Sienna Bentley
Anger has never sat comfortably within the box that women are expected to occupy. Sadness is easier to digest, romanticise and package. But rage asks questions and takes up space. For Alex Amor, whose debut album Heavenly Bodies is out today, those tensions represent fertile ground for songwriting. She explores the overlap between grief, longing, frustration and self-discovery, challenging the idea that women should soften or sanitise their emotions to be deemed palatable.
Heavenly Bodies leans further into complexity than ever before. From the reality of navigating creativity in an industry obsessed with marketability to the catharsis of allowing anger onto the page, Amor’s reflections are thoughtful, candid and refreshingly unfiltered.
We caught up with her to discuss female rage, vulnerability as a creative force, the rituals that underpin her songwriting process and why telling the truth can be the most radical thing an artist can do.
You’ve spoken through your music about difficult emotions. Why do you think women are often given permission to be sad, but not necessarily to be angry?
Women are permitted to be sad because it’s passive. We’re denied the right to feel rage because rage is power. It’s disruptive and demands change. That denial of anger is oppressive because women are conditioned to be motionless and to push our emotions inwardly. Throughout history, women who expressed despondence or fury were labelled witches, hysterics or madwomen, sometimes literally being institutionalised or executed. By the Victorian era, the ideal woman was seen as gentle, demure and emotionally restrained. Female anger didn’t fit into that image. It wasn’t viewed as a reaction to injustice, but as a flaw that needed to be fixed. When men are discouraged from feeling sadness and women are discouraged from feeling rage, we all lose something essential: balance.
Have there been moments where you’ve found it easier to write from a place of sadness than from anger, and what did that reveal to you?
Melancholy is something so deeply entrenched in me that it’s almost akin to a warm blanket or a familiar friend. It’s a safe space to retreat into.
I think, as young girls, anger gets conditioned out of us for all of the aforementioned reasons. The “sad girl” trope gets passed around so much that it almost becomes glamourised.
But, boy, have I been writing some angry songs recently, and it feels good.
When writing about these kinds of emotions, how do you avoid diluting or sanitising them for the sake of being ‘likeable’ as an artist?
I think it’s something I’m still unpacking.
If I’m honest, I’ve written feminist songs that have never seen the light of day. I’m currently writing my next album, and I feel far more comfortable taking up space, writing about difficult subjects such as the female experience, and not censoring myself than I did a couple of years ago. Heavenly Bodies touches on anger and how it flows through grief. On my song ‘Inside’, it was fun to shout through the middle eight singing: “Sometimes I wanna scream at the top of my lungs.” I think also artists often have a deep desire to be liked, to be marketable or commercially viable in some way. But at a certain point in an artist’s career, the truth starts to outweigh a watered-down version of events. I’m still working on this.
Do you think audiences are becoming more receptive to hearing women articulate complex emotions like rage, resentment and frustration, or is there still a double standard?
‘The Hand’ by Annabelle Dinda is a beautiful example of all of those emotions.
Personally, I think there’s a real hunger for complexity within the female experience. I love the grey areas of life: that Venn diagram of longing, anger, pain and lust, all wrapped up in three minutes. People are complicated. Women deserve varied, complex stories.
You’ve described songwriting as more than simply making music. Can you tell us more about your creative process – are there particular rituals, habits or environments that help you access that creative space?
Music is vibration and a conduit to a source higher than myself. It’s how I connect to something beyond me, yet singing also helps me return from my mind back into my body.
Meditation is my one non-negotiable ritual every morning. It helps get my creative juices flowing. I always think of songwriting like fishing: if I want to catch a fish, the hook has to be underwater, the bait has to be there and the water has to be flowing. A lot of the time, I’ll be procrastinating, pick up a guitar in my bedroom and just see what comes out. I write constantly in my notes app, so eventually I get a needle and thread and start weaving together a melody and a bit of poetry. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it’s a dud. That’s part of the fun: the mystery of catching a good song.
What’s the relationship between creativity and vulnerability for you? Can one exist without the other?
Saying how you really feel becomes a compulsive pleasure once you do it for long enough. It becomes quite addictive. In life, there are so many expectations to perform, self-censor or hold yourself back. When you’re writing, you can pretty much let it all rip. Sometimes, putting pen to paper is the most honest you’ll ever be.
Debut albums often represent years’ worth of personal growth. Looking back, how are you different from the version of you that started this record?
Oh, gee. I’m a completely different person.
Writing an album is wonderful because you suddenly have this much wider scope: a dozen tracks and a narrative to play with. There’s a real sense of freedom because you’re literally giving yourself room to grow. You can experiment. You can realise the eighth track should be more upbeat. You can crave a turning point halfway through the record. Writing this album has made me want to be an album artist forever. It’s completely changed me as a songwriter and probably doubled the number of songs I write.
Emerging artists are often told to define their brand or fit into a genre. How do you balance external expectations with creating something authentic to you, and what advice would you give to others trying to find their voice while navigating industry expectations?
In 2024, I lost my entire team and had to start from scratch. I A&R’d the record myself, so it actually became much easier to tune into what I authentically wanted to create because I was isolated from other people’s opinions.
My biggest piece of advice would be to build a team that trusts your creative vision and allows you to push it further. Ask yourself: are these people aligned with what I want this project to become?
When I was developing as an artist, I used to ask myself three questions:
- Does this music reflect my personality?
- Does this music reflect my personal taste?
- Am I desperate to show someone this song?
I’d also emphasise the importance of taking your sweet time. Build slowly and write as much as possible.
Rapid-fire
A lyric you wish you’d written
I think about this chorus by CMAT all the time:
I don’t miss you like I should
But I’d kill myself to find out if you think this song is good
“There’s no heaven,” you said, so I can’t
And all I have to show for you is how I’m angered by that fact.
Non-music gig essentials
Don’t forget your glasses. I’ve done this plenty of times and spent an entire gig staring at a blurry blob instead of a band. And gum, perhaps, especially if there’s a fine-looking gentleman or woman standing nearby.
Best live show you’ve seen
Solange at Primavera Sound in 2017 has a special place in my heart. I remember crying my eyes out to ‘Cranes in the Sky’! What a tune!
