprise? Is it something else? 

I think it was a mix with this particular project. When I wrote these songs I was in a really transitory time in my life. I was living in a bunch of sublets in LA and then I moved to New York and I was making the project in Nashville. So it was a disjointed time for me, and it almost just felt like I went to Nashville and made these songs, and then I wouldn't make any for a few months. I was really living and then coming to myself and being like, “Wow, that's what I feel about this” and then going to make them.

For me specifically, lyricism is so important- if I don't feel like I have anything left to say, lyrically, that's a really scary place for me to be in as a writer. What I realize now is you really just have to allow yourself to have space and time to live and experience new things. You can't force perspective because perspective comes with time. But, I think I felt tremendous relief and also, right now I'm writing new music and I experienced the same thing where I was like, “Do I have anything new to say or offer up? Not Anything, Just Everything, was that everything you left in me?” And it's not. You have to trust that you have something inside of yourself that will time and time again show up for you. 

What's bringing you joy right now. And how is that joy influencing what you're making next? 

Writing music is bringing me a lot of joy right now in a way that doesn't feel like I'm not putting pressure on myself and it doesn't feel scary. I'm just having a lot of fun and having a lot of fun listening to music, and listening to things that inspire me. I don't know– journaling, going on walks, going on bike rides, getting beers with my friends. I'm just in this era where I really want to find simple joy again. I think I let things get really serious. It's definitely a consistent battle. There are going to be times where it feels intense and scary no matter your career. And I think having some sort of internal faith is bringing me joy too. More self-trust.

To close out, any new favorite songs from your vinyl collection?

Oh, that's a good question! My favorite songs are “Which Will” by Nick Drake and “Close My Eyes” by Arthur Russell.

Find Kristiane on Apple Music and Instagram.

Photos credits to Avery Norman and Jeremy Retnoso.