Navigating Music, Identity, and Authenticity: A Conversation with Amelia Day
Photos by Lillie Hollabaugh and @analog_lens courtesy of Amelia Day’s Instagram
By Emma Schwichtenberg
Amelia Day, a queer folk rock powerhouse carving out her own space alongside legends like Brandi Carlile, has been chasing music since the days she banged on pots and pans as a toddler. Even back then, Day had a knack for making noise that turned heads (or at least caught her parents’ attention). By the time she was five, her fascination with the family’s upright piano blossomed into formal lessons, thanks to her parents, who were casual piano players themselves. Watching them play always lit a fire in her, and she was determined to create that same magic.
Her first teacher, Sharon Beattie-White, quickly recognized that Day wasn’t just about mastering the right notes; she was eager to create her own. While most kids dutifully slogged through scales and classical pieces, Day was far more interested in improvising and crafting melodies of her own. Beattie-White nurtured this creative spark by assigning her compositions and giving her room to explore, transforming piano lessons into a budding songwriting workshop. Little did she know, she was helping lay the foundation for Day’s signature blend of carefree melodies and gritty, confessional lyrics.
Day’s love for music was rivaled only by her passion for storytelling. As a child, she filled notebooks with poems and short stories, and by middle school, these two creative outlets naturally fused into songwriting. In high school, her journalistic lyrics evolved into emotionally charged anthems (as they do for most teenagers navigating angst and identity). She continued writing with fervor but battled a major obstacle: crippling stage fright. For years, Day hoped she could simply write and record her music, letting the songs speak for themselves without ever stepping on stage.
Spoiler alert: she conquered that fear. Through time and persistence, Day found her stride as a performer, and live shows have since become her favorite part of being an artist. Blending her childhood influences of folk, rock, and jazz with her raw, heartfelt delivery, Day has crafted a sound that’s both fresh and nostalgic.
Converge Music spoke with Day about her creative process, the inspiration behind her upcoming projects, and how her journey as a queer artist has influenced her music and personal growth.
So, as someone who also struggles with stage fright, how did you figure out how to move past that?
Oh my God, dude, it was… it was definitely a trial-and-error thing. But I did end up with a strategy that really worked for me—and I think it could work for a lot of people too. It’s as simple as forcing yourself to take any opportunity you can to perform in front of people.
For me, the most effective thing was getting in as much repetition as possible. I took every chance I had—open mics, writer’s rounds, house shows, playing at farmers’ markets, you name it. The more I performed, the more comfortable I became. It stopped feeling like this huge, overwhelming event that only happened once every few months and became more of a routine. But even with that, performing still kept its excitement.
And honestly, the worst thing you imagine happening? It will happen at some point. Your voice will crack. You’ll forget lyrics. But once it does happen, you realize it’s not actually that terrible. The more you perform, the more you learn to handle those moments. These days, I still forget lyrics on stage sometimes, or I’ll completely mess up a part I thought I had nailed. But I’ve gotten better at hiding it and pivoting so smoothly that even people who know my songs really well usually don’t notice when something goes wrong.
It’s definitely been a process, though. I used to have full-on panic attacks—or at least near panic attacks—before a lot of performances. There was so much anxiety around it. But now, performing is one of the most enjoyable parts of what I do. I’ve learned to channel that nervous energy into something productive.
Of course, I still get nervous before some shows. But now it’s more of a normal level of nerves—not the debilitating kind. At the end of the day, the only way out was through. I just had to keep making myself do it.
What’s the biggest crowd you’ve performed for so far?
Ooh, that’s a good question. I’d say probably at Seattle Pride Fest. I don’t know exactly how many people were in the crowd, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was around 800—maybe 1,000, possibly more. There were a lot of people milling through, since Pride is such a huge event in Seattle—one of the biggest cities for it.
It was such an incredible experience. I honestly thought I was going to be on one of the tiny little side stages, but they actually had us on one of the main, legit stages with this big lawn in front, right by the Space Needle. It was so cool.
What was it like performing for a big crowd compared to a smaller, more intimate space?
It’s funny, but in some ways, performing for a big crowd is less intimidating. In an intimate space, you can see everyone—you can see their reactions—and there’s almost this extra pressure to interact with people individually. That can feel a lot more intense.
That said, I try to perform pretty similarly in both settings. No matter the crowd size, I think it’s important to make the performance feel like an intimate conversation rather than just performing at people. With a bigger crowd, though, you have to project more and go a little larger-than-life because people might be farther away or not able to see and hear you as clearly. So, it’s about finding ways to make things bigger while still maintaining that sense of authenticity.
For me, authenticity and intimacy are the most important parts of any performance—especially in my genre. Of course, it depends on your style, but I try to keep that connection no matter the crowd size.
And you’ve also performed with other people on stage. I feel like that kind of changes the performance—like it shifts the pressure on you in a way.
Absolutely, yeah. Whenever I’m performing with the whole band, there are definitely more factors to think about, like, “Is this person going to get their entrance right?” or “How’s this solo going to go?” and “Are we solid on the transitions?” But at the same time, there’s less pressure on me to carry everything. I don’t have to handle the tempo or all the instrumentation on my own, so I can focus more on being a performer—being the frontwoman or frontman.
I definitely prefer playing with the full band because it adds so much more dynamic interest. The highs are higher, the lows are lower, and there’s just so much more you can do instrumentally. Obviously, with more instruments, you have more possibilities to play with. It’s just so fun.
Your music spans multiple genres, which I absolutely love in an artist. How do you decide which style to use for a particular song? And do you ever feel pressure to conform to just one genre?
Oh my God, on the pressure to conform to the question—absolutely! I was honestly really nervous about my last project, the Little One, because it covers such a wide variety of genres. There’s funk-pop, soul-pop, a jazzy Norah Jones-esque song, folk-rock alternative, and even a grunge bridge section. There’s just so much packed into it. I wasn’t sure if people who found me through my more popular songs—most of which lean heavily on the folk side—would connect with the rest of the project since it’s so varied in style, performance, and lyrical content.
But I was really pleasantly surprised. People who loved my folkier stuff, like Eastward of Eden or Therapist’s Web Dream, also resonated with my more upbeat, poppy songs. I think it’s because all the music is still coming from the same voice, the same narrative style, and the same rhythmicity. That was incredibly affirming—to see that people appreciate my music not just for the specific genre but for the storytelling and writing behind it.
As for choosing a genre, it’s often an unconscious decision. When I’m writing, I try to make the sound fit the theme, emotions, and story I’m telling. Most of the time, that ends up being in a folk style because it’s what I grew up with and where I feel most at home as a storyteller. Folk lends itself beautifully to storytelling.
That said, not every song fits into that mold. For instance, Skipping Down the Sidewalk, which is one of my most popular tracks, wouldn’t work as a folk song. It’s not the deepest song in the world—it’s playful, full of fun wordplay and patterned verses. That carefree, hopeful energy needed something more upbeat, so it fit perfectly in a soul-pop style. If I tried to put those same lyrics into a folk arrangement, it would feel so weird and out of place, you know?
So, it’s really about finding the sound that best captures the heart of the song.
How do you approach lyric writing? Do you start with the story or a visual image, or does a melody eventually kind of make its way into the mix?
Yeah, that's a great question. I often start from a concept—either a concept, a beginning line, or a visual image that I’ve come up with, based on either something I’m going through or something that fascinates me. If it’s more of a general concept and not a personal, journalistic kind of song, it might be a broader idea.
Sometimes, though, I’ll be practicing something on guitar or just messing around and stumble on a really interesting chord progression. That might inspire a melody, which I then build on. Usually, though, I keep a long-running Notes app full of title ideas, lyric snippets, or lines that I’m excited about but haven’t put to music yet. I often pull from that when I’m working on something on guitar or when I already have a melody in mind.
The concept usually anchors the whole process, even if I do start with the melody. I care a lot about lyrics—probably more than anything else—so that’s typically where my focus lands. But honestly, my process is super unorganized and sporadic. There’s no one way a song comes to life for me. I really admire people who have a structured, consistent songwriting routine. I imagine it makes accessing creativity easier. But at the same time, I think it’s cool that each song I write feels like it has its own unique origin story.
I mean, in a way, that is your routine, right? I feel like your process is naturally flexible. It’s like a routine that adapts to you as a person.
Exactly, yeah. I love the idea of having a Notes app for ideas. It’s funny because sometimes I scroll through it and find things that make me think, “What was I even talking about here?” Especially with notes from a couple of years ago, or even three years ago, I’ll look back and wonder, What in the world? I thought this was something?
And then you’re like, “Wow, that person was really angsty in that moment.”
Exactly, exactly! But for every one of those, there’s usually a nugget of something good. Sometimes I’ll completely forget about an idea, and when I rediscover it later, it can be really inspirational. I’ve actually finished some of my favorite songs by revisiting older voice memos or notes that I started years prior.
I think there’s something valuable about sitting with ideas and letting them evolve over time—both actively and passively. I’m not a big fan of the “start and finish a song in one day” process, although sometimes it happens, and when it works, it feels super alive and fresh. But I think the songs that hit the hardest often come from sitting with ideas, processing them, and reworking them over time. Sometimes you just need to take a break, step away for a month, and then come back with fresh eyes (or ears) to see something completely new in what you started.
What made you want to make your new EP more genre-diverse? What made you want to include so many different genres instead of sticking to just one throughline throughout the album?
Oh, man, I was really conflicted about it, to be honest. I’d love to say it was a totally conscious decision—that I wanted to show how you can explore all these different genres and that it reflected the themes of the project—but really, the project came together around the songs I was most excited about at the time.
These songs revolved around certain themes, like adulthood and kind of that quarter-life crisis stuff. But honestly, they were just the songs I felt the most passionate about among the many others that were in the running.
I did feel the pressure to make everything sound more similar, to stick to a cohesive style. But that didn’t feel true to the music I wanted to put out at that moment. So, I thought, You know what? This project thematically explores this sense of freedom—letting go, not being so uptight, and not conforming to societal expectations. Why not let myself embrace that same freedom within the genres themselves?
That’s really where it came from. I had these songs, and I let them guide the project rather than trying to force them into one particular style.
So, how has your journey as a queer artist shaped your music, and what message do you hope resonates most with queer individuals who are listening to your songs, especially songs that reflect your evolution as an artist?
Yeah, it’s a very heavy thing to explore, as much as it is a very joyful thing. When I was first releasing music, I wasn’t openly out, though a lot of my songs still revolved around very queer themes and queer imagery. But I wasn’t exploring that openly. For example, in When You Let Down Your Hair, one of my favorite songs from my first project, I wasn’t able to talk about it openly. The song is literally about dating someone who isn’t able to be fully themselves, who has a lot of internalized homophobia, who is still in the closet, struggling with that but still wanting to be loved openly. At the same time, I wasn’t fully talking about my own sexuality. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot, especially with my newer music. I always want that to be something I don’t shy away from, something I incorporate into my music, but I don’t want it to become a thing where my entire brand is focused on being specifically a queer artist, or just a surface-level exploration of queerness as a kind of signaling thing to gain queer support. I want it to be authentically about my experience.
I think there’s a lot of pressure to market yourself as a particular thing, especially as a smaller independent artist, but I think that can sometimes work against representing your identity correctly. Even though I’m open now, I still struggle with a lot of internalized homophobia from growing up. I’m not sure exactly what it’s tied to, but honestly, I think it’s just the experience of being a queer person in this world. It’s always something to work through—feeling different and othered. But through my music and my life, I’ve turned that into something I take pride in. I claim being different, rather than feeling ostracized by it, and instead find those people who support me.
A lot of my music revolves around this idea of being genuine and authentic, not allowing yourself to conform to what people expect you to do. I think that’s something I’ve struggled with for a while because I’m an absolute people pleaser. I really care about what people think of me, I really care about success, however that’s defined. Even in my career choices or personal life, it’s something I’ve struggled with overcoming. At one point, I thought I would be an engineer, and I had to work through this idea of what people expected of me—not just doing something because I was good at it, but figuring out what I was genuinely passionate about. And I think that applies to identity, sexuality, and relationships—not just doing what people want you to do, but truly being yourself, if you’re safe to do so. If you are, that’s the most affirming and fulfilling thing you can do. Yeah, it’s just to be honest.
To be honest, yeah. Sorry, that’s a lot. I think I’m kind of thinking through it as I’m talking, because it’s a really deep question, and one that I don’t consciously think about anymore now that I’m comfortable and out, very open about everything. It’s not something I ruminate on as much, but it’s still important for me to think about because I’m representing this whole community, and a lot of people look to artists in that community. I remember in high school, there were only a handful of out queer artists. It didn’t matter what style their music was, or if I really liked their genre, I resonated with them because of their honesty, especially given all the hatred at the time. It’s really cool to be taking on that role for some people now, though it’s very weird.
Have you received any feedback from people about your music and how it has resonated with them?
Yeah, actually, and that’s been one of the coolest things. It’s honestly really hard to soak in and feel deeply because my music is such a personal thing to me, and it’s hard for me to really conceptualize—just realize that it has that deep impact on other people as well, people I don’t know, who have never met me. It’s a really beautiful thing, and it’s a hard thing to fully comprehend. But that has honestly really helped me. I’ve been having probably the toughest couple of months of my life these past few months, and hearing things like that from people, having them tell me how much my music has meant to them, has been incredibly encouraging. It makes me feel like I actually have some kind of impact in this sphere, beyond just the numbers, beyond being able to make a career out of it. The idea that there’s something important being done with the art I’m creating is really, really cool and meaningful.
Okay, a question I really wanted to ask: Your EP Little One reflects on childhood and the transition into adulthood. I was wondering if you had any advice to give your younger self that kind of originated from the creation of that EP.
Yeah, honestly, it revolves around a lot of the themes I’ve already talked about. Just not fighting the things that I love and not feeling pressure to impress anyone else or be something I'm not. If I’m happy and fulfilled doing what I’m doing, then that’s the most important thing. It’s something I’m still very much learning right now. As much as I make choices and decisions that work toward that goal, I definitely still feel this need to impress others and conform to expectations. But I think that’s something I felt very deeply early on—not as a family thing, but just out of my own self, for some reason. It’s always been very important to me. But yeah, I think if I could have thought about that earlier on, it would have offered me a lot of peace of mind and levity, both in terms of my queerness, my career choices, and my personal life choices. Just authenticity—it's the biggest thing.
What's coming up next? What should fans be looking out for?
Yeah, I’ve got a few songs in the final stages of pre-release that will be coming out this winter, which I’m so excited about. Genuinely, three of the songs I’m most proud of writing and am most excited about the recordings for. It’s the first time I’ve ever recorded in a full studio setting with a live band, and I think it really shows in the final product. These songs have had so much work put into them, both lyrically and arrangement-wise, and I can’t wait to share them. They’ll be coming out this winter. I’ve also got a Seattle show on January 16 at one of my absolute dream venues. I grew up about an hour south of Seattle, and anytime a band came to Neumos, it was a huge event if it was a band I was a fan of. So it’s surreal to not only be playing that venue in January, but to be headlining it. Super nervous, but mostly excited. The bands we’re playing with are so talented—Small Paul and a band called Warren Dunes—it’s going to be a stacked show.
Probably the thing I’m most excited about in the future is my very first East Coast tour happening in March. It’s my first full band tour ever, which is also super exciting. I did my first West Coast tour in September, but most of that was solo acoustic, so this time, I’ll be traveling with a cool band. I’ll be co-headlining with one of my very best artist friends in Nashville, Miki Fiki. We’ll be hitting New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, DC—so many cities! I’ll send you the full list via email, but yeah, it’s the first time I’ll be playing anywhere on the East Coast, and we’re playing some really awesome venues. So I’m just beyond excited for that. We’re almost done with the poster too—it’s going to be so fun!
Find Day on Instagram @ameliadaymusic.
