There’s no embarrassment – it just is what it is”Ĭaring for Joanie was her first experience of “mothering”, a concept she’d already been playing over in her head before the adorable Chow Chow-Pyrenees puppy came into her life. “It’s easy to confess things when you’re writing. I was too scared to even think that domesticity could be something I crave.” Now, she’s settling into the idea that enjoying her youth and creating a safe, comfortable space for herself aren’t mutually exclusive. “If anyone ever came up to me and presented the idea to me, I would have been like, ‘You’re crazy – I’m young, I’m gonna be all over the place’. “By getting Joanie, I realised that domestic life is very comforting for me and a huge chunk of what was missing,” Cottrill smiles.ĭid it come as a revelation to recognise that responsibility for another living creature – and having to be in one place to fulfil that duty – could fill that void? “Of course!” she exclaims, eyes widening below her choppy fringe and cosy blue hoodie. When she adopted her dog Joanie – named after Joni Mitchell, but spelt differently “just so it’s not entirely creepy” – last December, it suddenly clicked. It wasn’t a realisation she came to straight away, but one that unravelled with time. Despite her dreams of becoming a professional musician coming true, she still “always felt like something was missing”.Īt home, she began to figure out what that was, landing on a surprising conclusion: domesticity. But ‘Immunity’ refined the theme, bringing bonafide success to the young artist. It’s a feeling that’s always been present in Cottrill’s music – from the simple, sweet crush story of 2015’s ‘Bubble Gum’, to the loss of identity in a relationship in the lo-fi pop of her 2017 viral breakout track ‘Pretty Girl’. That openness and vulnerability is part of what’s made her such a beloved artist a relatable shoulder to lean on when you’re going through your own struggles. It continues the 22-year-old’s tradition of “penning lyrics that make you feel like you’re listening to hushed secrets from a friend”, as NME put it in a five-star review of her 2019 debut album ‘Immunity’. ‘Sling’, co-produced by Jack Antonoff (the Bleachers frontman has become something of an uber-producer for the likes of Lana Del Rey and Lorde) at upstate New York’s Allaire Studios, is snug and ornate, full of strings and woodwind, piano and the fluid curves of notes played on lap steel guitar a classic ’70s singer-songwriter album made in the here-and-now. “That couldn’t have happened without my time spent at home with my family,” she notes. By the time you read this, she will have left this home for her new “mountain house” in Massachusetts, a direct result of the things she unearthed about herself in 2020 and the start of 2021. “Albums are usually made when you’re on the brink of discovering something about yourself,” Claire Cottrill reasons, propped up against a stack of pillows in her New York apartment. But, as for many others across the world, our era inside saw the musician going through a seismic, existential shift that saw her question her future, past and present, and formed the foundations for her breathtaking second album, ‘Sling’. When Clairo retreated to her family home in Atlanta at the start of the pandemic, she didn’t expect it to be such a revelatory time for her.
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