Tone Glow 157: Nilüfer Yanya

An interview with the London-based singer-songwriter about practicing trust, being a more honest communicator, and her new album 'My Method Actor'

Nilüfer Yanya

All photos by Molly Daniel

Nilüfer Yanya (b. 1995) is a London-based singer-songwriter whose music stands as some of the most visceral indie rock being made today. With her first two studio albums, Miss Universe (2019) and Painless (2022), Yanya wielded her guitar and voice to nimbly maneuver between the tender and acerbic, navigating the complexities of desire. Her newest LP, titled My Method Actor, features more unflinching explorations of herself and her relationships. No longer interested in “proving to herself” that she can write and record, these songs arrive after grappling with the purpose behind her artistry and, more broadly, her life. Joshua Minsoo Kim talked with Yanya on August 30th, 2024 via Zoom to discuss her collaborative process with producer Will Archer, visiting Barbados for the first time, and the meaning behind her songs on My Method Actor.

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Joshua Minsoo Kim: How’s your day been?

Nilüfer Yanya: Busy! I had a singing lesson on the other side of town so I rushed back just in time for this. I wanted to brush up on warm ups and techniques because I’ve got a tour coming up—I always find I lose my voice halfway through tour. I’d never done singing lessons properly so it’s nice to revisit some things.

That’s actually something I wanted to talk about. I’m curious how you feel you’ve grown as an artist specifically through using your voice. How has singing informed the things you’ve learned about yourself?

There’s an interesting correlation between my confidence generally and confidence in my voice—they seem to move at the same pace. When I was younger, I didn’t really ever sing to anybody; it was very much a private thing, and now it’s… my job (laughter). It’s weird! I never would have thought I’d be capable of doing that. Knowing it’s one of your instruments but also an emotional part of you… I want to experiment, but also keep my voice true to myself.

What are the earliest memories you have related to music?

I used to always have a song in my head, whether it was made up or just a song that I heard. I always imagined there was a CD player in my head and I’d be like, “Next song, next song, next song.” I always loved music but I didn’t have my own access to it. It was a funny time for music when I was younger because CDs were phasing out and TV music was phasing out—it was still a thing but I didn’t have much TV time when I was younger—and you didn’t really buy CDs anymore. Everything was stolen or you downloaded it, and I didn’t do that. I’m trying to think of early memories… I think it was just hearing things and being like, “What is that?” I was really curious.

Both your parents are artists. Were there things they did to foster a love for the arts in you, or did that come more from just seeing the sort of people they are?

It was a bit of both. They were very encouraging. On the weekends we’d do some kind of artistic activity, like drawing or painting. My dad was always sketching and I’d be like, “Wow, how do you draw that?” And like most kids, I’d be like, “Make me a dragon! I want to draw a castle!” We’d go to the park sometimes and draw the trees, or we’d make something out of leaves. We’d make paper boats—that was fun. We ended up going to a lot of museums and galleries, and sometimes that was fun, sometimes it was boring (laughter). I think that helped me get used to seeing other people’s work, understanding that somebody else made it and that it was someone else’s life. I learned a lot just from seeing what they wanted to do with their time.

So how did you spend your time then throughout your adolescence? You mentioned earlier that you didn’t have a lot of TV time.

We didn’t have a lot of TV channels; we had like four and then you’d go to someone’s house and they’d have MTV and it’d be like… bro, what’s this! (laughter). If I came home from school early, I’d just go on YouTube and listen to music. And I was doing music a lot of the time. The school I was at was a musical school, but the funding got cut so I’d go to this music school on Saturdays. I also was doing a bit of piano, and I had to practice every day. I’d tend to do that for a couple hours after school, and I’d also spend some time writing songs on guitar. My parents were a bit strict as well, so I felt that I couldn’t always hang out with my friends, which is what I really wanted to do, so I had this resentment and decided to do music instead because I loved it.

Do you have any specific memories about those Saturday schools?

When I joined this music school on Saturday, there was this songwriting class that I could join. It was at the end of the day, and it was my favorite time of the week. I had a really nice teacher who was a professional musician and a singer-songwriter. You could bring in your songs and workshop them. She helped me build a lot of confidence because she was like, “Your songs are really cool, you could really do this if you want to.” I was like, wow. It was nice to hear that from someone else, and I guess they’re there to be encouraging, but it felt unbiased.

Is there a specific point at which you realized that you felt more confident in performing in front of others?

I think it’s something that ebbs and flows. Sometimes I have these moments of confidence, and sometimes I feel like my younger self and am like, “Ugh, I really don’t want to do this.” I’ve been touring and performing for a while with my band—since I was around 21–and just having that chunk of time and playing lots of shows really helped me. But before that, I was doing a lot of shows by myself, and I think just doing it again and again… I remember the first show I did solo, I was scared but it felt amazing. It was an addictive adrenaline. I did loads of shows by myself and sometimes it was good, sometimes it wasn’t.

Where’d your very first show happen?

It was at a venue called Troubadour, in Earl's Court in London. I emailed the booking promoter and was like, “Can I play a show here? My friends played here!”

Are there specific things you do today to help yourself get out of the discomfort of performing?

I think what helps me is making it feel normal and not like a big deal. Some shows may be a bigger deal, like a London show or a New York show or an LA show, or if it’s a big festival like Glastonbury—you feel like there’s more emphasis there. When I remind myself that it’s one of many shows and not the be-all and end-all, it’s nice to make it feel casual. That’s the only way I can deal with it (laughter).

I know that your mother is Barbadian and that you went to Barbados recently. How was that? That was your first time, right?

Yeah, that was my first time! And it’s been nearly two years now. My mom always said, “Oh yeah, I’ll take you one day,” but she hadn’t been back in 25 years. It’s not like she went there a lot anyways, so I realized that I was gonna have to bring myself. I bought tickets and asked my mom if she wanted to come and she was so down. Some other friends who had family in Barbados were also going at the same time, so it felt like a nice trip for reconnecting. My auntie was doing a lot of research about my great-great-great-great-grandfather, who was born enslaved in a plantation on Barbados. That’s as far back as our family data goes, so we did a lot of heavy stuff as well. We went to plantations and memorial sites. It was nice to blend the two things because it’s such a holiday destination, and it is gorgeous and stunning, but it was nice to get a full picture of the island and the culture. You feel envious of people who go somewhere just for holiday.

A lot of people on the island, as in Barbadian people, don’t want to talk about the past because it’s still pretty close. Like, how do you talk about it, how do you bring it up? People just want to move on. It’s a tough island to live on because everything—like groceries—is shipped in. A lot of people have to have two or three jobs, and a lot of the land is still owned by the same families that enslaved people. It’s heavy. You’d go to a plantation house and it’d be set up like a museum, but they won’t talk about what was actually going on. Still, I loved going to Barbados and I would love to go back.

That all makes sense to me. My grandma is 96 and I interviewed her last year. She has a lot of memories of when Korea was under Japanese occupation. It’s a similar thing where everyone knows that this is part of their experience and—of course, I understand why someone would not want to talk about any of that—but it was really interesting to hear her finally share these stories. My mom and aunt were there and heard things they’d never heard from her before. Are there specific things you’re taking away from that aspect of your trip to Barbados?

It’s really nice hearing you say that. Sometimes you feel a little bit alone in your uncomfortability with your own culture or past. I just understood a little bit more about why it’s like that. If people in Barbados now don’t really want to talk about it, how is everyone who has moved and now lives somewhere else meant to reconnect? It’s not easy, and I don’t think it is necessarily supposed to be. The way I’ve viewed my identity as a mixed person… my dad is from Turkey, and my mom is from Barbados but her mom is Irish, and there’s a tendency to rush towards things and claim it as your own, like, “This is me!” But I’ve felt really awkward about it because it’s a lifelong journey. It’s not something you can learn from one or two trips or from an interview. There’s always so much more to discover.

Did your dad try to share things about Turkish culture with you? I’m thinking about, for example, the psychedelic rock that came out in the 1970s like Erkin Koray, Selda, and Barış Manço.

He loved music and he loved playing the saz. He always said, “Oh, I always really wanted to be a musician when I was younger.” But, you know, it’s always hard to tell how serious your parents are being, or if they’re being completely honest (laughter). “I was studying, and this was my teacher,” and I’m like… really? (laughter). But he really loved music and it’s a big part of Turkish culture in general. It is quite different from the European sounds that I’m used to hearing a lot more. But he wasn’t into rock, he loved Ottoman classical music. He delved into that world, though he did play us some pop stuff from the ’60s. He always had the Turkish radio on, and for him, it’s something that he misses a lot. It has a lot of sentimental value.

I know that you played the saz on Painless (2022), on the track “L/R.”

I did!

What was it like playing that and exploring that side of your culture?

I feel like “exploring” is too big of a word (laughter). I played like one line and tried to make it sound good. It was a little nugget of it. The melody sounded like it belonged on a saz. It had this melodic or harmonic minor scale. It was just a cool moment for me, like a tepid dip in the water.

Knowing that it sounded like it should be played on the saz is really interesting. I’m wondering if you feel the same way about your own voice. Earlier you mentioned how it’s such a personal and emotional instrument. When you write songs, are you often thinking about what makes sense for your voice, or are you just going for something and trying to fit your voice to your ideas?

It’s a little bit of both. I was learning how to use my voice as I was learning to write, so they evolved at a similar pace. When I’m coming up with a melody, I’m already going to a place that’s comfortable for me. Me and Will [Archer] wrote this album together and he had quite a big influence on some of the melodies, and there were some things that I wouldn’t necessarily do… a more sing-y style—it’s hard to describe it. Some of the lines feel more pop-focused. A bit more smooth. My natural range is more middle and deeper but it also gets softer, and I feel comfortable there.

You’ve worked with Will on your past albums too. What sort of things do you feel like you guys were able to do this time around given that you’ve had this ongoing relationship? There’s more trust, of course.

There’s so much more trust, and trust is something that sounds like less than it is. You can keep trusting someone and it can go deeper and deeper. Allowing yourself to do that and practicing that, especially with one other person… I can really benefit from that because I’m more of a one-on-one person. I think Will is like that too; we’re both a bit more reserved. This time, it was very intentional. We decided to work on this album together, and that unlocked another layer of trust, like, “I really care about what you think.” I didn’t have to think about impressing other people with my ideas, and the music industry wants you to work like that. “Oh, who’s gonna think this is cool? Is this producer gonna like this? It’d be really cool if I collabed with this artist.” Can we just not think about that? Let’s just focus on what we think is a good song. You really have to be quite brave with your ideas, and that’s helped me. And apart from one song, it felt like everything on My Method Actor was different territory and stuff I wouldn’t have thought about doing before.

Are there any specific songs that you felt were challenging to nail down, or was it a relatively smooth process?

There were some that were smooth at the beginning. We were working on a few ideas, and then it felt like, okay, they’re not clicking and you don’t know where things should go. And then there were some that did click and had their own momentum. From the first time we worked together, we came up with a few things but they didn’t work, and then the next day I went to his house and then it did. It gives you this boost. You feel like, okay, we’ve got something. You definitely need that.

So much of the album is about the uncertainty of the future. Even the opening line: “What you looking for? Shut up and raise your glass if you’re not sure.” And then in “Made Out of Memory” you have, “I think a lot about what I’m destined for.” Where was your headspace at as you were working on these tracks?

I feel like I have less to prove to myself, but I have to do more to work out what I actually want to do. It’s not so much about proving it to myself anymore because that side is pretty boring now. Like, anybody can make an album if they want! (laughter). So it’s really like, what’s the point of this? Why keep exploring? Why am I doing this again and again? There has to be a real point. Like, why am I making another album? There has to be a reason. There’s a lot of questions.

I feel like what drives me is that the answers are found in the process. That’s the only way I’m gonna find out more about myself, my purpose, my destiny—whatever you want to call it. If not, I’m just gonna be in this consumer world buying a bunch of things, kind of having fun sometimes but missing this chance for real self-exploration. And it can open up and you meet other people and be in this community—there’s so many layers to it. I don’t know why I want to make music, but when I think about it, apart from spending time with family and friends, it’s the only thing I want to do that is a choice. I don’t need it to survive, but I really want it. It’s helped me grow into a person. Like, I don’t know who I am (laughter) but I don’t think I’d be as confident or calling shots in the way I think I do. It makes me healthier, it gives me more of an idea of who I am.

Was there a specific song where, in writing it, you felt you learned something specific about yourself?

Maybe “Like I Say (I Runaway).” The melodies are instinctively me, and my voice is in there. And I’m able to hear it back like a stranger. When I sing it, I don’t always do it justice. It’s like I was only myself for a minute when I came up with the idea, and then I’ll lose myself again. I’ll hear it and be like, there she is! (laughter). But am I judging it? Like, the authenticity of it. Like, is that me?

Does it matter if it is you? What if it isn’t you but you like how it sounds?

I think that’s okay. I don’t worry about it too much. That’s something I found fun about doing the artwork and coming up with the name of the album. There is so much emphasis placed upon authenticity and being original, and those things are important, but in the indie and alternative scene it’s such a thing. What is that about? (laughter). Everyone has to be themselves, obviously, but why? Even when you go on social media, everyone’s trying to portray themselves being… real (laughter). It’s strange. Like, if you’re just living, then you’ll be yourself.

Right, I get that. Like, all personality is performance and anything you end up doing—even if it may exist as just something you want to be and may not reflect who you are to others—is still who you are.

Yeah. And I guess everyone’s using that performance to work out who they are. That’s a weird little process we do. I imagine people were kind of just doing the same things anyway beforehand, before our lives were so [online]. And maybe it was a bit harsher because it had to happen in front of people or it didn’t happen at all.

I’m a high school teacher for my main job.

You are! What do you teach?

I teach science, mostly chemistry now.

That’s so cool!

It’s funny because my students sometimes talk to each other as if they’re streaming live and talking with others on the internet. It’s pretty funny, and there’s a self-awareness too. But at the same time, it also reflects this lack of separation between how they want to be perceived online and how they choose to present themselves in real life, and how those two things can feed into each other.

They’re creating a seamlessness. There’s probably a lot less separation between those things when you’re younger. It definitely felt like that for me. Like, everything felt so… heightened (laughs). And it can feel like that now.

You have that line on “Like I Say (I Runaway)” that says, “The minute I’m not in control / I'm tearing up inside.” Do you often feel like the need to be in control, and do you feel like your relationship with control has changed over the years?

I feel like I’m getting a grip on what I can control, on what is within my control. It’s funny. In my career, I have a let-go attitude, and with relationships and friends I can do the same thing as well, but I’ll be a lot more controlling about myself—I’m creating routines and being hard on myself. I’m trying to reverse that. One place where you can assert more control is your job, right? It makes sense to do that, but I’m always running away from it. I don’t want to face up to things. It’s scary to take control of something because that means you’re making decisions. When you let things unfold naturally, you have less expectations. It’s a weird relationship. I have to work on my honesty and what I really want.

I’m thinking about the song “Mutations.” You say, “I just want your arms to bring me closer / There is no point testing you.” I like those two lines together as this succinct depiction of navigating desire and control. Beyond work, I’m curious about how your communication with others has changed over the years, specifically with regards to your relationships.

A few months before I started work on this album, I met my current boyfriend. For the first time, I met somebody who could actually communicate properly (laughter). I felt like I was having a relationship for the first time again, and it was the relationship I thought I was having with everyone else before (laughter). At the beginning I was like, “Great! This is perfect!” But with that I had to be really honest about everything (laughter). I realized how much I was playing into it as well—I wasn’t being totally honest or realistic. It came down to communication and being able to confront someone and not run away from them.

Is that where “Call it Love” comes from?

With that one, I’m referencing bygone relationships where it’s tempting to call something love. It’s a harsh line: “Some call it love / I call it shame.” The way I understood it after I wrote it—because I didn’t really understand it when I wrote it, I just thought it sounded good—is like, is it love, or is it just your desire? And are you ashamed of your desire or are you proud of it? I feel like with so many of the things I want, I tend to hide and not bring them to the forefront. But when you’re not being honest about the things that you want, it can never really be love. It’s saying more about you than how you actually feel about the other person.

When we were talking about Will earlier, you mentioned this idea of “practicing trust.” I liked the way you phrased that and this notion of putting in effort, that it’s something you can get better at.

It’s an ego thing. You have to admit to yourself that you do believe their opinions, and you can’t let your own high opinion of your ideas get in the way.

On “Binding,” you have this one line, “I need your amnesia.” It’s really provocative.

It is. I can’t be too certain, but all the lyrics leading up to that are about someone being totally out of it, like they’ve drunk too much, or they’re on this long drive and are not really present. They’re trying to escape and get to this blissful nowhereness, of leaving their body behind. “I need your amnesia” is like you’re observing that and wanting to forget everything as well.

Are you often thinking of images when you’re writing songs? You mentioned this picture of someone driving off somewhere, and now I’m thinking of “Just a Western,” which definitely sounds like it could be in an actual Western.

I always have an image, and every time I write or sing a part of it, I still see the image. It’s weird how much it doesn’t go anywhere. You’d think that the more you write of the song, the more obvious the image gets, but it’s still blurry. With “Binding” I’ll see mountains and a valley and lights on a car, but then I don’t really see anything else. I’ll see the inside of the car.

I’m curious then about the arrangements on the record. You have strings on “Ready For Sun (Touch)” and “Faith’s Late.” What’s it like to write the songs and consider that aspect?

Will wrote these really beautiful string arrangements and they really worked. He really wanted to try them out for real, so we got a cellist to come in while we were recording the vocals, and then we got a violinist and a pedal steel. I was taking a step back at that point as it’s not really my territory. My opinions of strings have changed so much. At the beginning I was like, “I never want strings,” and now I’m like, wow, it’s so cool how much they open up a song into another sonic space. I definitely can’t recreate it live at a venue every night, but it doesn’t matter. If you achieve perfection in the studio, you can keep it forever—I find that poignant.

Was there anything that we didn’t talk about today that you wanted to talk about?

I feel like we covered really interesting points that people generally don’t want to talk about. I feel like with interviews, people ask more obvious questions. So thank you.

I end all my interviews with this question and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?

I love the fact that I can enjoy my own company. Even if it’s something boring, like going to the gym or walking to the shop, I can just have a good time. One of my favorite things to do is cycling and I’ll be singing whatever’s in my head (blurts out a melody). You just feel like a kid (laughter).

Nilüfer Yanya’s My Method Actor is out on Ninja Tune this Friday. The album can be purchased at the label’s website and at Bandcamp. Dates for her upcoming tour can be found here.

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Thank you for reading the 157th issue of Tone Glow. Give yourself chances to feel like a kid.

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