“They want a single. A ‘moment.’ But I don’t write moments,” she says, finishing her coffee. “I write the ten minutes after the moment ends.”
As we part ways on a drizzly Kingsland Road, she pulls out a battered notebook. On the cover, scrawled in silver Sharpie: Candice Demellza – LP1 (do not steal). She catches me looking and winks.
“Next year. Maybe.”
At just twenty-two, the Cape Town-born, London-based singer and producer occupies a strange, thrilling limbo. Her voice—a husky, almost detached alto that can crack open into something disarmingly vulnerable—feels both out of time and perfectly suited for the anxious, glittering early 2010s. Comparisons to a young Beth Gibbons or a less polished FKA twigs are inevitable, but Demellza shrugs them off with a quiet smile. “I just wanted to make songs that sounded like the inside of a rainy car window,” she told me over coffee in Hackney. “Pretty, but smeared.”
Her debut EP, Saltburn , dropped in April on the tiny independent label Glass Wax. No PR blitz. No radio plug. Just seven tracks of lo-fi electronics, warped cello samples, and that voice. The lead single, “Heavy Hand,” started as a bedroom recording on a broken Tascam 414. By June, it had been streamed over 400,000 times—a viral drip, not a flood.
“Lana is a character,” Demellza clarifies. “I’m just… me. But the me that doesn’t text anyone back for three days.”
By Lydia Cross | September 2013
2013 Candice Demellza =link= May 2026
“They want a single. A ‘moment.’ But I don’t write moments,” she says, finishing her coffee. “I write the ten minutes after the moment ends.”
As we part ways on a drizzly Kingsland Road, she pulls out a battered notebook. On the cover, scrawled in silver Sharpie: Candice Demellza – LP1 (do not steal). She catches me looking and winks. 2013 candice demellza
“Next year. Maybe.”
At just twenty-two, the Cape Town-born, London-based singer and producer occupies a strange, thrilling limbo. Her voice—a husky, almost detached alto that can crack open into something disarmingly vulnerable—feels both out of time and perfectly suited for the anxious, glittering early 2010s. Comparisons to a young Beth Gibbons or a less polished FKA twigs are inevitable, but Demellza shrugs them off with a quiet smile. “I just wanted to make songs that sounded like the inside of a rainy car window,” she told me over coffee in Hackney. “Pretty, but smeared.” “They want a single
Her debut EP, Saltburn , dropped in April on the tiny independent label Glass Wax. No PR blitz. No radio plug. Just seven tracks of lo-fi electronics, warped cello samples, and that voice. The lead single, “Heavy Hand,” started as a bedroom recording on a broken Tascam 414. By June, it had been streamed over 400,000 times—a viral drip, not a flood. On the cover, scrawled in silver Sharpie: Candice
“Lana is a character,” Demellza clarifies. “I’m just… me. But the me that doesn’t text anyone back for three days.”
By Lydia Cross | September 2013