When listening to Wisp, you can hear a world of delicate balance. Breathy, featherlight melodies resting on a bed of distortion as she turns diary entries folded into shoegaze soundscapes. A balance that is reflected aesthetically with her tour wardrobe oscillating between meticulously planned silhouettes and “whatever was clean that day.” Her world is one where classical ballet brushes against nu-metal and where fantasy films sit comfortably beside Joan Didion on the bedside table.
“I try my best,” she says when I ask if she plans her tour looks with precision. “But sometimes we have what my band calls flop shows… we’re in a city where we don’t feel our best and just wear whatever.” When we speak with Wisp, she has just returned from tour, and given her success and youth combined, I’m curious to know if she has any methods of preparation before she comes onto the stage making huge sounds. She tells me that it is being with her band that is what keeps her safe and prepared,“they understand me the best. If I’m anxious, we’ll just talk, dance, jump around. It helps.”
Her stages, lately, have been shared with acts that lean towards the masculine end of the sonic spectrum, a key to her sound is how she threads her own femininity through such male-dominated genres. “I think it comes naturally,” she says simply. “I love girly things, and it shines through in my voice and what I write about. Hearing lyrics from a woman’s perspective in this space is rare [so] it changes the light the songs are seen in.”
However, it is not just her feminine literal voice, but the voice within her writing that adds authenticity and honesty midst the girly-ness. On her track If Not Winter, she distils the dissolution of love, not in a blaze of fury, but in the quiet collapse of affection for someone who, on paper, seemed right.
“It’s vulnerable,” she admits. “It’s about the guilt and shame of asking yourself, ‘Why don’t I love this person anymore?’” Her diary entries are informed by her literary loves, Joan Didion (her favourite author “of all time”), Emily Brontë, Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf, Chloe Caldwell. The emotional precision of such literary institutions, informs her diary writing which she then metamorphoses into her lyrics often hurriedly written down on a note book she carries everywhere. Alongside, headphones, a drawing pad and more often than not, a stuffed animal.
Touring, she says, is both the best and most complicated part of her life. “Every night, you’re met with this adrenaline on stage. You’re travelling, meeting people, living your dream job. The stress and exhaustion get buried under all that. But when I come home to L.A., the contrast is stark. I’ve felt almost depressed after tours – like going from technicolour to grayscale overnight.”
However, even as she fades to grey, Wisp doesn’t let the come down of tour paralyse her. “I’ve learned to turn that sadness into inspiration. I remind myself I can write good music even when I’m content, not just when something thrilling is happening every day.” Now, with her debut album released, she’s resisting the urge to rush into the next chapter. “I want each album to be its own distinct moment. I’ll write some singles, live a bit more, break some hearts, travel… then come back ready.”
Perhaps her performances, which we will be able to witness in February, are informed by her love of ballet. Wisp grew up dancing, attending The Nutcracker with her Mother every Christmas. The influence of Tchaikovsky’s sweeping orchestration seeps into her album, with songs that, like his ballets, are infused with that Russian dynamism, force and elegance. We look forward to hearing If Not Winter, in all of its symphonic shoe-gaze glory next year at Laneway Festival.
You can stream Wisp's latest album If Not Winter now on Spotify, Apple Music and YouTube.
