From her early days as a music journalist in New York to now crafting her own sonic universe in Los Angeles, Kirsten Izer has learned to turn vulnerability into creative power.
Her new chapter arrives with a renewed sense of confidence, fueled by the reception of her debut EP, “The Perfect Hire,” which positioned her as one of the most authentic voices in the indie scene. Today, Izer speaks from a freer place driven by instinct, theatrical vision, and a desire to create on her own terms, blending intimacy and cinematic flair into every song.
Her latest single, “Anyone But Me,” perfectly captures that evolution. The song is an unflinching reflection on body image, identity, and self-perception. With dense harmonies and restrained production, it transforms pain into something quietly powerful, an anthem for those learning to live with the parts of themselves they struggle to see. Through honesty and emotional precision, Izer turns discomfort into connection and confession into art.
From your beginnings as a music journalist in New York to now crafting your own sonic universe in Los Angeles, you’ve built a distinct identity in the indie scene. How would you describe this chapter of your career?
Thank you for even saying that. This is the most excited I’ve felt so far about my work. I had to kind of prove myself with my debut EP, The Perfect Hire, when it came out earlier this year. Through that project rollout, people saw that the songs were good, started to understand the vision, and really started to trust me as an artist. I’m not saying artists should create for validation, but when you’re that early on in your career and ideating everything in a vacuum, sometimes that external boost helps get rid of the imposter syndrome. To know that there were people who understood the vision was my permission slip to keep going. So now, I’m moving into this next chapter with a lot more confidence. I just want to do what I’ve been doing, but this time I trust my gut instincts even more, and I want to do everything on a more dramatic scale. I want to do what feels most authentic to me, not what others want me to do. I’ve been an artist my whole life, but I always hid that part of myself away. I’m now learning that it is wholly who I am, and I want to carry my artist persona with me through everything I do. I want to dream up new narratives, introduce new characters, and go heavier with the theatrics. You can create whatever reality you want to live in with the power of costumes, editing, and technology, so why wouldn’t you?
Your journey has been deeply intertwined with storytelling, whether through words or melodies. Looking back, what have been the key moments that shaped you into the artist you are today?
Listening to the music that was playing in the house when I was growing up. I have always been such a melody-driven person, maybe because my parents are the same way. Every song I love, no matter what genre it is, usually has some catchy pop element to it. I think the reason for that is that melodies just feel like such a physical thing; they are what allow you to really get into the groove and feel the emotion. I grew up listening to a lot of David Bowie, Television, Talking Heads, stuff like that, thanks to my parents. I love Elliott Smith, boygenius, and Lorde. I like a lot of things that are pretty and ugly at the same time. Imogen Heap is one of my personal favorites with her melodies and genius production. She’s god tier. Go watch an Imogen interview or live performance and tell me I’m wrong. I’m also obsessed with discovering new artists like Debbii Dawson, Hemlocke Springs, and True Blue. Also getting involved in a lot more songwriting sessions with other writers in LA has helped me learn some interesting storytelling tricks and different ways of thinking. But honestly, and some writers/producers hate me for this, I don’t always have a reference. I just do what feels and sounds good to me—I don’t know if it’s been done before, and I don’t really care as long as I like it. My biggest inspirations have always been the artists who sound uniquely like themselves. So, there have been things that have helped shape me while I’ve also just been myself.
Let’s talk about “Anyone But Me,” a song that feels raw and painfully honest. What moment or realization sparked the idea behind this song?
This song started in a songwriting session with three strangers I’ve never worked with before, which is funny because I almost never go into those sessions thinking we’re going to come out of it with a song for my own artist project. A lot of my songs start differently. Sometimes I go into it with a specific idea in mind, while other times the song writes itself and I discover the story later. “Anyone But Me” was the latter. Actually, this song started out from the perspective of one of the co-writers and their personal experience with gender identity. It wasn’t for them to release, but it was our first time meeting, and it was just what we ended up talking about that day (as most writing sessions begin as therapy sessions). I remember in that moment feeling very appreciative of writing sessions and the fact that they allow me to go deep with strangers in that way—I can’t really think of any other times when you’d be in a situation like that. It wasn’t until I went home and realized how deeply I relate to the song (and I couldn’t get the melody out of my head). For me, it shifted into a song about body dysmorphia, which is something I have dealt with my entire life but have always felt uncomfortable talking about. Even now, I rarely talk about it. It’s kinda weird to be putting it on full blast now, haha. I didn’t even really realize what it was until my friend called me out a few years ago and told me I have it.
Did turning that experience into music somehow change your relationship with yourself?
If you want the honest answer, probably not. Any body-related dysmorphia or disorder usually tends to stick with you for life. Of course, I hope I’m wrong, but I still deal with it every day. What’s important is just being self-aware enough to snap myself out of it whenever I’m having those obsessive thoughts. I do feel powerful when I sing it, though, so I guess it has helped in some ways. Taking something that is painful for me and turning it into a beautiful piece of art that I’m so proud of is pretty cool. I’m really lucky to have this outlet and couldn’t imagine having it any other way.
Sonically, you mentioned learning the importance of leaving space and knowing when to do less. Can you describe what restraint means to you as both a songwriter and producer in an industry where it seems that you need to ‘overload’ the music to be taken into account?
I love both maximalism and minimalism. What’s important is that the producer is doing what they need to do in order to serve the song. “Anyone But Me” started out very similar to how it is now, with acoustic guitar and vocals. When we sang it in the room together, it was already so moving; the only thing I really felt a pull toward was maybe adding some strings or something similar. Ari Pent (co-producer) and I tried adding a bunch of stuff to this. Every time we did, it felt like it was distracting us from all of the beautiful stuff that was already there, so we’d end up removing it. The harmonies are so dense, and the first demo we recorded had such a charm to it, we did our best to preserve that. Little soundscape-y details that are felt, not heard, were mostly left in. Also, this is my first time introducing a bunch of vocals from other singers in a song, which is something I have always wanted to do. I love the idea of having it be bigger than me and introducing other characters, while I’m kind of just like the person orchestrating it all. Why limit all my songs to one voice? It makes so much sense for the song, too. That’s also why I wanted to do less production- and instrumentation-wise, so that the harmonies could be upfront and shine.
You’ve collaborated closely with Randall Belculfine. What was the most surprising or vulnerable part of the creative process while shaping “Anyone But Me”?
I co-wrote “Anyone But Me” with Ari Pentelovitch, Jake Cassman, and Andy Chess. I co-produced it with Ari. The most surprising part was probably the fact that four strangers could be put in a room together for the first time and write about such a personal and sad subject matter. What made me feel most vulnerable throughout the process was probably just the fact that this was the first time we were all working together. Ari, Jake, and Andy created a safe space and allowed me to be open about my thoughts and feelings, but more from a logistical standpoint, learning how other people work always takes a second. Randall Belculfine (I call him Randy) and I know each other so well now after working and hanging out for years. Randy mixed this song, and it’s no surprise he absolutely nailed it. Mastered by Tess Greenham, who also nailed it as per usual.
You’ve been compared to artists like Hayley Williams and Alanis Morissette—women known for transforming pain into power. How do you feel about those comparisons?
I feel like I can’t even be compared to Hayley and Alanis because they are some of my favorite artists, and obviously, they’re both iconic and perfect. I’ve had Hayley’s latest record on repeat. I like the idea of transforming pain into power, though. For me, making music is the most rewarding thing and really one of the few things that helps me get over painful situations. Maybe it’s because I’m putting all my time and energy into it, so it’s distracting, but also as a result, I have something that is totally my own. I like having control. Being able to write whatever I want, produce however I want, make visuals however I want… I couldn’t imagine not creating something that expresses my personality and reflects my experiences. I think most unhappiness is a result of not being able to live the life you want. We tell ourselves we can’t write songs or draw pictures or write that recipe book, so we dedicate our lives to doing it for other people. And then we live in pain and resentment because of it. If we took all of that initial pain and packaged it into something that is ours, then we would all have power.
What do you hope listeners see or feel when they hear “Anyone But Me,” especially those who might be fighting similar internal battles?
I don’t wish for people to be going through similar battles, but if they do, I want them to know they are not alone in feeling this way. I don’t want anyone to spend their entire life searching in the mirror for something they might never find. Also, I hope parents listen to it and feel like their fear of passing their insecurities down to their children is universal. Body dysmorphia essentially means how you feel about yourself on the inside does not match how you look on the outside. This is a common thing that a lot of people aren’t aware of, so I hope this helps raise awareness because that is what will give people the skill to notice it happening in real time. I always thought I was weird for dealing with this and that it was a “me” thing.
From a writing standpoint, I love the perspective shift we captured in the second verse and outro, when the protagonist turns into their parent. I hope listeners notice it. It’s subtle, but it gives the song several new layers of meaning, and I’m proud of it.
With “Anyone But Me,” Kirsten Izer solidifies her place as a storyteller unafraid of exposing her most fragile truths. By laying bare her experience with body dysmorphia, she opens a quiet but powerful dialogue about the ways we see ourselves and the masks we wear to survive. It’s vulnerable, yes, but it’s also liberating, a reminder that honesty can be the most radical form of self-acceptance.
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