Start Listening To: Sophia Yau-Weeks

Sophia Yau-Weeks on writing through isolation, letting go of perfectionism, and finding meaning in the space between solitude and connection.

Written across a period of isolation, relocation and emotional intensity, Sophia Yau-Weeks’ Misty Mountain is a quietly affecting collection that finds clarity in vulnerability. The Oakland-born songwriter traces the space between solitude and connection, letting songs unfold with an instinctive, unguarded honesty. In this conversation, she reflects on writing through grief, finding confidence in London’s independent scene, and learning to trust imperfection in both process and self.

For those unfamiliar with your music, can you tell us who you are, where you’re from and about the music you make?

My name is Sophia Yau-Weeks, I am a singer-songwriter from Oakland, California, and I make indie-folk music.

‘Nobody’s Laughing’ feels incredibly intimate, what was it like writing something so personal in such a short space of time?

It was extremely cathartic. There was a sense of urgency because of how overwhelming my emotions were at the time, and songwriting felt like the best and most accessible way for me to process and move through the grief and sadness. The song seemed to naturally spill out.

You’ve spoken about that period of isolation while being immunocompromised, how did that experience reshape your relationship with songwriting?

Becoming immunocompromised pushed me into a period of deep self-reflection. In the past, I’ve gotten caught up with how others might perceive or respond to my music. Being forced into isolation, the act of songwriting became more introspective and less self-conscious. Songwriting was an essential outlet to work through life changes; I wasn’t as concerned with the end product because of that.

A lot of Misty Mountain seems to sit in that space between solitude and connection, is that something you were consciously exploring?

I think that exploration sits somewhere between conscious and subconscious. There is a constant tension between solitude and connection for me, and I think I hover between the two spaces both socially and mentally. They are areas I am naturally drawn to. I think my music works to uncover the relationship between solitude and connection, and how they continue to impact my internal world.

The album was largely written during your time in London, how did that environment, especially places like the George Tavern or Windmill Brixton, shape the songs?

I met some amazing musicians and friends, including my London bandmates, at these venues. Performing in London and connecting with other independent musicians gave me a newfound confidence in my music which I was able to carry with me into recording.

You’ve described recording as an act of unlearning, what were you trying to let go of during that process?

I was trying to let go of perfectionism and self doubt during this process. I grew up, as many do, with a little voice in my head telling me that I should only do something if I’m good at it. The choice to record my music to begin with was a rejection of this mentality. I can be a musician because I want to be, because I love making music. If people like it, that’s an added bonus.

Recording to tape feels like a deliberate choice, what did that slower, more imperfect process allow you to access creatively?

Recording analog forced me to trust my musicality and embrace the singularity of each take. When recording analog with time constraints in the studio, you have no choice but to follow your intuition. These constraints allowed me to offer up my best performances and pushed me not to ruminate on any minute details. I think in a world where AI artists are amassing notoriety and streams, the best thing we can do creatively is embrace humanness as much as possible.

You started out as a classical violinist, do you still feel that background in the way you structure or approach songs now?

I think my background as a violinist does influence my approach in the sense that I am typically drawn to melody first when writing. Otherwise, I had never tried composing as a violinist, so in a lot of ways songwriting feels completely new and separate.

‘Misty Mountain’ as a title track feels quite visual and atmospheric, do your songs tend to begin with images or with something more abstract?

It really depends. I have different motivations when writing. When approaching the title-track, I knew I wanted to use nature imagery as a metaphor, so I began with the imagery, and the story naturally unfolded. Other times, I am led by more abstract feelings and let my subconscious take over. This usually looks like mumbling over a set of chords until words come out that I resonate with.

Your music touches on very personal experiences but also gestures toward something collective, how do you navigate that line between the two?

I try to balance specificity and universality when I’m writing. The specificity around my own experiences is meaningful to me as I process life events, emotions, and curiosities. In the same breath, I like incorporating broader messages that gesture toward something collective so that others can relate to the music and so that I can look back on and relate to the song in new ways down the line. I don’t view my personal experiences and something collective as two distinctly separate things, though, so I may always be dancing somewhere in between.

Looking back at the songs written across those two years, do they feel like a document of that time or something more separate from it now?

They do feel like a snapshot of that time. I feel like I can place myself in each song on the record and vividly picture what I was going through at the time. I like that it acts as a time capsule in that way. I have also enjoyed seeing the songs take on new meaning as I share them with others. While they feel like a stamp in time, they also feel like living breathing things that take shape as more people listen to and interpret them.

What do you love right now?

Puppets, playing soccer, mask-required events, animated movies, listening to vinyl, late night walks.

What do you hate right now?

AI, heat waves, zionism, driving.

Name an album you’re still listening to from when you were younger and why it’s still important to you?

I was introduced to Stevie Wonder by my elementary school music teacher. I fell in love with “Songs In The Key Of Life” and remember begging my mom to download the songs onto her iPod for me to listen to on the way to school. The songs are infused with so much spirit and honesty, and continue to provide me comfort, joy, and inspiration.

When someone hears your music for the first time, what do you hope sticks with them?

I hope listeners are able to connect with it in some capacity, whether that be sonically, emotionally, lyrically. I believe music is meant to be felt, and I hope when someone hears my music for the first time they are left with a feeling.

Photography By: Cortney Morentin