Part 2

I'd love to know how you think the meaning or effect of an individual song is enhanced, clarified or possibly contradicted by the EPs, or albums it is part of. Does the song, for example, need to be consistent with the larger whole?

I think the answer is both yes and no. I've never approached songwriting with a particular style or genre in mind. My musical tastes are quite eclectic. I come from a jazz background, but I also love pop, electronic music, folk music and R&B.

When I write, I try not to impose too many restrictions on myself. I follow whatever feels most truthful to the song. When it comes time to make an album, however, a different process begins. By that point, I usually have more material than I need. The challenge becomes deciding which songs belong together.

For me, an album should feel like a snapshot of a particular period in my life — a reflection of the emotions, questions and experiences that are occupying me at that moment. I don't necessarily think every song needs to be stylistically consistent with the others. What matters more is whether they belong to the same emotional or creative world. The common thread is not genre but perspective. I hope that my voice, my writing and the way I interpret songs provide that sense of continuity.

I found myself thinking about this a lot while putting together my upcoming album, The Silence Is Deafening. I wrote far more material than ultimately made the record, and in the end I realised that some of the songs belonged to a different conversation. Rather than forcing them onto the album, I've decided to release them separately as a smaller EP. The decision wasn't really about style; it was about meaning. The songs on the album felt connected to one another in a way that the others didn't.

At the same time, I don't mind if a song slightly contradicts or challenges the rest of a record. Sometimes those tensions can be interesting. My next single, "On Shoulders of Giants", is probably more folk-influenced than much of my other work, but it still feels completely at home within the wider project because it speaks to many of the same themes.

Ultimately, I'm less interested in stylistic consistency than artistic coherence.

When you're writing song lyrics, do you sense or see a connection between your voice and the text? Does it need to feel and sound "good" or "right" to sing certain words? What's your perspective in this regard of singing someone else's songs versus your own?

I come from a jazz background, which means I spent many years singing other people's songs whilst writing my own. In many ways, that was the best possible education.

I had the opportunity to immerse myself in the work of some of the greatest songwriters and lyricists of the twentieth century: the Gershwins, Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, Sammy Cahn and many others. Their songs taught me an enormous amount about economy, storytelling and emotional precision.

What strikes me about many of those writers is how much they could say with so few words. A great lyric often feels effortless, but achieving that clarity is incredibly difficult. Studying and performing those songs helped me develop an instinct for what feels natural to sing and what feels truthful to express.

In jazz, you're not encouraged to reproduce a song exactly as it was written. You're encouraged to make it your own. Every performance becomes an act of interpretation. You're constantly asking yourself what the lyric means to you and how you can communicate it honestly. I think that process is closely related to songwriting itself.

The other important influence has been improvisation. As a jazz vocalist, improvising over harmony has always been a central part of my musical life. In many ways, I think of songwriting as a form of captured improvisation. I'll often sit at the piano, play a sequence of chords and begin singing melodies and fragments of words. At first, the lyrics may not even make complete sense. I'm listening for rhythm, shape and emotional resonance as much as meaning.

Because of that process, the connection between voice and text is very important to me. Certain words simply feel better to sing than others. Sometimes I'll change a lyric because the vowels don't sit comfortably in the melody, or because a phrase doesn't convey the emotion I want.

Although I don't always begin with lyrics, they ultimately become the most important element. Whether I'm singing my own songs or someone else's, I think of myself primarily as a storyteller. The melody may draw a listener in, but it's often the words that create a lasting connection. That's always the place I'm trying to reach.

Creativity can reach many different corners of our lives. Do you feel as though writing song lyrics or poetry is inherently different from something like making a great cup of coffee? What do you express through music that you couldn't or wouldn't in more 'mundane' tasks?

I think that's a beautiful question because it challenges the idea that creativity belongs exclusively to artists.

One of the biggest misconceptions is that some people are creative and others aren't. For me, creativity is woven into everyday life. The act of living can be a creative act if we approach it with curiosity, attention and care. You can find creativity in gardening, cooking, raising children, designing a home, solving a problem or making a great cup of coffee.

My husband is a wonderful cook, for example. Watching him cook is a genuinely creative experience. He combines ingredients intuitively, adapts to what's available and creates something new every time. I don't think that's fundamentally different from writing a song.

What differs is the degree of fluency we develop through practice. Music happens to be the area of my life where I've spent the most time, energy and attention. It's the language I've been speaking for decades. Because of that, it's where I can express myself most fully and most naturally. I can access ideas, emotions and states of flow through music more quickly than through almost anything else because I've spent years cultivating a particular pathway.

What I express through music is perhaps not entirely different from what someone else expresses through cooking, gardening or craftsmanship. It's simply the medium through which I explore questions, emotions and experiences that matter to me. Music gives me the greatest freedom because it's the creative language I know best.

More broadly, I think creativity is about finding beauty, meaning and possibility in whatever you're doing. There's a lovely Italian idea that relates to this: la dolce vita, the sweet life. Not necessarily doing extraordinary things, but doing ordinary things beautifully. I think creativity often lives there — in the attention we bring to everyday life.