Indigo De Souza sings on her track “Heartthrob,” a bold anthem about being exploited in her younger years: “Didn’t know the difference between loving and a haunting.” With soaring pop melodies, she powerfully reclaims her autonomy, repeating the defiant line, “I really put my back into it.” This song serves as the first single from Precipice, her fourth and most polished pop album to date.

The album’s title came unexpectedly to the North Carolina-based artist while working with producer Elliott Kozel (known for collaborations with SZA and Finneas). “We’d been writing more songs than we needed,” she recalls. “I found an old chorus I’d written in a bad mood—just tucked away in some folder. The word ‘precipice’ suddenly felt right, even though I’d never used it before.” For De Souza, it symbolized standing on the brink of change without knowing exactly what lay ahead.

Their creative chemistry was immediate. De Souza, known for her raw indie sound, had long wanted to explore deeper pop territory. What began as casual sessions in Los Angeles quickly turned into Precipice—11 dynamic tracks blending her candid lyrics about mental health, love, and self-reflection with vibrant pop energy. Even after finishing the album, they kept recording whenever she visited LA from her small mountain hometown.

Last fall, Hurricane Helene destroyed De Souza’s home and belongings, sparing only a guitar, laptop, and a few keepsakes saved by roommates. Returning to LA, she channeled the experience into an entirely separate record—a grungier, guitar-driven project with melancholic ballads. She’s also sitting on another completed album leaning toward “experimental country.”

When I mention how strange it must feel for art born from intense emotions to emerge out of sequence, she laughs: “I’m at the mercy of how the industry works.” But Precipice marks a turning point. “I had such clarity making this—understanding my emotions in a new way,” she says. “It’s terrifying but beautiful. I’m embracing the chaos, and even when it’s messy, this vision excites me.”

Below, De Souza discusses pop music, finding community in LA, and no longer fearing the unknown.

Vogue: Has writing always been therapeutic for you? Or does it ever feel difficult because it forces you to confront things you’d rather avoid?

Indigo De Souza: Both, absolutely. Sometimes emotions flow easily into music, but other times I resist writing because it makes me face what I’m feeling. I can’t write from anywhere but an emotional place, so I’ll procrastinate picking up the guitar. But I push through—I have to.

Photo: Hannah SommerWhen I feel emotional about something, I know playing guitar and writing will help.

Given everything you’ve been through, how do you feel about your earlier work now?
All my past albums are special to me in different ways—the music is deeply personal. Each album feels distinct from the last, like I’m constantly shifting my approach to writing. Sometimes when I listen back, it’s almost surreal—I don’t always remember writing certain songs or what I was trying to convey. Take Always, for example—it’s so intense, and the live version is very specific, with a lot of screaming. The process behind it is hazy now. I’m fully present with the songs I’m making, but the older ones feel like ghosts.

Not Afraid was the first song written for Precipice. What emotions were you channeling?
Honestly, I just wanted to connect with Elliot and impress him. Within the first hour, I knew he was special—I loved his energy and workflow. I’d never done a blind session before, but we clicked instantly. I wanted to bring my boldest lyrics and self to the table, and he made me feel safe enough to do that.

Heartthrob was the first single, with a powerful narrative about being taken advantage of as a young woman. How did that song develop?
I’ve been careful about how to discuss this song without being too graphic or triggering. It’s based on a personal experience from my youth, but I wanted to speak to a collective reality—especially for women—of being young and manipulated by someone older. Turning that feeling of entrapment into something loud and powerful was freeing.

Crush and Heartbreaker feel like twin songs—one about the rush of a new crush, the other about the pain that can follow. How did you arrange the album?
This was actually the easiest album for me to sequence, though it’s usually tough. You’re right—those two songs are about the same person and the emotions I was feeling.

This album blends your guitar-driven roots with more pop-forward sounds. Why explore pop now?
Part of why I came to L.A. and worked with different producers was because I’ve always wanted to make pop music—but with deep, meaningful lyrics. Pop is my favorite genre. It was refreshing to lean into it in the studio, since I usually deal with heavy, cathartic emotions. Not that pop isn’t emotional—it is—but there’s a specific joy in it I wanted to capture.

Elliott isn’t a pop producer, which made me hesitant at first. But my desire to make pop and his versatility as a producer created something special.

What kind of pop do you love?
I’m obsessed with punchy, glossy, energetic pop that feels romantic. Mura Masa is a dream collaborator—along with Charli XCX and Caroline Polachek.

Can you tell me about the cover art? I know your mom designs them. This one—with the skeleton creature in water—is striking.
I want each cover to show the character aging. This record is brighter and clearer than anything I’ve made before—the sound is crisp and potent. It made me think of a vibrant coral reef, this colorful underwater world. The skeleton represents something raw beneath the beauty.The word “precipice” here represents being caught between two worlds—like moving in and out of water.

How has your idea of home and community changed?
I still feel like I’m on the edge of something completely new—I don’t know how it’ll unfold. I spent my whole life in small North Carolina towns, so moving to LA was a huge leap out of my comfort zone. But it’s been incredibly rewarding for my art. Here, I can make music whenever I want, and my collaborators live just down the street. It’s an energetic, creative space for me.

Back in North Carolina, my community was deeply rooted in the land—small, intimate, and full of nuance. We’d gather around fires, go hiking. For my recent birthday, we held a ceremony in a field and ate cake under the stars, singing and sharing words. Now, I’m learning to appreciate different kinds of community and embrace what LA offers. I’m inspired by the ambition here—people striving to be their best selves, constantly refining their craft. It’s beautiful.

This is your first album since your borderline personality disorder diagnosis. How has putting a name to it shaped your art?
Having a diagnosis—knowing there’s a framework and resources for how I feel—has been grounding. I’m in a great DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) group here in LA, and I think you can hear that newfound clarity in my music. Before, I often felt lost. Things are still complicated, but I have more stability now when creating.

What’s inspiring you lately?
Right now, I’m letting my brain melt over this season of Love Island… but honestly, what inspires me most is the human experience. Whether it’s reality TV or a deep conversation by the lake watching geese, it all fuels me.

(This conversation has been edited and condensed.)