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There’s a changing of the guard in fashion and culture. Gen Z creators are pushing the conversation forward in ways both awe-inspiring and audacious. Our latest project, Youthquake, invites you to discover how these artists, musicians, actors, designers, and models are radically reimagining the future.
Singer-songwriter Arlo Park’s earliest, most vivid memories are of the summer road trips her family would take from her home in London to the South of France. The soundtracks of those long drives were a mix of jazz records and audiobooks, most of which—A Farewell to Arms, Treasure Island—went completely over Parks’s six-year-old head.
“Even though I didn’t understand most of what was going on, I felt the power of being soothed by a story and relating to a group of characters that I felt emotionally invested in,” says the 21-year-old. These early audiobooks formed the basis of Parks’s love of reading; she devoured poetry collections as a teenager until she eventually discovered a sacred text: Patti Smith’s Just Kids. A delicate mix of music, memoir, and poetry, the book opened Parks up to the possibilities of what form her creative muse could take.
“I used poetry when I wanted to write in a more diaristic sense,” she says. “Songwriting became a way to turn those experiences into something that felt bigger than me”
In 2018, Parks began uploading her demos to Soundcloud and BBC Music Introducing, a platform built to support unsigned and undiscovered artists. Her sound, a mix of brooding lyricism and spoken-word interludes, positioned Parks as something of a cult figure throughout London’s DIY scene. “Cola,” an R&B confessional about a cheating lover, went viral among critics and made her an early favorite among other artists, including Billie Eilish, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lily Allen. “She's from Hammersmith—same as me,” Allen later gushed on her Apple Music show. “Honestly, this song just knocked me off my feet.” None other than Michelle Obama included Parks on a playlist “filled with a whole lot of #BlackGirlMagic.”
Parks eventually snagged a record deal and released Collapsed in Sunbeams to instantaneous acclaim in January 2021. Lush and gut-wrenching, the debut album feels like an appealing mix of musical influences: a bit of Nina Simone, a little Jeff Buckley, some Erykah Badu. She somehow manages to write about mental health, queer identity, and unrequited love with a playful touch (“You play him records I showed you, read him Sylvia Plath—I thought that that was our thing”).
“I started writing in my bedroom for no one,” she says. “I'm used to working through my feelings as if no one is listening, so I can't really do it any other way—and it would probably sound horrible if I tried.”
The poet and singer is currently in Los Angeles prepping her follow-up to Collapsed in Sunbeams. She has a few weeks to kill before embarking on a two-month tour with Clairo, a friend and fellow poet laureate of Gen-Z discontent. Ahead of the release of her latest single, “Softly,” Parks spoke to Vogue about going from performing in West London pubs to receiving praise from Lorde.
Take me back to your earliest gigs. How did you develop your performance style?
I was a shy kid but I began to put myself “out there” more by uploading my stuff on Soundcloud. I was active in the internet space before I ever started performing live. I started by just emailing venues all over London asking if they would let me sing. There’s one called the Basement Door that puts on gigs for locals, and I remember biking around the neighborhood to hand people physical tickets to my shows. I would just press play on an iTunes beat and then sing over it while playing guitar onstage. My friends would come out to support me, so it always felt like a safe space to tell stories and just lose myself for a moment.
How did you handle balancing schoolwork with a budding music career?
I got a deal [with Transgressive Records] right before my final exams when I was 18. School is not for everyone but it was my final year so I really tried to give it my all. I studied really hard but at the same time, after school I usually took the train all over London to play gigs at pubs or little festivals. It was kinda like a double life—very Hannah Montana.
Did you go into your first album with any specific concept in mind?
When I first thought about making a record, my mind immediately tried to identify a core concept. That really stunted me creatively because I couldn't find something big enough to wrap the album around. I just ended up writing about the people I care about and what's affected me these past few years. I kept my process quite open in that sense; the songs almost fell out of me. Only retroactively was I able to look at [the album] and realize there was an arc; it's about lessons, lust, learning healthy love. The themes only became clear through the act of making it.
How would you characterize your creative process in the studio?
I bought all my books of poetry and all my journals from when I was 13 through 18. I was mining those for a lot of material, listening to a lot of Radiohead, and reading a lot of James Baldwin. Absorption is a big part of my process while I'm writing. It reminds me of the context and keeps me inspired. I’m someone who really enjoys being in the moment and feeding off the energy of the session, so all the songs on Collapsed were finished the day I started them.
Was there any song on the album that felt particularly cathartic to write and put out?
The one I always come back to is “Black Dog.” It’s strange how you can write about something so personally devastating that has such a ripple effect on other people. That song has been incredible to play live because I hear from so many people who say it helped drag them out of a difficult space in their own lives. Hearing stories like that are always moments where the music feels bigger than just me.
You’re coming off of a particularly eventful 2021. Collapsed in Sunbeams won the Mercury Prize and you’re nominated for Best New Artist at this year's Grammys.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around the past year. Having someone like Lorde talk to me about the impact that my work has had on her felt particularly surreal. When I was 15 years old, artists like her felt like these guiding forces who inspired me to pursue music. It feels affirming because I didn't think about this record too much—it’s just completely me.
What can you tell me about your next record?
I’m exploring a bit more of my electronic side—I’ve been listening to a lot of Jai Paul and James Blake. I’ve also been listening to My Bloody Valentine and a lot of pop records that have a sense of drama. My new music is still taking shape so it’s in that nebulous stage where I don’t really know what’s going on, but things are certainly cooking. I'm spending a lot of time in home studios so there’s a lot of cozy energy—making tea, reading, arranging crystals everywhere. Art has always been a way of processing difficult things, so comfort is at the heart of how I feel safe enough to be vulnerable when I write.