Musician Kelly Lee Owens on knowing who you are and what you do

Over the last decade or so, you’ve crystallized your niche of club music with dream pop and ambient pop elements. How did you first figure out that this was going to be your creative and sonic identity, and what did you do to achieve it?

Having worked in record stores for 10 years and just always being somehow in love with music, I have very varied taste, and my first instrument was drums. There’s such a journey for me as a genuine music fan. It’s interesting when you could almost make anything because you’re aware of what exists out there. But then, what I’m creating is what only I could create, and that bounces between genres, but it’s just my authentic voice that I do and don’t have control over. If I’d have made music when I was, say, 19 or 20—I didn’t write my first track until I was 25—I would’ve possibly been way more influenced by what other people were doing, what was cool in that moment.

It’s been a genuine slow-burn journey of mine to fall in love with electronic music and analog synths a bit later in my life. Combining that with all of those melodic sensibilities, my Welsh heritage, the undertones of spirituality and hopefulness, that’s always there for me. Somehow, an amalgamation of all those things is what comes out. It’s as interesting to me as anyone else what ends up on a record.

You were saying there are ways that you can’t control what your voice is. I’m curious what some of those ways are.

It’s almost not up to me. I don’t come into the studio with any reinforced musical ideas. I have a lot of notepads, and I gather, and I try to catch the feelings, colors, tones, and energy of what’s in the air at the moment, and I think most artists are like that. And then, I turn up on the day, and what comes out comes out, what’s expressed is expressed, and I genuinely never know what that is, and it’s so cliche, but it’s true. It’s cliche for a reason. There’s something other that’s driving you. There’s something that feels like it needs to be created.

Being true to yourself is important because only through your unique lens of experience and being in this body, can you put your art out into the ether. But then you have collaboration, which makes it even more interesting.

Speaking of collaboration: When you bring in co-writers or co-producers, which you don’t always do, why do you make that decision? What does it do for you?

On your first couple of records, you’re trying to figure out who you are, and it’s important that it’s almost as pure as it can be, as close to your own vision as possible. But the more you create, the more you potentially have more confidence and understanding of who you are as an artist. I think anyone, by their third or fourth record, is curious where their voice meets with another.

With everything that happened with the pandemic, I wanted to collaborate in ways I haven’t before. I wanted to be in rooms full of more people than I’ve performed in before, and I was very lucky to do that with Depeche Mode, Underworld, and the Chemical Brothers last year. I couldn’t not take that in and create something from that.

I’m very blessed to have worked with Tom Rowlands [of The Chemical Brothers] and Bicep, for example, on this record, and it was such a joy but also a task: How can I make sure that I’m collaborating, but genuinely, it’s my vision and my collaborators are facilitating me on my journey?

How did you choose these collaborators specifically? I’m also curious about George Daniel’s musical involvement since he co-runs the label you’re signed to [dh2, Dirty Hit’s new imprint for electronic music].

I’ll start with Tom Rowlands. Initially, he’d sent me some tracks for The Chems’ last record. The initial idea was that he had loads of demos floating around and I would write vocals, but also, there was room to produce and write. He’s so open and generous considering he’s been doing this for a long time and has his own sound and ideas, but what he’d sent me, there was one track I couldn’t resonate with in a way that felt truthful to me.

That’s another test. Never did I think as 15-year-old Kelly that The Chemical Brothers would send me a track and I’d be like, “I don’t know if this is for me” and send it back and be like, “Maybe this is for someone else.” He was so patient, kind, and generous and said, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty more. Let me send you two more.”

I ended up writing, producing, and performing on the one that was more ballad-like, which I love because I don’t think it’s what people would expect from me when I talk about myself and The Chemical Brothers collaborating, but it was much more interesting and organic. I sent him vocals that I recorded in my bedroom–it was demo vocals, that’s all it was ever going to be—just to see how it flowed. He was like, “Wow. This is unreal. This song is yours.”

I’m hearing you talk about collaboration as though it’s new for you, but when I think of your origins, I think of you working with Daniel Avery. Can you talk about how collaboration maybe feels different to you now instead?

If I’m really honest, it’s more collaboration in the true sense when you are allowing people to express ideas without trying to control them too much. I think I was a control freak [early on in my career]. I was so determined to make sure this was my thing, my vision, and my energy and put my stamp into the world. There’s lots at play there like, being a woman in the music industry, no one ever really believes you’re the authentic author of your creations, especially if there’s a man involved along the way, which they often are.

There was this fire and determination that maybe closed me off a bit, but I think that was required in that particular moment, whereas now, I’m way more relaxed. I know who I am, I know what I do, I know what my strengths are, but I know things I’m less good at and what I want to learn, and I want to be in other people’s worlds and find out where those colors and energies meet and where they don’t. Coming together, whether it’s sonically or together in person and sonically, is the thing I’m interested in most at the moment.

You’ve done remixes for some of my favorite artists. What does putting a new spin on other folks’ music teach you about your own creative process?

One of my big strengths as a producer is being able to zoom in and zoom out. I’m obsessed with detail, but I’m also able to zoom out and see this as the whole thing: What’s the story? It’s like storytelling. Maybe that’s the Welsh heritage thing. I only say yes to things I feel I can do something with, but it’s just putting a twist on the story, or telling my version of that story.

Obviously, how amazing if you have parts from Björk or whoever it is—it’s just an absolute pleasure. What you gather from working with people you haven’t worked with before is the freedom to create in a way that perhaps you don’t think you’re allowed within your own box that you put yourself in sometimes. I was listening [to my Glass Animals remix recently]. I was like, “I really let myself loose.” That’s the beauty of it.

I’m curious to hear more about what you said about not putting yourself into a box anymore.

When I worked in record stores, people put—where do you put Arthur Russell, for example? Folk, electronic? He’s just Arthur Russell as I am just Kelly Lee Owens. I spoke to Jon Hopkins about this when I did LP.8, and he said to me, “Please tell me you’re going to put this under your name even though this won’t be what people are expecting of you.” I was nervous about doing it, but I thought, “This is also part of who I am, this deeper, dark, feminine, very spiritual but still analog energy.” Doing that album also broke me out of thinking, “I have to create a very specific type of music.”

It’s the same for Dreamstate. There might be fans who are alienated, who’ve been there from the beginning, who think, “This is too pop, this is too whatever.” This is me and I’m unapologetic about it. I grew up listening to pop music, but it’s not just that. This is what I want to make now, and I’m only ever going to be true to myself.

You’re the first person to release music on dh2. Why did you feel it was time for a new group of record label collaborators?

Once again, it’s me pushing against those boundaries of either boxes I [or other people] put myself in. I have always thought laterally about things, and my previous management and I parted ways very amicably. It was just time—you outgrow relationships, and both [my previous label] Smalltown Supersound and my previous management are supportive of what I’m doing now.

You have to reassess, decide what you’re going after, and be bold. I’ve always been bold, and I’m not going to stop now. It intrigued me to be given a potential opportunity to work with an amazing label like Dirty Hit. But the thing that made the most amount of sense for me was the fact that it was a new electronic subsidiary.

I feel very blessed that it worked out, and it was cosmic timing. I work with management [that’s involved] with Charli [XCX, Daniel’s fiancé]—there’s a management company that she’s involved with, and she’s been part of a little bit of the creative process, and it’s such a unique experience to have artists involved in both management and labels. That was too good of an offer to refuse. I was like, “I don’t know if this has ever been done before in this way.”

A lot of questions I ask in interviews are about the creative process, but I’m also curious about artists’ involvement in the management process because that does matter. Yes, creativity comes first, but you do have to get the music out there.

Absolutely. I think it’s as important, I’ve said this previously—you can be the best musician ever, but if you don’t have the right people to help you get it out there, no one’s going to hear it.

I think [dh2] is a step up, in terms of they’re incredible people to work with, super professional, but also feel like family. It’s quite a unique thing to have where it’s business, but there’s also immense care there as well. I enjoy working with these people every single day, and I think that’s half of it. You have to enjoy who you work with, and there’s a symbiosis. I feel like I’ve found a home to grow within.

I was reading your recent interview with The Face, and you said that you’re in work mode a lot, and your way of getting away from it is going on a walk in a green space with music on. How did you figure out that this was your way to take a break from your creative work?

It’s interesting when you say a break from creative work, because the irony is that giving yourself the time and the space to reconnect with nature or move your body, it only helps inform that and give back to that, which is this added bonus. It was out of absolute necessity for me, living in a city, to figure out how to break cycles of stress or work when it becomes negative, when it’s just too much.

When you’ve crossed the line, your body is the last thing to tell you. Giving, in some way, to your body is always the best place to start. I know it sounds so obvious to say being in nature, but…this is nothing new. Our lives are packed to the brim with things trying to stimulate our minds when, really, a lot of the time, they’re wearing us down. It’s about being conscious of that and giving to yourself…to sustain the thing you love doing.

What would you tell somebody looking to find their own way to avoid burnout?

I don’t think there’s one formula. It depends what you enjoy, but moving your body in some way is good. I started resistance training recently, but when I grew up, I used to do Taekwondo. I’m a black belt in Taekwondo. I trained with a girl who now has a gold medal for the U.K. Somehow, I’ve always found something where I can release, be present, and move. I referenced that on LP.8 when it’s like, “Move the body.” Again, very ancient understanding and knowledge of dancing. It’s almost like dancing to save your life, dancing to feel.

I remember going to Berghain, and I played in the Cantina and what I loved was, you could be alone and together with people, and sometimes, that’s the best way. You can go there on your own, but the aim is to be in the moment. To move your body with sound is another great way of doing it.

One very practical, maybe boring thing is, I have this incredible coffee shop up the road from me. I have a ritual of walking there but leaving my phone at home. Anti-technology, in moments, is absolutely the key to groundedness and reminding yourself of all the beautiful things that are at your fingertips other than a phone or laptop.

I was also reading your recent interview with Vice, and you said, “I let things happen to me truly trusting that everything will work out.” How have you applied that mantra to your creative process?

There are certain situations in life you go through that are really tough, and you’re like that Murakami thing when, if you’re going to go down, go down to the deepest part of the well, and there’s only one way up from there. That’s why [Dreamstate has song titles like] “Rise” and “Higher.” I had to put my faith in the universe in a way that I had never. I had to embody faith, just completely trusting that it would be okay, it would work out, I’m worthy of all these good things that are going to come, and oh my god, I had the best year of my life.

I would highly recommend it. I don’t think I’d ever done that before. I’ve always been, even while being spiritual, a bit skeptical in moments or too analytical, and instead, I just let myself be. I’ve never been more present in my life than I was last year. The only other time I’ve really felt like that is when I create music, and it relates in that sense. We are always trying to find that moment, when you’re creating something, where it’s all flowing and working, and I feel like as artists, you’re always trying, chasing after those moments. But for the first time in my life, I felt that every day, in my day-to-day life.

That was everything I wanted to ask you today, but at the end of these conversations, I like to say that if you have anything more you want to say about the creative process, please go ahead.

Don’t be intimidated by it. If you are intimidated, especially with technology, find someone who’s good at the technology bit. It doesn’t make you any less of an artist or a producer.

There’s a quote about being bold, and it’s like, “Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.” Begin it now. Don’t wait. The time will pass anyway.

Kelly Lee Owens Recommends:

My favorite artworks

Rufino Tamayo - “Cuerpos celestes,” 1946. I first discovered this painting at the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice, one of my favourite places in the world - love at first glance - cosmic and grounded

Jackson Pollock - “Moon Woman,” 1942. Somehow a perfect visual description of the innate magic of women

Yves Klein - “Blue Monochrome,” 1961. Yves Klein’s “A Leap In To The Void” and this painting capture to me, the obsession needed to be an artist - obsession with a dream and vision

John Olsen - “Salute to Slessor’s 5 Bells,” 1971-73. I was lucky enough to have dinner with John in Australia in 2022, and he told me to look at this piece when I visited the Sydney Opera House - it took my breath away

Frida Kahlo - “The Dream (The Bed),” 1940. A potent and beautiful remind that death and life are intrinsically linked

This content originally appeared on The Creative Independent and was authored by Max Freedman.

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