Cold Waves and Raw Confessions: A Conversation with Siren

Picture a twelve-year-old discovering Rammstein for the first time and feeling her entire worldview shift. Now imagine that same kid teaching herself to compose orchestral arrangements by ear, no formal training, just pure instinct telling her which notes belong together. That’s Siren—a 24-year-old LA artist who’s been stockpiling songs like emotional ammunition since 2019, with 70 tracks currently sitting unreleased in her vault.

The fascinating thing about Siren isn’t just her DIY approach to mastering multiple instruments and production techniques. It’s how she’s built an entire artistic universe around contradictions that shouldn’t work together but somehow do. Tchaikovsky meets industrial metal. Trip-hop grooves support piano ballads. Massive Attack and Portishead collide with Lana Del Rey’s cinematic heartbreak. She calls it “cold waves of sound,” and honestly, nothing else quite captures what happens when you press play on tracks like her recent “Devil 2019” or debut single “Siren Heroine.”

Born on June 13, 2001, at exactly 7:30 a.m. (she’s specific about that), Siren approaches music like someone documenting their own mythology. Every song becomes what she calls “a raw confession where melancholy meets beauty.” We sat down with her to talk about grandmother’s Russian folk songs, why she writes for herself rather than her audience, and her complicated relationship with the ocean that defines her entire aesthetic.

Can you tell us how you got started in music? You’re completely self-taught, right?

Every ache must be turned into art. Music flows through you, cleanses, heals, awakens—if it’s in you, it lives beneath your skin. I’ve been surrounded by music since childhood, but I was never professionally trained. Everything I know about singing, writing songs, composing music, and playing instruments came intuitively. I play entirely by ear.

One of my earliest memories is my grandmother taking me outside in winter, sitting on a swing, rocking me while singing long, sad Russian folk songs. That moment left this deep imprint—everything felt blue, cold, wintry, dark, nostalgic, melancholic. By twelve, I discovered Rammstein along with Linkin Park, System of a Down, and Metallica. Rammstein especially awakened strength, courage, resistance in me. They shaped about 60% of my musical taste. Later, Lana Del Rey became my “musical mother.” They represent both sides of me.

How would you describe your sound to someone who’s never heard your music?

Different. Melodic. Maybe even a little strange. My sound is cinematic—often with rock drums—but it doesn’t stay in one genre. I create without boundaries. I’ve written around 70 songs, all unreleased, and they’re all different. Trip rock, alternative, dark pop, trip-hop, soft rock, acoustic ballads, orchestral, alternative pop, indie pop. You can still listen to them on my SoundCloud.

My overall taste mixes Rammstein, Lana Del Rey, Radiohead, with touches of Evanescence, System of a Down, and Type O Negative. Sometimes I lean into a raw, unpolished, dark-sounding Adele. The songs reflect both my anima and animus—the feminine and masculine sides. The feminine brings hypersensitivity, vulnerability, elegance. The masculine comes through in the instrumentals—the drums, the heavy drive.

Tell us about your latest releases and what you’re working on now.

“Devil 2019” just dropped on August 3rd—it’s 3:28 of what I’d call a raw confession where melancholy meets beauty. On June 13th, I released my first single “Siren Heroine” from my upcoming album “Blue Blood.” In a few weeks, another version in a higher pitch will be released—I couldn’t choose just one.

Right now I’m working on “Blue Blood,” which has an oceanic, siren-themed feel. Most of these songs were written three to four years ago, but I’m also creating new music constantly.

You’re also a visual artist and filmmaker. How does that connect to your music?

I’ve always romanticized my life like a film—with me as both the main character and the director. I have this deep passion for visual art—painting, photography, editing, creating visual concepts exactly as I imagine them. Complete freedom of expression through both sound and vision.

My style, my image, my alter ego—it’s the ocean: sirens, the deep blue, the profound resonance of sound and thought. I love the ocean, but I also fear it. I have thalassophobia and, in a way, colossal phobia. I reflect what I fear. I am what I fear.

What do you hope listeners take away from your music?

I don’t write for people—I write for myself. Music is how I let you know me. Deep down, we all want to be heard, accepted, remembered, to find our tribe—even when we think we don’t.

I hope my music helps people feel at peace with themselves, knowing there’s someone just as vulnerable and sensitive out there. The songs I’ve written are mostly melancholic. Being in minor doesn’t mean negative—just like ‘alone’ doesn’t mean lonely. I’m direct in my expression. If I feel bad, I’ll say it. If I feel like a dangerous, seductive siren, I’ll express it. I bloom in my blue, and that’s where I feel most at home.

If you could collaborate with any artist, who would it be?

Well, most of them are dead, but the first that come to mind are Hans Zimmer, Rammstein, and Lana Del Rey. Those would be the most essential for me.

You mentioned you’re a “perpetual wanderer.” What else should people know about you?

Born June 13, 2001, at 7:30 a.m. I am nothing—and everything. A creator, a believer, a dreamer, a reflection. I love literature, psychiatry, cats. English isn’t my native language, but it’s the voice of my songs. I’ve been making music since 2019, and I’m just getting started.

What strikes you after talking with Siren isn’t just her refusal to fit into any particular box—plenty of artists claim that. It’s her absolute clarity about the contradictions she embodies. She writes for herself but wants to be heard. She fears the ocean but becomes it. She combines Tchaikovsky with Rammstein not as a gimmick, but because both live equally inside her.

In an era where artists often feel pressure to brand themselves into digestible personas, Siren’s approach feels almost defiant. Those 70 unreleased songs aren’t waiting for the perfect marketing moment—they’re confessions she’s deciding when to share. Her admission that she doesn’t write for people but for herself might sound like artistic pretension, except it comes with the acknowledgment that “deep down, we all want to be heard, accepted, and remembered.”

Maybe that’s what makes her music resonate despite—or because of—its refusal to chase trends. When someone creates from a place that honest, the audience finds them rather than the other way around. For Siren, blooming in her blue means accepting both the beauty and the melancholy, the vulnerability and the strength, the love and the fear of the depths she’s drawn to explore.

Find Siren’s music on Spotify, Apple Music, YouTube, and SoundCloud. Follow her journey on Instagram, TikTok, and her website.