Shura and Cassandra Jenkins Love New York

Shura is a singer-songwriter based in London; Cassandra Jenkins is a singer-songwriter from New York City. Ahead of the release of Shura’s latest record — I Got Too Sad For My Friends, out May 30 on Play It Again Sam — she’s released a video for her single, “Richardson,” on which Cassandra features. Last month, the friends caught up over Zoom about their collaboration, the new album, and more. 
— Annie Fell, Editor-in-chief, Talkhouse Music 

Shura: Cassandra, are you taking us on a tour of your house?

Cassandra Jenkins: Yes, and I’m gonna speak to you while I take you on the tour. A little audio guide through my small New York apartment. Or, relatively large, honestly.

Shura: High ceilings, it looks like. Mind you, all ceilings are high when you’re five-foot-two. [Laughs.] How are you doing?

Cassandra: I’m good. I’m having a nice slow morning after a series of high speed days.

Shura: High speed days, not a fan. 

Cassandra: I love low speed. So today is a good day. How are you? 

Shura: I’m absolutely exhausted. So apologies in advance, because I couldn’t sleep ‘til about 4 AM. I was having that thing — I call it “rotisserie chicken-ing.” You know, you get in bed and you just sort of spin around like a rotisserie chicken, waiting for the perfect sleeping position.

Cassandra: You’re talking physically, not mentally.

Shura: Well, I mean, both.

Cassandra: [Laughs.] The brain as a little rotisserie chicken spinning around in there is an image that I have never had before. That feels very apt to me in this moment, after scrolling Facebook Marketplace a little bit too much.

Shura: What would your version of rotisserie chicken-ing be?

Cassandra: I mean, every day, all day, my brain is just spinning constantly. Often on the same spit. Or it’s many — I did also just picture, like, 150 mini rotisserie chickens at any given time.

Shura: It’s like you’re doing the Fantasia broomstick of rotisserie chickens.

Cassandra: [Laughs.] Tiny, tiny chickens.

Shura: Yours is way scarier to me. But, I mean, it’s been a minute since I’ve been in the saddle when it comes to album-ing. So I definitely forgot how mad that experience is for the brain.

Cassandra: Yeah. I’m wondering how you’re doing with telling your story in the context of press. You know, we’re storytellers, that’s what we do. But in the context of doing press, I feel like it’s different. You might end up telling the same story many times, you might try to tell it differently every time. So how does it feel for your brain in this moment?

Shura: Well, you definitely do tell the same story. I find that I do kind of iterate or improve. Like, I hope that by the end of a press cycle, the story is maybe more considered. I think when I start press — and I’d be really curious, actually, about your approach — I don’t consider it at all. I don’t sit down and go, How am I going to talk about this record? Because I think I don’t fully understand it. The therapy of talking through it helps me to understand what it is that I’ve made. 

This album’s definitely been trickier to talk about. Because the last records are so much around… I don’t know, the first one’s all about fancying someone who doesn’t fancy me back, and the second album is all about being in love. And those things are really fun to talk about. But being sad or struggling, I think, is something where I’m aware that there’s maybe a responsibility to talk about it the right way, but I don’t necessarily have the tools to do that. And then also, I don’t want to be this big, sad, inflatable cavemen club just hitting people on the head with my own [feelings]. So it’s taken a bit of time to figure it out.

Cassandra: Yeah, talking about a breakup album or something like that, it almost feels more tangible than the slippery kind of… I mean, we want to do everything we can to avoid saying the words “mental health,” right? I feel like 2020 killed that phrase. But that is essentially what you’re talking about. And I feel like the hardest part for me was my resistance to the idea of becoming some kind of spokesperson for whatever emotional state I’m experiencing. I don’t feel qualified to be a spokesperson for anything. 

Shura: I feel remarkably underqualified for everything right now. [Laughs.] 

Cassandra: [Laughs.] But also, you said that you learn about your album along the way, and I think that’s very true. That’s one of the wonderful things about getting to talk to other writers — they’re hearing what you’re doing and finding things in it and giving you insights on things that you wrote that you might not have realized, like patterns or little lyrical choices that you’ve made that came out of you because they needed to, but might mean something different to someone else on the other side. I’m curious if there have been any revelations.

Shura: Yeah. I always think it’s like smart people figuring me out, and then making me feel like I’m smart, because I’m like, “Oh, yeah, definitely did that on purpose” — no. But I think we do do things on purpose, unconsciously.

Cassandra: Yeah.

Shura: I do listen to little bits when people analyze things. I know that everyone says, “Don’t read reviews,” but I’ve always done it. I mean, with the big caveat that I think you have to not believe any of it — you can’t believe it if it’s good, and then you don’t have to believe it when it’s bad. You can’t just be like, All the good stuff is right and all the bad stuff is wrong.

Cassandra: Yeah, you can’t get attached to either. If someone says you’re a genius, don’t listen to that as much as if someone says you’re a total idiot. Just try to stay somewhere in the middle.

Shura: Right. But I was listening to something talking about the first single, “Recognize,” where someone had commented on the fact that I didn’t finish the thought. And that was an interesting [idea], which I realized then I did do in our song. There’s a lyric [in “Richardson”] that comes back where it’s like, “I got too down around my friends. It was slow, but they stopped answering, so I stopped talking.” And then the song finishes with, “They stopped answering, so I stopped.” And originally it was the full line, and I remember saying to Luke [Saunders], the producer, “I think we should cut that line.” I wasn’t really thinking about it. I just felt instinctively that that’s what I wanted to happen. And it’s sort of like a realization of the lyric itself. It’s quite literal.

Cassandra: I mean, it feels very evocative. To finish the thought that you started about someone saying you’re not finishing your thoughts, and there’s something problematic about that— 

Shura: Well, no, I think they meant it as a positive.

Cassandra: Ah, OK. So they were saying you left us hanging.

Shura: Yeah. I can’t remember exactly what they said, but I just thought that it was nice that they’d noticed. Because it’s a thing that I did where the sentence was one way, and then at the end of the chorus, I didn’t finish the sentence. And I’m like, Wait, is this my one trick?

Cassandra: Well, hey, there’s nothing wrong with a device. Because you are developing your own toolbox, your own series of things that you love to do, and the more you do it, the more skillful you get at this one move that only you know how to do. It’s very cool. But to also sing your praises, it’s funny on several levels. To me, it’s a very songwriter thing to do: to take a sentence, change one word and the meaning changes entirely. I love when that happens. Your own writing will surprise you in those moments. But also, it’s funny because it’s like, “Period, full stop, done.” The song is over and it leaves you a little bit gutted there at the end, when it’s just you and the guitar and a little bit of the street noise and it just comes to a sudden halt. And that’s what, emotionally, maybe that felt like to you at that time too. I get a little bit of goosebumps when I think about how that ending makes me feel, and leaves you by the side of the road on “Richardson” just kind of looking out. Also, maybe there’s something, too, about — I don’t know if you do this, but if I’m feeling pensive or sad, I’ll actually stop walking mid-walk. And I feel like that is what that felt like to me — sometimes I’ll just have a realization or a thought and it consumes me so much that I’ll be in the middle of a walk and not realizing that I’m just kind of standing there. 

Shura: When you were talking about things taking on a different meaning, I just yelled, “‘Hard Drive!’”

Cassandra: [Laughs.] 

Shura: I remember hearing “Hard Drive” the first time, and hearing [the phrase] come up a second time — “But it was a hard drive” — and I was like, Woah.

Cassandra: I mean, I can’t help it. As a member of my family, puns are just such a thing. And I really roll my eyes at it — when I think of one, I’m half rolling my eyes and then half, like, rubbing my hands together devilishly. I was like, Oh, my god, that’s so cheesy. And, Oh, my god, I cannot help myself.

Shura: For me, I was just like, This is the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. I was thinking about it the other day, because it was the story of someone telling you that the mind is like a hard drive, and that was just blowing my mind. I mean, maybe this is when you stop on your walks, where you think of something and it’s almost like you can’t function as a human being for a second. It’s like that lifting of the veil. Or you might read something in a book which unlocks a door, makes you think about something from a different perspective.

Cassandra: Yeah. You can look at it two ways — I can’t help but be a little bit critical of that, because I realize I’m up in my tower, in my head just controlling everything and have lost touch with my body entirely because the most basic physical automatic motions have stopped working because the brain has completely taken over. And that’s actually something that I tried to avoid. But then there’s also this other side of it that’s maybe a momentary ecstasy of just being completely overtaken by a thought, or of some motion that’s happening, that makes everything stop. So I’m maybe marrying those two things, or torn between them.

Shura: Maybe this is a slight overshare, but when I was struggling with anxiety with the first record — which, that whole album is basically just inspired from my first panic attack — I was encouraged to go to therapy by my management. I went and it was super transformative. I remember doing this exercise where you have to scan your whole body and think about how it feels. I remember my therapist being like, “How do your legs feel?” And I was like, “What do you mean, how do my legs feel? I can’t feel anything.” And they were like, “Close your eyes. How do you know you have legs?” And I was like, “Well, I know I have legs because they’re there.” I really struggled, and she had to lead me. She said, “Well, can you feel the chair that you’re sat on?” And she made this observation that I was like a disembodied brain wandering around like that. I considered the fact that I was a whole body occupying space, which was a kind of mind blowing realization for myself. It was really powerful to be like, Wow, I’ve just been treating myself as this hard drive.

Cassandra: I think that’s what that guy was saying to me that one day: you can lose touch with everything else. And it’s funny how incredibly simple and basic that is, and how incredibly illuminating it is at the same time. I think for me, the metaphor that hit me when I had a similar moment in my life was just feeling like I was dragging my body around like a mule. It was like my brain was taking it along for the ride. And I think that’s a natural youthful state. In my case, my body was at its peak functioning, so I didn’t even think about getting enough sleep, or I felt sort of invincible. My youthful relationship to my body was just like, It can withstand a lot, so I don’t need to think about it. And then the body has its ways of reminding you that it needs care. I remember when I broke my foot, I was living a little bit too fast at that moment, doing too much. I was running around like crazy — I broke my foot at a party, you know? I was just going a little too hard, and my body was like, You need to really reevaluate a few things, so I’m going to make you really stop and sit and think about this for a minute. And luckily, that kind of thing heals. But it can be much more extreme than that. I know that you’ve experienced an injury recently.

Shura: Yeah. I mean, I think my major learning was just, don’t take up Brazilian jiu jitsu in your 30s. [Laughs.]

Cassandra: [Laughs.] Noted.

Shura: I’m kidding, because I’m definitely going to go back. But, yeah, that was the first really serious [injury]. It wasn’t at a party, sadly. I was just being smushed on the floor by a stranger.

But we haven’t talked about this beautiful video that you’ve made for our song, even though that was a really obvious point of entry for this entire conversation.

Cassandra: Oh, well, I had so much fun. For anyone who hasn’t seen the video, it’s a lot of shots of New York City, and then some really cool shots of Shura in the… English countryside?

Shura: Welsh! Very important we specify.

Cassandra: OK, that’s why I said it with a question mark. It’s really beautiful. I’m a silly American who doesn’t know the difference, but hopefully I’ll learn the nuances of the countrysides when I am there in June.

Shura: Also, why are we playing shows at the same time? We should have planned this better. I’m so sad that I can’t come to your show.

Cassandra: We should be playing a show together.

Shura: What were we thinking? Anyway, moving on: your video is beautiful. And as a person who lived in New York for three years and hasn’t been back for a very long time, it was actually quite emotional to spend time in it, but through your eyes with a camcorder. It was really, really lovely, and it just made me think I really want to come back. I miss walking around.

Cassandra: Well, come back! Also, it’s funny that you say that because I felt like when I was shooting it, I was looking at New York sort of through your eyes, because I was not only listening to the song on repeat while I was shooting, but also I was thinking about it as this period in your life and from the perspective of someone who didn’t grow up in New York City. Which is a really fun lens to throw on when you have grown up here your entire life. I have to say, New York rarely loses its luster. It’s constantly surprising me and knocking me off my feet. It’s one of those cities that really can do that. But I think putting on the lens of someone who might be seeing it through this little ‘90s camcorder, New York glistened in a new way for me. Like, if you’re just standing on a single street corner for 30 minutes, you start to see all these incredible interactions and moments. It starts to unfold the minute you pause and study it and give yourself time to observe. Usually I’m just one of the people kind of pushing my way to the next subway car, street corner, whatever, but I think giving myself time to observe was really fun.

Shura: I feel like observing is an important part of my process, and I imagine quite a lot of songwriters’ process. It’s like with documentaries, how you can watch a documentary about something that, on the face of it, you don’t think you’re at all interested in — I don’t know if I told you this before, but during the pandemic, I started to watch documentaries about how they build bridges, because I was like, Wait, how do you actually build a bridge? And I became sort of obsessed. It’s so fascinating. I think just stopping and letting things unfold before you can sometimes be the greatest source of inspiration. Which is why I try to write as much as possible, just write things down even if they sound boring in that moment and I’m like, That will never be a lyric. And then often those are the things that I come back to and pull from the most. 

Cassandra: Yeah. It’s almost like your legs — it seems obvious that it’s there, but when you stop and think about it, you’re like, Woah, my legs!

Shura: [Laughs.] I actually wanted to ask you a question, because I was watching some bits of yours, and I think it was about “Delphinium Blue” — you were saying that song lived on paper as almost like a poem, and it took you a second to find the right musical home for it.

Cassandra: Yeah. And when you say “second,” it was probably, like, six years.

Shura: Well, I’m no stranger to taking six years to do something. That’s interesting, though. Do most of your songs start that way, where it’s just lyrics and then you find the musical home for them?

Cassandra: That’s how I’ve been writing for the past few years. That wasn’t how I approached songwriting as a younger songwriter. But I think when I wrote An Overview on Phenomenal Nature, all I had was lyrics. So I went into the studio kind of unprepared with a stack of papers and was like, “This is what I’ve got. We have five days. Let’s see what we can make out of this nonsense.”

Shura: That sounds — sorry, please continue. I want to hear about this.

Cassandra: Does it sound scary to you?

Shura: No, but the lyrics are the thing that take me the longest to finish, and often I’m keeping it until the very last minute. So the idea of going in with all the lyrics…

Cassandra: Well, there were a lot of bad ones. I can say that very confidently. Most of it was junk. But I think that’s what you have to do. Also, I had a friend there with me who wasn’t afraid to say when he thought something was bad, which was helpful. Like, I think there was some line about some very specific New York streets, and I was dropping some really esoteric Upper West Side shit. And my friend was like, “We get it, you live on the Upper West Side. Chill.” And I was like, “OK, fine.” I think at a certain point, you can feel when someone’s trying a little bit too hard, and that’s what I had a friend there to help me figure out — when lyrics were feeling a little too heavy-handed.

But, yeah, basically that whole record started as just a stack of papers. With a song like “Hard Drive,” I just had a ton of words and it came together in a day. With a song like “Delphinium Blue,” I had one little line that I wrote in my notebook so many times, and I didn’t even know it. Just when I went back and I looked at all my notebooks, I was like, Geez, this song really wants to be written, because I clearly think that this is a line that needs to be a song. But that’s all it was, just one line and it hadn’t found its home yet. 

Shura: What line was it? Are you comfy sharing?

Cassandra: It was, “I got the job at the flower shop.” That was it. But I wrote that line in my notebook so many times. There was something kind of 1950s pop song about it. It just felt so basic. But also, it was a really important time in my life, and that job was very important to me. I learned a lot and I went through a lot during the period that I had that job. And actually, the flower shop is featured in the video for “Richardson,” because I could not help myself, and because it just felt natural to float in there while I was walking by with my camera. And my boss, Max, is featured singing the refrain in the verses. 

Shura: I love that.

Cassandra: Yeah. So that place is really important to me. And I think I couldn’t just throw a song together about that period. There are a lot of things about that song that are really heavy that I just touch on with metaphor. I mean, that’s one of the great things about songwriting — you can talk about some really heavy shit, but in very coded language. I feel like I’m getting away with something, but I’m also kind of healing this part of me that needs to say some stuff out loud. 

But, yeah, it took a long time to find its home. I finally admitted that it needed to be a moody, brooding feeling, and suddenly in an afternoon, it was done after just kicking around forever. My friend Isaac [Eiger], from the former band Strange Ranger, just has a tiny bedroom studio, and I went over there one day and he was playing with his Alpha Juno, this little melody, and I was like, “Wait, that’s it.”

Shura: That’s it.

Cassandra: “I’ve been waiting for this moment.” And then by the end of the day, we had written the song and I had made a little music video for it — because that’s kind of how I operate, on all cylinders. All the chickens were spinning that day. [Laughs.]