It’s impossible to ignore the meteoric rise of Arlo Parks. In just four years, the West London singer-songwriter and poet went from sending her demos to a BBC Radio platform for unsigned artists to earning Grammy nominations for Best New Artist and Best Alternative Music Album.
The 21-year-old speaks from the heart, to a generation undoubtedly marred by mental-health struggles and the unfulfilled cravings of love. She remains unguarded throughout debut album Collapsed Sunbeams, even as she bitterly sings about an unrequited love, even as she calls attention to the girlfriend who won’t hold her hand in public.
The Weekly checked in with Parks, who’ll open for viral pop sensation Clairo March 28 at the House of Blues (later this summer she’ll also provide support for both Billie Eilish and Harry Styles) to talk about people-watching, being an optimist and bearing it all in her music.
How’s the tour going so far? It’s been a lot of fun. It’s been really nice to be with Clairo and her team. Everyone’s so warm and genuine, and we’ve been singing a song together every night, which is really beautiful. I’ve never really done that with another person on tour before, so I’m feeling good.
It’s always cool to see touring acts collaborating onstage. It’s really been lovely. She is a person who I looked up to for a long time, and her work ethic and the way she approaches her songwriting is very inspiring. So it’s nice to just be there, and grin and smile and be goofy together on stage.
Speaking of smiling, what was your immediate reaction to your Grammy nominations? I was pretty shocked. That was also the one day I didn’t have my phone on me, so I kind of found out delayed after everyone else had, which is kind of funny. It affirms me in this really particular way. It makes me feel like I can make music that is to my taste and I can trust my instincts and that people appreciate me for who I am. That’s a beautiful feeling.
How are you adjusting to your surge in popularity? There are definitely moments where I think back to where I was three years before I got that Grammy nom. I was playing at this little vintage store in East London and Hackney for, like, 10 of my friends. There are all these full-circle moments. It does feel like dreams have come true in a very real way. And I know that doesn’t happen very often at all. So it felt gradual, but definitely the moment feels fast and big.
You’ve said absorption is integral to your creative process. What have you been listening to lately? I’ve been listening to the new Big Thief record a lot, which has been really amazing. I love Adrienne Lenker’s voice, and her songwriting is really ... how do I even describe it? It just feels so empathetic and abstract but also hyper-specific.
I’ve got this podcast that I’m starting, so I’m trying to listen to the artists I have on. I was revisiting St. Vincent’s last record, the new Mitski record, listening to a lot of Massive Attack and Portishead. I’m listening to a lot of Yves Tumor and reading a lot. I just got a bunch of fashion books from Barnes & Noble. I got a Martin Margiela one, I got this ’80s skateboarding photography book. I’m always rummaging around like a little mole (laughs), getting brain fuel, especially on the road. I think it’s important to make sure you’re always feeling enriched.
Your new single “Softly” is sunny and catchy, but at the same time, you’re singing about a relationship that’s ending. You mentioned to The New York Times that you’re an optimist but also drawn to sadder things, because they’re more complex. How do you manage that tension of being an optimist but also covering heavier topics? I do hold on to that optimism, but I’m really exploring trying to create a song that encapsulates all the shades I’m feeling. I’m never trying to veer into the side of toxic positivity, where it’s like, everything is fine and all is well and let’s just look on the bright side of things.
Sometimes things are difficult, and acknowledging that they’re difficult is important. But then acknowledging that they can get better, you’re just not sure when, is also important.
Who do you genuinely make music for? I think I make it for myself. I have a very inward kind of way of making music. But then the reason why I share it, of course, is because I want it to be a gift, and I want it to be for others. If I wanted it to be just for myself then I wouldn’t release it, I would just make it in my bedroom.
Music is a tool for connection, and it’s a tool that can help people better understand themselves. When I think of certain records, when I think about [Frank Ocean’s] Channel Orange, or I think of Cntrl by SZA, when I think about The Strokes or Arctic Monkeys, whoever it may be, those records made me feel like myself and made me feel strong and happy and understood. And I want to do that for other people. But I never want to try to make something that everyone likes. I think there’s a difference.
A lot of material from Collapsed Sunbeams is pulled from your own journals. You touch on love, loss and even mental-health issues. I don’t know how many younger people would be OK with letting someone else read their journals. At any point did you resist revealing such private thoughts in your music? My writing, it’s never calculated. I literally just feel something, and I write it down. I was in my apartment when we made Collapsing Sunbeams, and I just had all my journals with me. I knew I wanted to make an album that tracks the journey of who I am today. I wanted it to have this coming-of-age feel to it, [and] it all fell into place.
I don’t know if at any point, in the making of it, I was hesitant, or I felt like I was too close to the bone. I was bearing that David Bowie idea in mind, of him saying your feet should just be touching the bottom of the pool. You should be just out of your comfort zone. And I was bearing in mind the fact that a lot of the records I love are ultra-personal. That’s why I love them.
“Black Dog” is an emotional song about a severely depressed friend of yours. How has it been translating a song like that to a live audience? It’s almost taken on a new meaning because when [the audience and I] sing it together, I can see how much it means to people and how it’s almost beyond me. I feel less alone in my own experience, which is really beautiful. It feels different on different nights. Sometimes it’s cathartic. Sometimes I can’t tap into the feelings. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it’s joyful. But I always feel a lot when I’m onstage.
Do you have any advice for fans who might be going through some of these heavier things you’ve written about? The main one I always address is, if you need help, even though it’s difficult, know that it’s always deserved, and when you’re ready, ask for it. A big thing that perpetuates mental-health problems or feeling low or feeling alone is that sense of shame and feeling like you’re the only one. Help is there and available for you.
A big thing that’s helped me when I’m not feeling too great is finding something I can do as a distraction or that I enjoy, whether it’s painting, whether it’s journaling, whether it’s riding a bike through the forest, whether it’s going for a walk with your dog—pick one nice thing to do for yourself each day. It can be as simple as making a cup of tea, and try and build it into a routine.
As a songwriter and poet, you paint pictures with your words. One song that comes to mind is “Caroline,” a track about a couple’s fight that you observed. How vital is the act of people-watching to your creative process? I like to describe it as always keeping the antenna up. I always keep my eyes and ears open when I’m moving through the world, and I’m always writing notes on fragments that I may overhear, or a character that I see, or a conversation at a party.
Being open and perceptive and aware is a big part of what makes me the kind of writer that I am. Because it’s about people, at the end of the day. I just love people. I love understanding what makes them tick and what makes them happy, and how relationships form and dissolve. A lot of that, for me, is just being open and paying attention to what’s going on.
Would you say you’re more of an introvert or an extrovert? I’m definitely an extroverted person, contrary to popular belief (laughs). I spend a lot of time around people. Socializing is what makes me happiest, being in community. Making new friends and being out in the world is where I feel happiest. But when I write, it basically has to be just me. I have to go into that more quiet space in myself and, I guess, unpack what I see.
Is there a comforting safe space where you tend to be when you do this? I do it wherever inspiration strikes. I like the idea of having my mobile and being willing to write at any point. I write a lot on flights, because I’m always traveling. I’ll sometimes put my headphones in and write in the greenroom before a show. I love writing in nature, in green spaces like in my girlfriend’s garden or when I’m out with my parents in London and in some of the parks around there. It’s whenever I feel it. I’ve never really had writing as an everyday ritual. It’s always very much when I feel the need to.
You’re often heralded as a voice of Gen Z. Does that put any additional pressure on you or the kind of music you’re making? I try not to feel pressure from terms or boxes that I’m put into by other people, because I feel like I know what I’m about. I know what the songs mean, and I know what my intentions are with things. I try not to shoulder things that other people put on me.
And I guess I use it as positive fuel because it’s like, OK, I’m speaking about things that are important to people my age, and that feels really beautiful. But then I try not to have it as something that feels constrictive or that like everything you say is gonna be scrutinized. I try to be grateful and then keep doing what I’m doing.
As I was watching your KEXP performance from last year on YouTube, I read an interesting comment from a 73-year-old user, who said your performance and music enthralled him. Does knowing your music is adored by various generations surprise you at all? It is surprising to me in a way that’s quite beautiful. I always say that I love when older people like my music, because they have so much more context (laughs). Like, if they were around when Elliott Smith and Joni Mitchell were at their prime, it feels like a compliment of the highest order. I like to think I make music that, although it’s about me and the things I’ve seen and my friends and people around me, extends beyond that, and anyone can find something in it.
You’ve gotten to collaborate with the likes of Phoebe Bridgers and Dave Bailey from Glass Animals. What three artists would be on your dream collaboration list? I’d love to do something with Frank Ocean. I’d love to do something with Mitski. And I’d love to do something with Joni Mitchell. I think that would be amazing. I would love to do something with someone quite outside of my genre. Like, do something with Burial or Flying Lotus. I love it when worlds collide, when people are coming together from two different parts or genres of music and creating something completely different.
What do you hope your fans take away from the show? I hope that there’s a sense of real intimacy and that people feel they can be themselves there. Want is always the word that I use, because I want people to feel held. I want people to be able to dance or cry or whatever feels good. And I want everyone to feel welcome. I’m just going to be playing with my band. A bunch of them have been playing with me since I was 17, so there’s definitely a sense of family vibes, and we all just enjoy ourselves. I just want it to be fun.
ARLO PARKS Opening for Clairo. March 28, $35 - $59.50, 7 p.m. House of Blues, houseofblues.com.
