Since 2014, Lowly have developed a sound that combines airy vocals and atmospheric arrangements with guitars that occasionally bring in elements of Americana. The band formed in Aarhus, Denmark, and released their debut album, Heba, in 2017, followed by Hifalutin in 2019 and Keep Up The Good Work in 2023. They have often been described as dream pop, although keyboardist Kasper Staub says that label doesn’t quite fit.
Lowly have continued to try out different ways of writing and producing songs, and for their latest album, Softy, they took a new approach to recording. After feeling that their previous album had become too focused on production and the final result, the band wanted to spend more time playing together and letting the songs develop naturally. They rented a house on a remote island, set up their own studio, and focused on having the songs completed before bringing them into the recording process. The result is an album that leaves more room for spontaneity and the occasional “happy accident.”
I spoke with Kasper about Softy, why the band wanted to change how they worked, moving away from perfectionism, having four members contribute lyrics, and how Lowly have maintained their creative relationship without putting unnecessary pressure on the band.
The transcript has been edited for length, flow, and clarity.
Carl Dexter: You decided to self-produce Softy, partly because you wanted to work together in a more caring and sustainable way. Still, you also said you were moving forward. So with that in mind, what changed in the way that you worked during this most recent album?
Kasper Staub: I think we lost touch with each other on the previous record. That sounds a bit dramatic, but we reached a point where everything was a bit too production-minded, with eyes on the result, and not really cohesive, and not focused on how it felt working together. And we wanted to just direct our attention towards that, and the limitation of not having a professional studio.
But on the other hand, we wanted more friendship and intimacy, no clock running, and just being together, and let the music be like a prolonged breath of our conversation. We rented a house on a desolate island in Denmark and just stayed there, setting up our own studio. I think autonomy is a good word as well, like the idea of having ownership of the music.
Carl: And more specifically, what changed in how you approached Softy compared to, let’s say, your last album, Keep Up The Good Work?
Kasper: Softy is more live and played in the room together, and most importantly, we wanted the songs to be songs before taking them to the studio. Keep Up The Good Work was a lot of sketches and ideas that were brought to the studio and went into the DAW. We wanted to have stories and songs ready before we even had a document. If it didn’t have complete lyrics, including a second verse, it wouldn’t make the cut for the studio. So we were pretty rigid about the songwriting—it was easier to just have fun, learn the songs, and play them, and not be too much on the computer.
Carl: You said you didn’t want a record that was overly produced. Was there anything on Softy that you deliberately left unfinished, or just said, okay, it’s maybe not technically perfect, but we’re going to leave it alone?
Kasper: I think you can hear that in all the songs; that we’re not being too perfectionist. I think it also comes with the experience we have now. We have tried a lot of times to release songs that we didn’t think were perfect, and letting other people decide, like, just let go of the music a little earlier, and not being too controlling. But a lot of happy accidents and just things that happened in the studio made it on the record throughout.
Carl: More specifically about Softy, I noticed some big themes going through the album: family, love, loss, change. Did those emerge naturally, or were they something you consciously wanted to explore even before the album came about?
Kasper: This is what our hearts and minds were full of, so it’s hard not to write about them all the time. The times we’re in right now, both locally and globally, there’s a lot of change; a lot of saying goodbye to established things and things you took for granted in the world and in your life. So it’s kind of deliberate, but it’s also not so straightforward, too.
Carl: In many of your songs, there are a lot of different feelings, almost tugging against each other or pushing up against each other. I feel like sometimes the lyrics are contrasted with the musicianship, if that makes sense.
Kasper: The arrangements are oftentimes the initial response to the song. For instance, the drums: they’re often like that because Steffen, the drummer, is a really thorough person. He wants to make ten different beats to a song and just analyze what would be the right thing and make layers, layers, layers. He didn’t really get to do that this time. So I think it’s a new thing. And you mentioned the word musicianship; it’s very much his immediate musicianship and his response to the song that has survived the finished album. I think it’s the same all the way around, actually. A lot of immediate responses to the songs—like your first idea for the arrangement, before really thinking too much—have survived. And the album is a great part of it.
The lyrics to “What Is It For” started as an instrumental that I sent to Nanna, and she top-lined it. So that’s another curious thing about Lowly: we have several lyric writers; four out of five of us have written lyrics for this album, so it’s very special. It kind of becomes a new voice, a combined voice of all our ways of writing, and because we’ve been together for so long, we also kind of morphed into a collective voice we are using, but it’s different from most bands that have one main lyric writer.
Carl: I was wondering about that because you did say that you guys have become closer, but has there ever been a time that maybe not everybody’s idea was able to be presented on one particular album, and if so, how do you maybe reconcile that?
Kasper: I think one thing we’ve been good at is always communicating in advance, and we are all very sensitive people. So it wouldn’t be possible to have the band if we couldn’t do that. It’s kind of a back-and-forth thing. I think part of the band is letting go of your own vision a bit and surrendering to the community.
Carl: I hear about so many bands breaking up because they can’t reconcile those differences, those artistic visions. It sounds like you guys are obviously in sync, which is even better.
Kasper: It’s also to do with some structural things in the music business. There’s so much “it’s a work, and it’s not a work,” or “it’s a job, and it’s not a job.” And it’s your dreams, and it’s often your friends, and there’s no money, and just to put this pressure on people in their job so early, and it’s a recipe for drama and hardship. So we’re not living off of Lowly, any of us. We have day jobs, and it sounds so boring, but I think this is kind of the key to the band’s longevity.
Carl: How do you find that balance between your day job and performing? That sounds very busy.
Kasper: It’s tough, but it’s also some things we have given up on, right? We don’t have this idea of a breakthrough anymore; we’re happy if we can keep the band together, still make music, and play some important shows. And people are waiting for this record. We’re very grateful for that.
But I think we’d rather have a bit less activity and keep the band going than put too much pressure on everyone and possibly split up. But it’s a cycle, right? We have a break, somebody gets some kids, we’re going to the studio, we’re having a tour, and then a long hiatus again. So it’s a cycle, and we try to arrange our jobs around that. But I don’t want to pretend we wake up every morning, go to the studio, and make Lowly music. We’re very lucky to work with music in our day jobs; almost all of us teach and also play with other artists sometimes. We’re lucky that it has a little correlation, even though I think sometimes it can also be nice that your day job is not music, but the grass is always greener, you know?
Carl: As far as Softy and the song “Brave,” lyrically, it’s asking questions about protecting family and what you can offer them. But as you were in the process of writing that, did it encourage you or maybe make you think differently about your role as a parent or family member in any kind of way? Did it help you come to new realizations?
Kasper: Yeah. In terms of the collective writing as well, Soffie and I wrote that together, and I had the line “I’m not brave” because I was frightened by the way we suddenly spoke about war again. I grew up in the ’90s, when it was sort of in the past, at least in Scandinavia. I know it wasn’t in other places, so I was trying to do that and wanted to use the word “deserter” in the song, and the possibility that you don’t have to accept this terminology and lingo.
But then I met with Soffie, and she brought this whole aspect of being a parent within that, and now raising kids in that environment, and I think we’re both longing to write more directly, Soffie and me. We grew up with Thom Yorke and Sigur Rós and artists where the lyric writing maybe wasn’t too direct, so it’s sort of become our beacon and our default for songwriting . . . very much focused on phonetics and imagery.
Carl: You mentioned Sigur Rós, and they’re almost the opposite of direct. I think every listener will take something slightly different from them.
Kasper: Yeah. I mean, music as a suggestion for another world and utopia is very much something we have in common in the band, and being able to imagine something unimaginable in that event really offers that. I mean, it transports you and transforms you. But sometimes you need to react to your former self and change your habits, and the more transparent songwriting is kind of a good example of that.
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