words brit parks
I will write your unfinished gown sleep trap. Your shatter thug cheek bones lost their glass, you are seeing yourself in an empty house, in a cage forged by volatile soaking. Glozing thru her guts, Bunny Lowe has a Memory Palace. You will find the lark leaned darling with songs that make birds feel envy. Her ballads give explosive depths of humanity we cannot escape. She’s here for it, on the ceiling, in your alleyway, all the while creeping like Hera in a bubblegum pink pin up frock.
Brit Parks: Can you speak to your memory palace.
Bunny Lowe: A memory palace is a mechanism used to remember facts or bits of information by turning their components into the contents of a room. It felt fitting. I tried to fit as many details into each song as possible in an attempt to recreate these flashes of things that happened and how they felt. To remember how they felt, I guess. The songs that make up MEMORY PALACE are about the only person I really loved, a fairly sinister Uber Driver that once told me he moved to Vegas to find himself, and the fuck up kid I used to be who thought clove cigarettes were cool and dangerous. I don’t know if I answered your question, but I think I wanted to erect some sort of monument to all those things at once and put all those people together in my “room”. I feel like I did what I came to do, even though it took 4 years, many attempts at producing the songs (over 5 times for Blood in My Nikes), and losing the only person I really loved in the process of finishing it all.
BP: What was your drive to be a song bird. The fire inside per say.
BL: I had too many feelings and nowhere to put them. I wore makeup to the second day of Kindergarten after falling in love with a boy named Ryan the first day in Mrs. Lutz afternoon class. My mother made me wash it off before I could get to school. I heard Fiona Apple’s “Tidal” when I was nine years old and sang all 8 stanzas of Never is a Promise at a talent show that same year. I wanted to make something that beautiful. So I started writing songs when I was 10 years old. Even if the songs didn’t end up as beautiful as Fiona’s, I still wrote them. And kept writing them. Obviously, as a highschool student, I knew I wasn’t living a life worth writing about; I was writing above my emotional paygrade and failing to make any of it mean anything all that real. So I moved to New York City. I didn’t go to college, I worked many terrible day jobs, I had many brilliant and terrible experiences there, and still nowhere to put my feelings. So I moved to Los Angeles. And I got a contract writing songs for other artists but still felt nothing much about my work because it wasn’t my voice singing the words anymore. I turned my back on writing for others for about six months and locked myself in a practice room in Echo Park and for 10 dollars an hour I could be alone with a piano and be anyone I wanted to be. And I didn’t come out until I was satisfied. All to say, I think I was just damned to be one, to be honest.
BP: What influences do you consider worthwhile.
BL: Horrible reality television, the weird stretch of Sunset between Coronado Street and Mohawk, making conversations with strangers (I am a regular Uber passenger), and the inside of the Paris Casino in Las Vegas. People wise? Fiona Apple, Elliot Smith, Conor Oberst, Lana Del Rey, Hole, and Patsy Cline.
BP: Will you be playing out live this year.
BL: If the plague allows it, I’ll be playing my first live show of the year at the end of February. More details soon. xoxo.
The day has gotta to come
Sun will rise-
we will make it through the night
Compass light My Neptune star
My boy on Mars
We’ll be offshore
sailing into liberty, you and me.
High Seas, Kirsty Allison
Images courtesy Bunny Lowe
Words Brit Parks