La double vie de Gloria de Oliveira

Exactly. The work of a musician and that of an actress are often perceived as contradictory. Yet the Brontë sisters, for instance, were celebrated not only as gifted writers but also as accomplished painters. I believe that many artists express themselves across different mediums. The name La Double Vie dates back to my time at art school, where I had the pleasure of meeting two remarkable creative minds, Seda Kaçak and Erik Hamann. Together, we pooled our resources to form an artistic collective.

I more or less found my way into acting by chance. Depending on the role and the project, I often serve as a projection surface for others. To fully immerse myself in that process, I need to be entirely convinced by the director’s vision. Perhaps that is one reason why I have taken on fewer film projects of late. Music, however, has always felt closer to me, as it gives me the freedom to express my own feelings and thoughts. I also have creative control over my music videos, which I get to direct myself.

I find much of my inspiration in proto-goth culture, both musically, in bands such as Malaria!, Xmal Deutschland, Siouxsie and the Banshees and Joy Division, and in literature. When I was 16, I spent some time living in England, where I stayed in a tiny attic room lined with books. Among my discoveries were old editions of Edgar Allan Poe’s poetry, Bram Stoker’s Dracula and Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights. This was a pivotal moment that changed my life profoundly. I was also drawn to the goth scene from an early age for its openness; it was a subculture in which I always felt a strong sense of belonging.

I’m very much a girls’ girl. In the early days of my music career, Gudrun Gut of Malaria! was a particularly important role model. She is an inspiring woman who also founded her own record label and has continually reinvented herself. I also greatly admired a number of women in Brazilian music, especially the early Bossa Nova artists of the 1960s and 70s, such as Gal Costa and Nara Leão, one of the genre’s pioneers, who was later forced into exile in Paris. Outside Brazil, Bossa Nova is often dismissed as little more than elevator music. Yet it emerged shortly before the military dictatorship as an extraordinarily political form of musical expression. Under strict censorship, artists had to find poetic ways of voicing their criticism of the regime. I was also influenced by numerous female poets, among them Anne Sexton, whose work I quote on my new album.

Very much so! I grew up loving the fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen and the Brothers Grimm. My favourite book was Gruselmärchen by Barbara Bartos-Höppner, who collected and reworked tales by the Brothers Grimm and other authors. I was utterly captivated by her stories and would regularly insist that my older sister or my mother read to me before bed. A few years ago, I stumbled upon it again as an adult. Leafing through its pages, I was struck by just how chilling the stories were – I had completely forgotten how truly terrifying they could be! As a teenager, I discovered the British author Angela Carter and her book The Bloody Chamber, in which traditional fairy tales are retold through a feminist lens. I found this approach equally compelling.

Absolutely. I think it’s important, as adults, not to lose touch with our childlike nature and our sense of playfulness. That is what makes us feel alive. As artists, however, we are constantly navigating a dichotomy: on the one hand, we need to remain vulnerable, receptive and open; but at the sametime, you also have to develop a thick skin when it comes to the more negative and demandingaspects of the work and the industry. This is arguably one of the most difficult challenges of this profession.

The songs reflect a particular chapter of my life. During the pandemic, I found myself caught in an extremely toxic situation. The front cover of The Lying Swans refers to an “evil castle” – and that is precisely how it felt: I was living in a haunted prison I eventually escaped one night. In the middle of winter, I climbed out of a window and made my way onto the street in nothing but my nightdress and bare feet. I managed to catch a taxi, which took me somewhere safe.

Music, and art in general, have always had a healing effect on me. Whether as a teenager or later in life, during difficult periods, hearing others speak openly about their own experiences has helped me enormously. Today, I hope that audiences will be able to relate to my stories and find strength in them. What else could I possibly bring to the stage if I weren’t willing to share something of myself? For me, art does not have to be pleasant at all times. I am constantly questioning myself, which can sometimes be a difficult and demanding process. There is a saying you sometimes find on postcards: “Art is beautiful, but it takes a lot of work.” I couldn’t agree more. When my boyfriend occasionally picks me up from the studio late at night, he asks whether I’ve had fun. Fun? Fun has very little to do with songwriting. I see my art, rather, as a need to express myself. Something essential to my existence.

There is a theory of the collective unconscious, which suggests that certain archetypes and figures have recurred throughout the centuries, across different cultures. Whether in the tales of the Brothers Grimm or in Hinduism, these primordial images allow us to access parts of our subconscious that might otherwise be difficult to process. That is what I explore on this album. Had I listened to my subconscious sooner, I could have spared myself a great deal. Through the writingprocess, I also examined my own role within it. It was a tough lesson to learn, but one thatultimately taught me something invaluable.