Låpsley on polyamory, artistic independence, and fourth album 'I'M A HURRICANE, I'M A WOMAN IN LOVE' • Interview • DIY Magazine

“I always act like it’s my last hurrah,” laughs Låpsley, aka Holly Lapsley Fletcher, sitting in the booth of a Clapton cafe, hugging a flat white. Underneath the table, there is a sound of padding feet, and then a small howl. The culprit is her ten-week-old Shepherd puppy - Chilli - who’s wriggling between her ankles. “There’s been so many times I felt squeezed out by the industry,” she says, lifting the sky-eyed dog onto her lap. “But I don’t make my music primarily for the people, I make it for myself.”

By now, Låpsley - best known for huge electro-pop hits like ‘Operator’, ‘Woman’ and ‘Better Times’ - is pretty familiar with the ever malleable music industry. Originally signing to a label while still doing her A-levels back in 2014, she’s gone on to release three albums, (‘Long Way Home’, ‘Through Water’ and ‘Cautionary Tales of Youth’) and been dropped by two labels in the process. The Merseyside-born singer is more than a little aware of the perils that come alongside the privilege of the music world - but that hasn’t put her off just yet.

“It’s not all personal, there’s shit that’s happening in the world, I didn’t go into victim mode,” she says resiliently, ahead of the arrival of her just-released fourth album, ‘I’M A HURRICANE, I’M A WOMAN IN LOVE’. The 11-track record, out independently through Låpsley’s own imprint, ‘Her Own Recordings’, is an alt-pop tale of modern love, complex yearnings and feminist realism, drawn from a diverse musical palette of influences - think Vampire Weekend, MUNA and Bruce Springsteen to name just three. “There’s so much pain and joy that’s been caused by my commitment to love,” she says of the inspiration behind the record’s title. “There’s this perceived idea of female love being super sweet or super toxic - but there’s so many shades in between.”

Those shades, in Låpsley’s case, refer to the ‘Lilac Hues’ of her experience with polyamory: a love triangle between the record’s producer, Greg Abrahams and her now fiancé. The nuances of this love are threaded throughout the record, detailing moments from the start of the relationship right through to its end. Låpsley first met Greg in South Africa, where the pair began working together and formed a close platonic bond. Two years later, the relationship became more intimate, but, given the distance, the couple decided to open it up. Back in the UK, Låpsley began dating, and met her now fiancé. “I don’t want to date anyone else but you two,” she explains saying to the men who were both also in the process of divorce at the time. “Everyone was happy with the situation and everything started to progress with both people.”

This connection with her new partner is captured sweetly in the tender ‘Featherweight Champion of the World’, in which she details the first time her now-fiancé confessed his love. “I was already in a relationship [with Greg], and I think I had this assumption that it would take away from the pot that I had - but instead another pot appeared,” she smiles. Despite the fact that all parties involved were happy and in agreement, onlookers weren’t as enthusiastic. “‘We’re happy for you, but you’re not taking the easiest route’,” she recalls of reactions - which were similar to the ones she received while dating women. “I get it comes from the place of ‘I don’t want you to have a difficult life because I love you’ - but there’s a tinge of something inappropriate,” she adds. “The reality is difficult, but the reality is difficult for most of my heterosexual friends - they’re all divorcing and cheating left, right and centre!”

Despite her positive experience, a line was drawn under the triangle for more physical reasons; Låpsley has plans to become a mother. “I’ve always wanted kids, whether or not it was with anyone, no matter what gender,” she shares. In fact, she’s so serious about having children that she wants to help others do the same, and last year, went through the process of donating eggs. “The kind of woman who takes an egg donation - it’s their last fucking resort,” she says by way of explanation. “They want to be a mother, and this is the last piece of the puzzle. Once I understood that, I was like, ‘fuck, I want to donate my eggs!’” The singer has given up 26 of her ova, which also meant undergoing rigorous checks, reassuring her own fertility. “If I ever had infertility problems, or end up going through chemo, the idea that another girl like me has donated her eggs, that’s all these women want,” she affirms. She was forthcoming in raising the conversation of children to her partners too, and while Greg already had a child in South Africa who he wasn’t prepared to leave, her new partner had desires to start a family too. “Well, I think that’s the decision made,” Låpsley recalls Greg saying down the phone.

“The making of this record was inherently quite a vulnerable and sexual space.”

And so it was, with Låpsley and Greg ending their part of the relationship. Folk-inspired ‘Forburg’ became an effigy to the sweet sorrow of parting so amicably: “I can’t have him [Greg] - and that’s not taking away from the relationship that I’m in now - it’s just a feeling that I wanted to express,” she says. The complicated circumstances were not, however, over yet. A few months later, Låpsley flew out with her fiancé to finish the album, and all three were to meet in what felt like a collision of worlds. “That was really tough and unexpected,” she admits, describing how the polyamorous part of the situation had been somewhat abstract until then. What’s more, the album was due to be completed in the studio with Greg, while the pair mourned the relationship. The ‘80s-infused ‘Jericho’ documents this complex scenario through indulgent electro pop. “The making of this record was inherently quite a vulnerable and sexual space,” Låpsley says, explaining how she’s made merch in the form of a candle, synonymous to this feeling. “It’s smoked wood, earth and sex,” she says of the scent she spent months creating. “It smells so fucking fit!”

Pheromones aside, that atmosphere in the studio lent itself directly to pure and uncensored vulnerability. “That was our place,” Låpsley says. “It was a sanctuary for my relationship, but then there were such hard boundaries,” she recalls of the time post-break up. That rawness weaved itself into the record, and it’s the first time the singer has been able to do exactly what she wanted - unbound by dominant labels. Breaking into the music world with electro-pop style disco aged 17 meant Låpsley was in the spotlight while still figuring out who she was as an artist - and as an individual. “You’re trying to grow as a person and make mistakes under the eyes of the industry, which is fucking weird,” she tells, while trying to entertain her restless puppy. “Your ability to grow isn’t recognised as an artist.” Ten years on, she doesn’t feel that version of Låpsley reflects who she is today. “There will always be an electronic element to my music, just because that’s where I come from,” she says, “but words are at the centre of my world, not a synth.”

This is surely most evident on ‘Church’, on which the singer tackles womanhood via phallic imagery over finger-picking guitar. “I’m a church with no steeple, I’m a compass with no point,” she sings on the mellow track, addressing the grief born from the unkept promise of equality. “There’s so much frustration and anger that I’m having to deal with now,” she shares sincerely. “I had the privilege of growing up in quite a joyous gender equal childhood, but I was told that certain things will be true - and they’re not.” Låpsley is sure that her experience as a woman has intercepted with her experience in music. “You assess the past more with more space that comes in, and you realise how misogynistic a lot of the decisions were,” she tells us. “Not just misogyny, but internalised homophobia and this weird fatphobic industry.”

The latter is one of the reasons why she was so keen to make such a statement in her new album’s artwork, which sees her wearing a long wig with a Boudicca-style aesthetic, holding arrows - a nod to her surname of Fletcher. “Putting on those big wigs, I was suddenly like, I’m taking my clothes off,” she tells me, flicking back her natural cropped bob. “I’m a big curvy girl, and I just want big hair to match the feng shui!” The artwork holds more power still though for the singer. “Growing up in the music industry, they never had my size when we went to shoots,” she recalls, of how she’d be draped in large coats. “No one’s ever allowed me to just be me and celebrate that.”

“I don’t think you have any choice but to become an activist if you want the future of music to be positive.”

Until now. After being dropped by a major label for a second time during Covid, and with some money in the bank earnt from her work as a songwriter, all roads were pointing to independence. “I actually can’t trust people with my project, and the contracts still aren’t as ethical as they should be,” she says, explaining why now was the perfect time to break free from that world. “My art is my business - I believe that at the very least, this art deserves to pay for itself.” ‘I’M A HURRICANE, I’M A WOMAN IN LOVE’ will be released by Fletcher’s own company, Her Own Recordings, which operates with a round table approach to business. Everyone is paid monthly, as opposed to working on commission. “It means, when there’s no money coming in, they still get paid,” she says, of her employees. According to the singer, it costs around £80,000 to release a record in order for everyone to be paid ethically. “It’s a shit ton of money, I made about half of it myself and the other half I had to loan, beg, borrow, steal!”

Låpsley is the first, however, to acknowledge that releasing an album through your own label is a privilege not afforded to most artists. “I can be independent, because I had £40K in the bank, and then could raise another £40K, what fucking young artists can do that shit?” she says, flailing her arms, much to the excitement of Chilli. “Music has always come from London and from rich backgrounds. It’s not that there’s any more [talent there], it’s that there’s less [opportunity] everywhere else.” The flaws of the industry isn’t something Låpsley’s shy about discussing. Now an established artist, songwriter, mentor and business owner, she’s seen the fickle world from all sides. “I don’t think you have any choice but to become an activist if you want the future of music to be positive,” she tells us. “The first step is talking about the issues that we have, even if you can’t do anything about it.” She recommends newcomers seek advice from a professional without a financial stake in their music, and to avoid screen time as much as possible. “The best music’s made in a state of play, and you’re not playing when you’re staring at a fucking screen.”

Låpsley’s on a roll, but before she’s allowed to continue, a high pitched bark interrupts her flow. Young Chilli has become impatient and is demanding some attention. “I don’t want to look back and regret the art I’ve made, because I felt insecure about what other people would think,” she says thoughtfully, fetching a chew from her bag. If this raw, unapologetic record is anything to go by, there’ll be no regrets here. The singer might forever act like it’s her last hurrah, but this clearly won’t be the last we hear from Låpsley - or her vocal pup for that matter.

‘I’M A HURRICANE, I’M A WOMAN IN LOVE’ is out now via Her Own Recordings.

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