Clare Easdown

= What inspired her single ”In Candlelight”? =
Some artists stumble into music. Others are called to it. Her earliest memories are of a violin gifted by her father, the countless evenings spent practising cello while he played piano. Those moments planted a seed—not just of discipline, but of devotion. Music wasn’t a hobby; it became a language of its own.

“For me, making music has always been about honesty, about capturing the raw, unfiltered experiences of living—the pain, the joy, the confusion, the madness, and of course, the love,” she shares. And you can hear that philosophy woven into every beat and breath.

That honesty takes centre stage in her latest single, “In Candlelight“. The song was born from a place of witnessing the unrelenting cycle of global conflict and feeling the collective weight of it. “In Candlelight was born out of witnessing the constant stream of global conflicts and feeling the weight of so much suffering. I found myself sitting with the question: How can there be so much pain, so much destruction, and yet so little light guiding us forward?” Clare says.

The track doesn’t try to solve that impossible question, but simply holds it. Built around a sparse, haunting production, her vocals glow at the centre, fragile yet unyielding, like a flame refusing to die. It’s not grandiose or preachy. Instead, it’s intimate, almost like she’s letting you sit beside her in quiet reflection. The song becomes a safe space for grief, empathy, and that flicker of hope we cling to even in the darkest times.

Listening to “In Candlelight” feels like watching a candle burn low in a room full of silence. It doesn’t flood the space with light, but it reminds you that even the smallest flame matters. And that’s the beauty of Clare Easdown: she doesn’t create music for escapism, but to help us face what’s real, to remind us that we aren’t alone in it.

Clare isn’t chasing trends or trying to fit a box, but carving a path that feels personal, deeply human, and uniquely her own. With “In Candlelight,” she’s offered a flicker of connection in a time when the world feels overwhelming. And maybe that’s the kind of light we need most.

= About Clare Easdown =
Clare Easdown’s story begins in Sydney, Australia, where the pull of music arrived early and never left. Her father first placed a violin in her hands, but it was the cello that became her first love—long nights spent practising alongside her father on piano, an early sign of the devotion she would bring to her craft. From those classical foundations, she went on to study at Newtown High School of the Performing Arts, sharpening her technique but always nurturing an independent streak that would eventually define her artistry.

Easdown’s path has been anything but linear. She describes it as “DIY, unpredictable and messy,” but there’s a beauty in that chaos—it’s the kind of artistic life that allows for honesty and discovery. Today, she channels that same restless curiosity into electronic music, building soundscapes that feel expansive, layered, and deeply emotional. Her inspirations—FKA Twigs, Grimes, Sevdaliza, Madonna, and CHVRCHES—make perfect sense when you hear her songs: she borrows the ethereal daring of her influences but bends it into a space that is distinctly her own.

What makes her music compelling is the balance she strikes between precision and vulnerability. Her vocals don’t simply float on the electronic production; they carve through it with a haunting intimacy, carrying traces of her classical training while embracing modern experimentation. She speaks of her work as a mirror for “the raw, unfiltered experiences of living—the pain, the joy, the confusion, the madness, and of course, the love.” That mission comes through clearly in her arrangements: transitions that feel like tides shifting, melodies that offer solace and revelation.

Listening to Clare Easdown is less about following a linear narrative and more about being immersed in a sonic environment. It’s music that creates a home for emotions often left unspoken, a sanctuary where beauty exists even in the darker corners of the human condition. With every release, she reaffirms that her journey may be unpredictable, but it’s one worth following.

= What Listeners will take away from this release. =
Some artists chase perfection. Clare Easdown chases truth. And the difference is what makes her music linger long after the final note fades. What she created wasn’t a protest anthem or a political statement. Instead, it’s something gentler, more haunting. “With In Candlelight, I don’t expect listeners to walk away with answers – I just hope they walk away feeling something. If anything, I want people to pause and reflect on the human cost of war and conflict, beyond the headlines and politics. To remember that behind every statistic are real lives, real families and real grief.”

And you can feel that intention woven into every detail of the track. The production is sparse, each sound carefully placed like brushstrokes in a painting. The atmosphere is hushed, almost sacred, giving space for Clare’s vocals to burn at the centre. Her voice flickers with fragility, yet it carries undeniable strength—like a candle refusing to be extinguished in the dark.

= Key collaborators in her career and how they influence her work =
Part of that resonance comes from Clare’s willingness to embrace collaboration. “Throughout my career, I’ve been fortunate to work with people who bring their vision, expertise, and energy into the process,” she shares. “Collaborators who challenge me to dig deeper into my sound. Producers and engineers who have helped shape my tracks have taught me the value of texture and atmosphere, showing me how subtle choices in sound design can transform a song’s emotional impact.” These partnerships have nudged her into unexplored territory, encouraging her to experiment with layers, effects, and production techniques that deepen her sonic world.

And the results speak for themselves. “In Candlelight” plays and envelops. It holds space for grief without collapsing under it, reminding us that even the smallest flame matters. It’s the kind of track that quietly invites you to feel more deeply.

Clare Easdown is not chasing chart formulas or easy categorisation. She’s building something far more lasting: music that reflects the complexity of living and the tenderness of holding space for one another. “In Candlelight” is a reminder that while the world can feel overwhelming, there’s still power in empathy, in remembering the people behind the headlines, and in protecting the light we carry—even when it flickers.

= How her creative process typically unfolds from idea to finished track =
“My songs usually begin as a feeling before they become sound. It might be a rush of emotion I can’t quite put into words, a phrase that repeats in my head, or a thought process I imagine. I’ll sit with it and let it grow until I can’t ignore it anymore. Often, the first step is melody—usually through my voice. I’ll whisper or sing into my phone, capturing fragments of ideas before they disappear. From there, I build soundscapes around the emotion—layering synths, beats, or distorted textures that mirror the intensity of what I’m feeling. Lyrics often arrive last. They tend to pour out almost subconsciously, like diary entries disguised as poetry. I rarely edit them too heavily, because I don’t want to polish away the rawness. The imperfections are part of the truth.”

It’s a process that makes sense when you listen to her work. Every song feels lived-in, like it was pulled straight from the bloodstream. The imperfections are what give them life; the rawness is what makes them feel real.

“In Candlelight” is the perfect example of that approach. Written while watching the relentless waves of global conflict and human suffering, Clare didn’t set out to make a grand statement. Instead, she crafted a space to sit with grief, empathy, and fragile hope. “With In Candlelight, I don’t expect listeners to walk away with answers – I just hope they walk away feeling something. If anything, I want people to pause and reflect on the human cost of war and conflict, beyond the headlines and politics. To remember that behind every statistic are real lives, real families and real grief.”

That intention is etched into every choice in the track’s design. The melody comes first—delicate and intimate, her voice rising like a flicker in the dark. Around it, the soundscape builds: textured synths, ghostly beats, and subtle distortions that mirror the weight of her subject matter. The lyrics, when they arrive, feel almost whispered, like they’ve been pulled straight from her diary. Nothing is over-polished, nothing is manufactured—it’s honest, and that honesty is the song’s power.

= How Clare will describe her sound to someone who has never heard her before =
“My journey as an artist has been very DIY, unpredictable and messy – but it’s mine and I carry it with gratitude,” she reflects.

That messy beauty is what defines her art. Clare doesn’t chase the gloss of perfection; she chases honesty. Her music is born from feelings before it becomes sound. “My songs usually begin as a feeling before they become sound,” she explains. “It might be a rush of emotion I can’t quite put into words, a phrase that repeats in my head, or a thought process I imagine. I’ll whisper or sing into my phone, capturing fragments before they disappear. From there, I build soundscapes around the emotion—layering synths, beats, or distorted textures that mirror the intensity of what I’m feeling. Lyrics arrive last, like diary entries disguised as poetry.”

The result? A sound that she herself describes as “living in the space between beauty and unease.” It’s electronic at its core, but it doesn’t feel mechanical. Instead, it pulses with raw emotion, haunted by melodies that stay with you long after the track ends. The words she sings aren’t polished declarations; they feel like confessions, whispered truths we weren’t supposed to hear but are grateful she shared.

Can you walk us through the recording process — any challenges or surprises?
The recording process for “In Candlelight” was intimate and raw. I don’t want access to big studios or high-end gear – most of my work happens in the middle of the night on my lounge suite. That limitation is also part of the beauty, though; it forces me to be resourceful and to focus on the emotion rather than chasing perfection. One of the biggest challenges was capturing the fragility of the vocals. I wanted them to sound almost ghostlike, like they were hovering between presence and absence. That meant experimenting with layers, reverb, and recording in near silence to hold onto that delicate, trembling quality. Another surprise was how the track seemed to shape itself. I had originally imagined it being fuller, more layered, but the more I built onto it, the more it lost the raw vulnerability that gave it power. Stripping it back – leaving space, silence, and minimal texture – was difficult but necessary.

How do you balance experimentation with staying true to your musical identity?
For me, experimentation isn’t about straying from my musical identity – it’s actually how I discover it more deeply. My identity has never been about fitting into one genre or sound; it’s about honesty, intensity, and emotional truth. As long as I’m creating from that place, I feel like I’m staying true to myself, no matter how much I push the boundaries sonically.

Do you see songwriting as more personal therapy, storytelling, or both?
Through my lens, songwriting is a form of therapy and storytelling, and the two are inextricably linked. On one hand, it’s deeply personal therapy. Writing songs gives me a way to process my emotions, especially the ones that feel too heavy or chaotic to hold in silence. Living with bipolar, I often experience extremes – songwriting helps me translate that intensity into something tangible, something I can release instead of carrying inside. However, at the same time, I see every song as a story. Even when I’m writing about my pain or joy, I know that what I’m doing is building a bridge—a narrative that someone else might walk across and see their reflection in. My therapy becomes their story, and their story can circle back into mine

Are there any “happy accidents” in the studio that made it onto your tracks?
Yes, some of my favourite moments on my tracks have come from pure accidents. I’ve had moments where a synth or effect behaved unexpectedly – a distortion that warped the sound in a way I hadn’t imagined. Those “mistakes” often become defining elements of a track, giving it texture, character, and a sense of unpredictability. For me, those happy accidents are reminders that music isn’t about perfection. Some of the most honest, moving moments come from letting the unexpected happen, listening carefully, noticing them, and trusting them.

What’s been the biggest challenge in your journey as an artist so far?
The biggest challenge in my journey so far has been navigating the tension between my vision and the limitations of resources, opportunities, and sometimes even self-doubt. As an independent artist, I’ve had to learn how to make the most of an extremely basic setup, a minimal budget and DIY recording – all while trying to create something that feels authentic and resonant. Beyond the practical hurdles, managing the intensity of my own emotions and mental health has been a constant challenge. Living with bipolar disorder means that inspiration, energy, and confidence can fluctuate wildly, and learning to keep creating through that instability has tested me in ways I never anticipated. Those challenges, however, have also shaped me. They’ve forced me to be resourceful, patient, and fiercely committed to honesty in my work. Each obstacle has taught me something about resilience, creativity, and the kind of artist I want to be – one who prioritises emotional truth over polish or perfection.

How do you deal with creative blocks or self-doubt?
Creative blocks and self-doubt are a natural part of my process, and I’ve learned to treat them with patience rather than frustration. When I feel stuck, I step back instead of forcing a song to happen – something that means writing things down, taking a hot shower, or just sitting with silence until the idea starts to surface naturally. I also remind myself that doubt isn’t the enemy; it’s a signal that I’m pushing into something vulnerable or unfamiliar. Often, the moments of uncertainty lead to the most honest and original work.

How does your personal life seep into your art, if at all?
My partner, Jade Ryan, has been an incredible source of grounding, inspiration and understanding in my life. In a world where so much feels chaotic and often harsh, Jade is someone who truly sees me – all my complexities. contradictions and intensity – and accepts them without judgement. That support seeps into my art. Knowing I have someone who believes in me and my work allows me to take creative risks I might otherwise shy away from. Jade’s presence reminds me that connection, trust and love are as important as the music itself. In many ways, Jade is muse and anchor – a quiet force behind the scenes who makes the vulnerability in my songs feel safe to express. Jade and I have also formed a punk duo together called The Cunning Linguists, which shares our love for bold, unconventional music and a desire to create something that feels entirely our own. Working with Jade has been a deep experience. We challenge each other, spark new ideas, and bring out aspects of each other’s creativity that might have stayed hidden otherwise. That dynamic is at the heart of a duo; it’s a mix of trust, curiosity, and a little chaos, all wrapped into the music we create.

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