Tell us about yourself
My name is Clare Easdown, and I am an independent artist from Sydney, Australia.
Music has been my lifelong compass, the thread that has carried me through some of the most turbulent, yet also the most beautiful moments of my life. 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. I’ve always gravitated towards sounds and words that aren’t afraid to expose the darker corners of the human condition, because I believe it’s in those places we find the deepest truth.
Can you tell us a little about where your musical journey began?
My musical journey began at a very young age when my father bought me a violin and I started some lessons. I then switched to the Cello and practised for hours every night with my father on the piano. My journey as an artist has been very DIY, unpredictable and messy – but it’s mine and I carry it with gratitude.
Who were your earliest influences, and how do they still shape your music today?
My earliest influences were the artists who weren’t afraid to be vulnerable. As a teenager, I found myself drawn to artists that carried both fragility and strength – artists and bands like Madonna, The Cure and Nirvana. These early influences remain like fingerprints on my music – subtle but permanent. Even now, when I write or produce, I feel the presence of the artists who first showed me that music could be both broken and beautiful.
How would you describe your sound to someone who has never heard you before?
My sound lives in the space between beauty and unease. It’s electronic at its core, but layered with raw emotion, haunting melodies, and lyrics that feel more like confessions than songs.
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.
How does your creative process typically unfold 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. Once I’ve built a skeleton of the track, I step back and listen. I ask myself: Does this feel honest? Does it sound like the emotion I was trying to capture? If it does, I know the track is finished – not because it is flawless, but because the message is clear and there.
Do you see songwriting as more personal therapy, storytelling, or both?
Through my lens, songwriting is a therapy and storytelling, and the two are inseparable. 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 from 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
What inspired your single In Candlelight?
“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?
It’s about holding space for grief, for empathy, for the countless lives caught in wars they never asked for. I wanted to create something fragile and haunting, like a flame flickering in the dark, because that’s what hope often feels like in the face of violence.
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.
What do you hope listeners will take away from this release?
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.
Who have been some key collaborators in your career, and how have they influenced your work?
Throughout my career, I’ve been fortunate to work with people who bring their vision, expertise, and energy into the process. 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. Their technical insight has pushed me to explore layers, effects and production techniques I wouldn’t have discovered on my own.
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 both 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.
For more information, follow Clare Easdown:
Facebook – Soundcloud – Bandcamp – YouTube
