By admin 
HangupsMusic.com – Brooklyn, New York – The air in Herbert Von King Park hangs in a delicate balance, hinting at the lingering chill of winter while promising the gentle warmth of spring. It’s a day of seasonal indecision, much like the path a burgeoning artist often treads. Amidst this atmospheric ambiguity, Vancouver-based singer and producer Sophia Stel seeks a light for her Canadian cigarette, playfully describing them as "more polite" than their American counterparts, a characteristic she attributes to her nation’s generally affable disposition. Stel is in New York, a whirlwind of interviews and appearances, poised for the launch party of her highly anticipated album, aptly titled the greatest album of all time. The record, she reveals, is a testament to an artist finding her voice, a vibrant bloom unfolding before an eager audience.
Stel’s journey into the public eye began in 2024 with her debut EP, Object Permanence, a collection that introduced her unique blend of earnest emotion and unconventional pop. Yet, as she recounts, her musical roots stretch back to childhood, composing melodies and lyrics since the tender age of seven. For years, however, a profound self-consciousness held her back from sharing her creations. "It’s just so lame to be so afraid of what people think that you make all this music for years and never release it because you’re scared it’s not perfect or something," she confesses, a sentiment many artists can intimately understand. The act of finally releasing Object Permanence served as a crucial lesson in perspective. "If you drop a shitty EP, you’re going to be OK," she learned, a pragmatic realization that liberated her artistic spirit.
Her initial hesitations proved unfounded. Object Permanence resonated deeply with listeners, quickly cultivating a devoted following. Stel’s unvarnished vulnerability, coupled with her distinctively left-field pop sensibilities, struck a chord. Tracks like "You Could Hate Me" and the later single "I’ll Take It" showcased an intriguing sonic tapestry. They infused the vibrant, often hyperactive electro-pop currents of the early 2010s with a melodic adventurousness that drew comparisons as diverse as Future’s soulful, melancholic crooning, Rihanna’s infectious dance-floor anthems, and the intricate, warped guitar pop soundscapes of ML Buch. It was a clear demonstration of an artist capable of synthesizing disparate influences into something fresh and compelling.
The release process itself became an education in artistic discernment. Stel found that a critical part of creation was knowing when to step away, to let the work breathe. She meticulously selected her six strongest tracks, then focused on a delicate balance: "work really hard at not losing touch with them or overdoing it, just try and believe in the songs." This discipline allowed the raw, authentic core of her music to shine through, unburdened by excessive polish.
The following year, Stel further solidified her artistic identity with How to Win at Solitaire. This EP was a powerful culmination of her years spent honing her craft in solitude. Its sonic palette was a lush, intricate collage, weaving together elements of electronic music, trap beats, and ambient textures. Guiding this rich soundscape were sticky, unforgettable melodies, often imbued with a "ghostly" Auto-Tune that added an ethereal quality. The EP felt like a distilled essence of the contemporary musical moment, a testament to an artist who not only accesses a vast array of sounds but transforms them into a cohesive language for expressing genuine, complex human emotion.
Before her music became her primary livelihood, Stel supported herself through a series of jobs carefully chosen to accommodate her creative passion. She worked as a gardener, a bartender, and a house painter, gradually shedding each role as her musical endeavors began to generate income. Painting was the last to go, a job she fondly recalls as ideal for fostering her artistic mind. "I was always shaping my life to have space for music, if that makes sense, picking jobs," she explains. "House painting is the best job because all day I’m maybe listening to an audiobook or not listening to anything, just painting a wall thinking about music, and then you come home and you’re so excited to do it." It was a deliberate structuring of her life, ensuring that even mundane tasks contributed to her artistic reservoir.
She had, in fact, made peace with the idea that this might be her permanent reality. "I’ll probably work during the day and then come home and make music," she remembers thinking, embracing the notion. "I was like, that’s OK. It’s just who I am, I guess." This acceptance speaks volumes about her dedication, viewing music not as a means to an end, but as an intrinsic part of her being, a non-negotiable aspect of her identity.
The audacious title of her new album, the greatest album of all time, emerged serendipitously. Following the success of How to Win at Solitaire, Stel made a casual remark in an interview about her universal aspiration to create the "greatest album." This comment was later misconstrued as a bold declaration. Rather than correct the narrative, she seized upon it, deciding to adopt the title herself. In doing so, she transformed a misquote into a creative mandate, making that very level of confidence an integral part of the album’s mission and artistic challenge.
The burgeoning success of her first two EPs propelled Stel into an entirely new realm, one she felt ill-equipped to navigate. She recalls finding herself at Paris Fashion Week last year, even before receiving her record label advance, feeling distinctly out of place. "I literally have one outfit and I’m so not prepared and I don’t know how to act," she recollects, a poignant reflection of the disorienting speed at which her life was changing. This experience became a catalyst for the new album’s thematic core.
"I was like, ‘I’m going to make an album that helps me to feel the type of confidence that I feel like I need going into these rooms,’" she elaborates. For Stel, confidence isn’t just about self-assurance; it’s a moral imperative. "And I think that being kind and confident is the best way you can be in life. Too much insecurity makes you hold yourself back, but it also makes you treat people poorly because you’re trying to make yourself feel better." This insight underscores the album’s deeper purpose: a sonic armor against the anxieties of newfound fame, built on a foundation of self-respect and empathy.
Born in Victoria, British Columbia, Sophia Stel grew up in a large, religious household, the third of eleven children. Her childhood was shaped by the unique dynamics of such a bustling environment, including an unspoken, yet often necessary, family rule: "only one person was supposed to cry at a time." While not strictly enforced, it was a parental strategy to manage a household where one child’s emotional outburst could quickly cascade into widespread chaos. "But there was one point where there’s eight kids under 10 in the home and one of them would start crying and then everybody would be like, ‘Fuck yeah, I’ma start crying too,’ because everyone’s trying to get attention," she recalls with a laugh. "So I think my parents were like, ‘You need to let someone have their moments.’"
This early conditioning, she believes, profoundly influenced her adult responses to emotional distress. She often finds herself turning stoic in the face of another’s upset, immediately shifting into problem-solving mode, with her own feelings catching up only much later. This dynamic finds poignant expression in "Molly in the Club," a track from the new record where she openly envies another person’s uninhibited ability to cry. The song’s production is a masterclass in contrasts: an elastic, pure pop bounce, with drums bursting over pirouetting synth chords, all while Stel’s ethereal harmonies evoke the euphoric, yet often melancholic, rush of ecstasy.
She penned "Molly in the Club" long after the breakup it chronicles, reflecting on the lingering emotional residue. "I was like, why was I so upset, and what was so upsetting about these certain things?" she muses. The song draws from a paradoxical experience: taking molly shortly after the split, finding herself chemically happy yet simultaneously enveloped in sadness over the dissolved relationship. It was a complex emotional landscape that she couldn’t immediately translate into song. "It’s like I’ll be trying to write a song closer to the event happening and I won’t feel like I understand it. And then six months go by and I’m like, ‘OK, now I understand it.’" Time and distance, it seems, are crucial ingredients in her songwriting alchemy.
Stel’s narrative takes a brighter turn as she shares news of falling in love again. Her attention momentarily diverted by a remote-controlled car zooming through the park—"Whose is that? I need to get one of those at my house"—she marvels at two babies captivated by its movements. "This is too sweet." Then, seamlessly, she returns to her story: "But yeah, no, I am in love now." This newfound happiness is woven into the album’s fabric, which is arranged not by recording date, but by the chronological progression of her life events. "I was getting over something at the beginning and then I fell in love again in the middle," she explains, crafting a sonic memoir of her recent emotional journey.
One of the album’s most poignant moments arrives on "Wedding Song," an ironically titled track given its melancholic undertones, where Stel contemplates the institution of marriage. "It’s sort of my own experiences with being queer and not widely accepted by my family," she reveals. "So it’s having to do with that and knowing that a lot of people wouldn’t be there, that kind of a thing. And accepting that, but also accepting that I would still want it." The song is a tender exploration of yearning for a tradition while navigating the pain of potential familial estrangement, a raw testament to love’s enduring power in the face of prejudice.
Writing, Stel finds, serves as a vital bridge to conversations she struggles to have directly. While music offers an outlet, she actively strives to improve her face-to-face communication. "I get better every year at also saying things to people’s faces, not just through music, because I think that’s important," she states. Her songwriting often begins with fragments—a compelling phrase from a conversation, an interesting turn of words—which she meticulously jots down. These linguistic seeds are then nurtured, held onto until the perfect beat or melody emerges to give them form and voice.
The art of fitting dense lyrical content into compelling melodies has been a significant learning curve, one she credits to an unexpected mentor: Future. "I like to write words and I want to put a lot of words in a song," she explains. "And so having listened to a lot of Future, who has such interesting melodic twists and flows. I think through osmosis of just being a big fan has helped me to understand how to do that better in a lot of ways." It’s a testament to the power of deep listening and appreciation, demonstrating how an artist can learn and evolve by immersing themselves in the work of others.
A few nights later, at the official album release party held in a bustling venue not far from Herbert Von King Park—a casual Lorde spotted in the crowd adding to the buzz—the evening culminates in an impromptu karaoke session. Strikingly, Stel, who had earlier admitted to being too nervous for karaoke, finds herself singing along enthusiastically to a string of Future classics booming through the speakers. This spontaneous moment perfectly encapsulates her performance philosophy. "But when it comes to my music, I’m like, I have to be the strongest advocate, and also I have to get up there and sing it and show that I love it, and that’s the most important thing I can do when I’m performing live," she had explained previously. "And even if I do feel really awkward and maybe am awkward, it’s still worth it because I love this thing." It’s a powerful declaration of artistic integrity and self-acceptance, embodying the very confidence and vulnerability that define Sophia Stel and her truly great new album.
