Music Tip: In Conversation with Freya Ridings

Freya Ridings: I think it started when I was younger and still at school. I was bullied quite badly, so I did not have many friends. My family became my closest friends, and they all played instruments. My dad played guitar, sang, and wrote his own songs, and he loved it deeply. My mum played the piano and the Celtic harp.
Seeing how much they loved music made me feel like I wanted to do something like that too. I started writing songs when I was about nine years old. That might sound early, but it was my way of coping with being ostracised and bullied. I poured everything into my songs, and the piano became almost like a friend I could turn to. That is where it began, and it never stopped.

FR: I do. It’s funny, my grandmother kept a diary from her 20s into her late 80s, 90s. So I’m nowhere near that.
But my mum’s also done almost 15 years. I think I started my diary when I was 16 and I’m about to turn 32 in a couple of months.
And if I’m honest, it changed everything for me. I kind of started it as an evening journal to give myself accountability for what I was doing in the day, just to get it all out of your brain. So the next day you could go in fresh. And I think for me, my life is so incredible and magical and crazy. And to be able to ground myself, no matter where I am in the world, every night I do my diary before bed.
Yeah, I feel like doing it every night gives you a solid routine

I think it’s so healthy. And also it’s like you’re your own friend. Especially on the days where you maybe have less connection with people.
Like I do a page a night and that’s my thing. I don’t do more, I don’t do less. Like one page for the day, highs, lows, things I was grateful for. Like if I achieve my little mini goals. For me, it’s the anchor to my life because my life is quite stormy and fun, but it grounds me.FR

It was so interesting, I was watching all these authors being interviewed. And most authors were asked how do you overcome writer’s block? And they were like, you kind of make yourself write more. You find ways, you just get into the flow. You force yourself.

But this one guy said, if you don’t have anything to say, don’t say it. And I was like, oh my God, that’s a really good point. Because half of me is kind of with the, what you practice, you get stronger at. It’s a muscle.

There’s another part of me where I’ve really got into intentional writing. I only write songs now, when I truly have something to say.

And also I’ve set myself a little challenge, which is to write songs without voice memos or recordings. So l have the piano, my mind, and maybe pen and paper. And that’s all I have. And basically, if I can’t finish the song before I record it, then it’s not good enough.

If you take it back to the 30s, 40s, 50s they wrote songs without being able to record them. They had to be good enough to remember. And I think we’ve lost a little bit of that. And that was a challenge. I got a massive pack of parchment paper, It was like 100 plus pages. And I made a promise that every single one of them was going to be a new song for this album. And I finished every single piece of paper. Only 11 songs made it to the album.

For me, I think there’s a lot of creativity in restriction.
Like I actually think less time, more deadlines. It kind of focuses your mind. Or almost like setting yourself a really difficult title to write to, and finding out what it brings to your subconscious.
Sometimes I like a writer’s block. Because it helps me mull over what I actually want to say.
It’s almost like trying to fall asleep when you have insomnia.
The more you tell yourself you need to write, the less you want to. So for me, I almost tell myself I’m not allowed to. I’m rehearsing, I’m practicing for tour, but I’m not allowed to write. And I’ll suddenly just be like, oh my god, I need to write. It will come out so quickly.
Because there’s a level of rebellion. But I think it’s inherently part of being a musician and an artist. You have to have it. I think making it, having some ownership over your own artistry. Being like, if you don’t want to write, don’t write. Create what you want to create. What you’re being literally drawn to creating. I’m much more at peace with that now.

Exactly. Fingers are a big part of it. It’s like your subconscious meets fingers. There’s something magical about that. It’s almost like prayer.

I think what I hope stays with them is a feeling of indomitable strength. That was my goal. Because when I started working on this album, I felt so weak and so defeated and so close to giving up. I was like, I need to make myself an album that reminds me who I am, and reminds me how strong I can be.
I think that over time, especially in creative industries, self-confidence can slowly erode. Taking time to be with people you love, people who champion you, and continuing to make art really matters. It’s almost like manifesting through lyrics.
I was like, I need to say these things to remind myself what I know is true in my bones. I did it mostly because I needed it, if I’m honest.
I really needed this album.
I’m most proud of the journey. Because it’s weird, I’ve always put so much pressure on myself to try and write songs that are successful. I still do, but this time I approached it with a lot more compassion and honesty, knowing that I’m worthy regardless of whether the music succeeds or not.

I was saying to my husband yesterday, these interviews are so incredible because they make you remember the depths. Sometimes you’re so deep in it that you don’t even realise what you’ve been through until you start telling the story.

I entered the music industry almost ten years ago with so much confidence in myself as a writer. I truly believed in what I was doing. No one else really did, but I was like, I’m going to do this.

The strangest part about success was how many louder voices suddenly jumped in and said, this happened because of us, not because of you. There were so many of them, and they said it so often, that over time it wore away at my self-esteem. I got to a point where I thought, maybe they do know better than me. Maybe / don’t know what I’m talking about.

And I think that’s the worst thing that can happen to you as an artist, when you start doubting your own gut.

What brought me back was the connection I have with my fans. Especially online, but also at shows. We connect over the same music, and it’s always the most honest, stripped-back, raw stuff. It’s funny, all these people pushing for things to be more pop, more polished, more overproduced, and I’m like, that’s not why people connected with me in the first place.

So honestly, what kept me going was seeing the reaction. I shared little snippets of songs while I was writing, and that feedback really carried me through. I realised that they want the same music I want to make. And because of that, I’m no longer listening to the voices telling me it’s not good enough, because I know they’re wrong.

I really do feel that connection. I do not know if it is because of the piano ballads or the melancholic nature of my songs, but my music has been there with people during huge life moments. Funerals, weddings, those deeply personal experiences. To know that my songs became the soundtrack to parts of their lives is such an honour.
I don’t think people in the industry fully understand the level of soul connection that exists there. Some people champion me, some do not, and that is just how it is. But the relationship I have with my fans is genuinely one of the things that kept me going. There were moments where I felt so low, and I thought, I cannot give up on them. If I feel this way, I have no idea how they might be feeling. I have to come back.
That connection alone carried me through some very dark moments.
It really is the most important thing to me. People often ask, what if you were bigger, and I always think. what if we first give the fans who are already here something truly great, and then build from there. It is not about being against anyone else. It is about staying true to your own vision and remembering who you are. and why people connected with you in the first place.
I think that is where the problem often lies. Ignoring the people who support you the most while chasing new audiences just does not sit right with me. I want to be someone who champions my fans first. We can grow from there, but we do not leave them behind. That is very much an industry mindset, always asking what about other people. And I keep thinking, what if we focused on making something meaningful for the people who were already there and already believed in it.
That is just the kind of person I am. I do this because it comes from a very genuine place in me. It is not a job to me. It is a way of life. I think for some people around me it is more of a job, and I have to remind myself of that sometimes. But for me it has always been personal, and that is something I am willing to fight a little harder to protect.

I think I was always pretty fiery growing up. I’m a redhead. I think we’re notoriously very fiery. I’m also like an Aries. Fire is pretty much my sign.
We opened the album with Wicker Woman, which is quite an angry song. But it’s really about injustice and about being taken for granted. It is about reaching that final straw, that moment where something inside you clicks and you realise there is a breaking point. Where you think, I would rather burn this all down than let you believe you own me or know better than me.
There is a point where you’re genuinely like I would rather burn down my entire career, my life, everything, than listen to one more person telling me who I am or what my work should be. Especially when it comes to my name, my songs, my voice, my identity. In any other field, I might say fair enough, I will listen. But with this, I just cannot. This is mine.
That is where the album begins, but the rest of it is actually much more vulnerable. It moves into deeper emotional territory, into grief and reflection. I explore ancestry and family history, and all of those stories are completely true. They were also the most uncomfortable stories for me to tell.
In a way, 1 am proud that I managed to turn them into songs. The lyrics were very raw and difficult to express, but I think they became something beautiful in the process.
But basically the anger is only the beginning. It’s almost like in a breakup. When you’re angry at the start, and then you actually get this real insight into who you are as a person. You have to rebuild yourself brick by brick.

The thing is, true feminine energy isn’t just one thing. And I think, for me, being underestimated or looked down upon for that vulnerability made me want to show the strength in it.

I wanted to show that real strength comes from being honest and vulnerable, especially in a world that tells you to be hard and just push through. I don’t do that. I feel things all the time, and that is what I wanted to.

I hope they’re happy, because I really sat with it. And it’s amazing when you have songs on the radio, but that’s not the point. It’s like the cherry on top of a real cake. And I love the cherry, and I love the icing, but for me, the cake is albums, shows, and fans.
I’m building towards something greater as an artist, and I think I kind of reverse-engineered it. I’m an album-first kind of girl. And then if any of the songs go to radio, that’s beautiful. But I’m not trying to get on the radio. In fact, there were so many people who were like, “You should really put drums on that song if you want it to go to radio,” and I was like, “I don’t want to.”.
They said Lost Without You would never get on the radio, and it stayed there for almost five years. Castles was the same. I’ve always felt like an underdog. I’m not the industry’s favourite, and I’m completely okay with that, because my fans catch me whenever I fall. That’s why I can trust them more in this chapter. The work feels more cinematic, more gothic, organic, and emotional.
And hopefully, you walk away feeling stronger than you did before. That’s the goal.

It honestly felt like a rebellion. I used to write with my family all the time back in the day, because my mum’s a writer and my dad loves music so much. We’d sit around the kitchen table. And then, when I got signed they were like, “You can’t write with your family. That’s weird.” And I was just like, what? That was just my old label. 

Getting to the point where I didn’t have a label anymore, I was like, no, they can’t stop me. I like it. And family is a huge part of this album. There are songs about lots of different members of my family, and for me, that’s a huge part of love. I love romantic love, but I also love this kind of ancestral love. I love these people, they created me. They’re literally in my DNA.

It’s funny, because it’s like they kind of step out of the shadows in that way, you know? And again, I just wanted to be real. I’m a really big family person, and I love working with them. So yeah, they helped me finish one of the songs.

I’d just say, “Keep going. You’re on the right path.” Trust your gut, because you’re going to do really, really well, but not in the way you think. In terms of the confidence I’ve grown, especially as an artist, it’s such a journey. It ebbs and flows. There’s nothing linear about it. It goes up and down in equal measure.

I think what I’d tell myself ten years ago is: enjoy the ride more. It’s going to be really fun. It’s so easy to be doing these amazing things but be terrified that they’re going to be taken away at any moment. You’re like,

“I can’t enjoy this.” And I’m just like, what if it’s all set in stone? What if it’s already pre-ordered? Just be there. Be present. Enjoy these moments. Collaborate with people you really love, not people you made to work with. And yeah, trust your gut. You’re on the right path.