Björk

When i was 15 years old, I came home drunk to my parents’ house to find Björk performing on TV. She was at Royal Albert Hall, and I think she was singing “Hyperballad.” I’d only ever heard “It’s Oh So Quiet,” and I didn’t know anything else about her. I came home and was just mesmerized by the television. I just wanted to know everything about her. I wanted to get my hands on every single song, every album she had released.

The more I learned about Björk, the more I felt an affinity with her because of the way she was so connected to the place where she grew up — to nature, to fields and mountains and elements. I had just started to write at the time, and I was told so often that I had an unusual voice. People would joke and say it was too weird to be a voice. She made me realize that I could be whatever I wanted to be, regardless of how unusual my voice was.

I had a fascination with classical music at the time — I played clarinet for a long time until I got bored with it, and then I picked up a guitar. I also grew up on electronic music and techno from my mom. It felt like Björk was an artist with a similar instinct, with her moving to London and immersing herself in dance music and falling in love with it. She managed to fuse it all so effortlessly.