The Blackpool-born artist talks about why the music industry doesn’t get her, how she’s reclaiming her sexuality, and why she’s written a lush concept album about the north
Rae Morris’s house is so nice it has brought on an identity crisis. “I find myself in this fancy location house in Primrose Hill,” says the musician, scanning the mirrored walls and mustard velvet upholstery that has made her home a sought-after set for fashion shoots and TV shows. “And I’m like: what the fuck am I doing here?!”
The chasm between Morris’s very ordinary childhood in Blackpool – her dad was a firefighter, her mother an NHS worker – and her charmed existence has been playing on the 29-year-old’s mind. She is about to release her third album, Rachel@Fairyland, another collection of the idiosyncratic yet deeply catchy confections that have made her a lauded figure on the outer limits of British pop. Combining piano balladry with quirky production, piercing Kate Bush-style vocals and incisive, introspective lyrics, Morris creates indelible, euphoric tunes.
