Penelope Trappes does not belong on the “big” stages and covers

There are some voices that don’t just sing but chart a course. Penelope Trappes is one of them. Her music moves like a fog, like a memory you didn’t know you owned until you heard it. She doesn’t write songs, she channels frequencies. Drone, dream-pop, ambient, voice, form is less important than feeling, and that feeling is undeniable: something ancient, something feminine, something real.

Born in Australia, based in Brighton, raised in sound, Penelope balances between the experimental and the primary. From her early performances with electro-pop duo The Golden Filter to her solo career, she’s been one of the most interesting and dedicated creators of experimental sound in recent years. You won’t see her on the “big” stages, on magazine covers, going viral and shaking in the algorithmic terms of musical reality, she doesn’t belong there. Fortunately, because that way an artistic contribution and image of great value is not in danger of being corrupted in an ocean of mediocrity. Unfortunately, her voice and her art are not heard everywhere, as they should be.

“Don’t give up. You may have to work somewhere else to pay the rent, but when you come home, write, sing, create. Don’t let the system crush your voice. The world right now seems built to turn people into workers, to present creativity as a luxury or even a threat.”

Her series of albums “Penelope One” (2017), “Penelope Two” (2018) and “Penelope Three” (2021) form a trilogy exploring loss, female identity and spiritual rebirth, each acting as a chapter in a sonic diary. In “Heavenly Spheres”(2023) he draws inspiration from medieval mysticism and the spirituality of Hildegard von Bingen, delivering a deeply meditative work.

Her new album, “Requiem”, is a collection of ten haunting ambient compositions as incubators of dreams and nightmares, as rituals around death, mourning, as well as power, self-empowerment and transformation. Through earthy yet transcendent cello bombs, Trappes exorcises traumas personal, historical and transgenerational. Her voice, subtle but omnipresent, is a guide to a space of transition, resistance and self-determination.

Penelope Trappes – A Requiem

We met online on a quiet afternoon that evolved into something much deeper: creation, death, rebirth, capitalism, trees, Björk, patriarchy and the power of silence. Penelope Trappes offers no easy answers. She offers presence, a quiet defiance. Through her voice, her visuals, the way she talks about grief, beauty and resistance, she reminds us that art is not a product. It is a way to remain human in a world that constantly tries to disconnect us.

– Was there a specific moment when you consciously felt you wanted to pursue a career in music?
The passion was always there, from a very young age I was drawn to the scene in some way, shape or form. But it wasn’t until I was 17 that things started to take a more serious turn. That’s when I started vocal lessons, singing church songs and traditional songs from the Hebrides. Then I moved on to opera.

Somewhere inside me I always knew that this was something I loved deeply. But if we’re looking for “that” defining moment, it was when my opera teacher, one of the top in her field, said: “Penelope will never be in the chorus. She will always be a soloist.” That comment defined me. To be shown such confidence by a person who has built a career in this world means something. Even though I later walked away from opera, that’s when it all started to take on real dimensions.

– So even when the talent is there, it takes some kind of support to ignite the spark that propels us forward?
Absolutely, although I think it also depends on the environment you grow up in. Some people are lucky, they grow up in families that boost their confidence early on. Take, for example, Kate Bush. Her family considered her a child prodigy. They supported her completely: everything she did, whether it was writing, singing or playing, they saw it as something wonderful. That belief can be a catalyst.

My own family was different. It was supportive, but also quite critical and conservative. Even after I was 35, I was still listening to the classic: “Well, when are you going to get a real job?” However, I think all of us meet people along the way who inspire us, who believe in what we do, whether it’s music, cooking, or anything creative. They remind us that we have to keep going.

– Research shows that it’s now harder to build a career in music if you don’t come from a wealthy background, if you don’t have privilege or the nepo baby advantage. Are we losing talent because of this new reality?
There’s a lot of talent we’re losing, and we can’t talk about it without naming the system we live in. The Western world is still built on patriarchal, hierarchical structures, and that makes things even more difficult for younger artists. I’ve been in this space for years. I’ve been slowly moving forward, I’ve had some support, some small funding, but for a person starting out now it’s terribly difficult. However, what I always say is: “Don’t give up. You may have to work somewhere else to pay the rent, but when you come home, write, sing, create. Don’t let the system crush your voice.” The world right now seems built to do just that, to turn people into workers, to present creativity as a luxury or even a threat.

Creativity is power: it solves problems, it disrupts norms. So yes, it’s hard. It can take longer. But even so, without privilege, the world needs creative people, perhaps more than ever.