In Conversation with Petra Jarrar on Her New Single

By Calli Ferguson

"When the door is closed at home, and you're on your couch… Do you like that person?" It's a question at the heart of Petra Jarrar's newest single, "no one at all." Paired with a haunting, artful music video built around distorted reflections, broken mirrors, and gloved hands, the song places us in a world where our idea of "self" is stripped down to something truer and more confronting. Following her single “spiral”, this song is a part of Jarrar’s larger project, bravely tackling themes of grief and identity. When faced with her own experience of profound loss, the artist turned to songwriting to untangle her identity from her Connecticut upbringing, Sri Lankan/Palestinian heritage, artistic essence, and whatever runs beneath it all. That ambition lives in the song's details, from its imagery to the winking refrain, "I'm living your dream life."

Leading up to the release of “no one at all”, Petra Jarrar sat down with warmly to sift through the layers of meaning and inspiration behind the single and music video. Here’s how it went…

——

warmly: So your single, "no one at all," releases October 2nd. I'm curious: what is this part like? How has this incubation stage been, between so much beautiful work creating the track and its world-building, and releasing it into the world?

Petra: It's funny. My perspective has changed so much in this phase. I used to have so much more anxiety and worry around, "Oh my God, what are other people going to think? Is this cool? Does this suck?" But even with the first song on this project, "spiral," there's been something exciting every time. Because I've worked with collaborators I love working with. A lot of them are my friends. We're making something really special, and I just want everyone to see it. So at this point I can't wait to show everybody… I'm just itching to get it out there.

I feel like this is the healthiest incubation phase I've ever had with my music. I've also been sitting on this song for the last few years. So this has been a long process in terms of getting it to this point. I'm kind of gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

Pt 1) Grief, And…

Awesome. So you mentioned it's part of a bigger project you're working on. “no one at all” follows the release of "spiral," which was your first track on the new project. Why did you choose this one next?

Every song on this project has a through line around grief and loss. Not just the grief and loss of another person in your life, but also grieving and losing yourself in the process. I feel I've concealed so much around my identity because I already felt like I took up so much space. All I have wanted since I was a young kid was to assimilate and make sure I'm falling in line. I'm not making too much noise. I'll conceal my own cultural background if that means I can fit in.

Timing-wise, I felt this is the song to release because it's something society is talking about so much: how important it is to uphold your roots and be proud of where you come from. For so long, I almost wasn't. It wasn't that I didn't connect with where I'm from and who I am, but I was taught that it's a burden and comes with heaviness. Growing up in Connecticut, it’s very waspy; I always say it feels like you're living in a Norman Rockwell painting. It's not reality. But there are so many conversations, especially in my own friend groups, about the importance of self-reclamation and identity, and this just feels like the chapter that makes the most sense next.

Identity and grief are such big things to tackle. How do you deal with grief in your music? Or how does music help you navigate it?

That's a really great question. What I've learned from songwriting is that I can actually pinpoint what I'm truly feeling. I've always been a writer first. I love journaling. I write down any thought at any given moment, so that's how I know where my true self is. I could tell you to your face, "I'm fine, I'm feeling great," but [writing] is where I can comfortably share my truest thoughts and emotions. It has been a safe space for me for so many years, because in trying to understand grief, I've come to the conclusion that you can't ever fully define it. You can't understand it. It's something that you will live with for the rest of your life, and it's up to you to determine how much space it takes up. Every day is a different journey with it. But writing is the way I can connect to my truest self.

Even as I was writing this project, and this song in particular, I found myself censoring as I got more honest and vulnerable. My co-writer Allee Futterer was so incredible. She would always push me and say, "Tell me the real story. Where were you when this happened? What was it like? Show me your childhood. Show me where you were. What it felt like being in that school cafeteria where no one sat with you…" She'd say, "Paint the picture for me." Having a co-writer that could meet me at that level of comfort was so very special.

Your tangible lyrics felt really powerful. A lot of what "no one at all" brought up for me were those moments when we wonder what we’re doing it all for… or how to locate ourselves within what we’re doing in our lives. It’s quite ubiquitous; everybody feels that. And yet it seems so profound every time. So can you take us through how that has come up for you with this song? Or maybe I’m way off…

No, you're definitely hitting the nail on the head. This journey– I hate to call it that, but for lack of a better word– this journey of rediscovering who I am through such a traumatic loss has been about trying to understand what truly matters to me, what I stand for, what I believe, and how I want to be represented in my day-to-day life and to the rest of the world. I learned so quickly how much of it was shaped by others and my upbringing.

I grew up in Fairfield, Connecticut, immediately post-9/11, from a Palestinian, Sri Lankan background. Even more than my Sri Lankan heritage, my Palestinian heritage was always one to hide, because it seemed to be scary to people. So I was taught to almost fear my own roots, and the solution to that was being raised with the perspective of: "You're not from anywhere but Connecticut." And that is true. That is where I'm from. I believed that I was no different, and I really wasn't. But when you go to a school where everybody is predominantly white, you kind of stick out like a sore thumb, and people are telling you things that are derogatory and racist. You just don't understand it, because you're like, "I'm just a kid like you." So I fell into assimilation, based on the upbringing my family gave me: fit in the boxes, don't disturb, don't make too much noise, and you will get through it all.

But as I got older and moved to New York, I realized that was actually the thing that hurt me more than helped me. There are incredible things that are so rich about my family history. My dad's side of the family has a lineage that goes back to warriors who fought Napoleon. I come from a line of warriors, and that's fucking cool! It's so interesting how much of myself I hid because I was taught to be ashamed of who I am.

Aside from my cultural identity, even as a creative person, my fingers were pressed into the piano as a kid. I was told music is my way, and it was. It became the thing I love, but my relationship with music changed so much as I started to question my own identity, because it was so entangled in another person's perspective of me. Once I started taking away other perspectives and focusing more on what I love about my heritage and what I do day-to-day, I got to really figure out who I am. I have a cheeky lyric: "I'm living your dream life. I'm living your dream." It's meant to be sort of like: Yes, I'm living the life that you want me to live. I'm living the dream life that you think is a dream life. But that's not my dream life. When I had that realization, I was like, "Okay, I gotta start from scratch and do this all again and figure out who I truly am." So I was nobody at that time.

Pt. 2) No One At All

That's the other thing: The phrase "no one at all" really struck me. Can you tell us more about what that means to you, "I am no one at all"? Is there still truth to that for you?

Definitely now I would say I'm someone. I don't feel like I'm “no one” anymore. And again, it's cheeky– I'm almost trying to downplay what I'm truly feeling: "Okay, maybe I'm just nobody of importance, nobody of significance… fine." But for me, that means I can't define myself. If you asked me five years ago, "Who are you?", I could tell you certain traits about me, but I wouldn't be able to tell you who I was at my core. I wouldn't be able to tell you, from my truest heart of hearts, the things that make me happy, the things that make me sad. I could answer what I think you want me to say. That's what I feel "no one at all" is: ascribing to something that makes other people feel comfortable, but it's not your truth.

I think that's a really helpful way of looking at it, because identity is so big and blended with cultural identity and who you are to the world. But it’s important to think about: at the end of the day, without any of that, what's there? What matters?

Exactly. When the door is closed at home, and you're on your couch… Do you like that person? Do you feel comfortable with that person? What does that feel like? What matters to her?

Pt. 3) Victorian Gothic, Never Done Alone

Your visuals for this are so beautiful and a little haunting in a romantic, artful way. What were your inspirations for building this world artistically?

I've always been a very visual person. I always say the artist of my life is Lady Gaga for many reasons. She is such a great songwriter and visual storyteller, and I was like, “Okay, that's what I want to embody on this creative journey. How do I bring that to life?”

I've had many personifications of myself as an artist over the years, but- this sounds very dramatic- I've always been drawn to darkness. I grew up in Connecticut, and you can look at the Lilly Pulitzer, Vineyard Vines version of it, but my [version] is haunted, Victorian Gothic libraries, and all of the rich history that dates back four or five hundred years… that's what I dig.

I'm a big lover of horror, and I like to joke that horror is feminism, because there are so many largely important female characters where the narratives are like, yes, you could say this person is crazy or possessed, but it's with reason, and usually it has to do with something deeper than just losing your mind. It's another way to represent what grief, trauma, and internal, psychological horror actually feel like. So it's a very dramatic play on the emotions that I'm feeling.

I'm a big history nerd, and I did so much research for this project. As I was building the world, I pulled a lot of inspiration from Victorian-era references. Queen Victoria had many different mourning rituals established after Prince Albert died, and I found little ways to bring them in.

That is so fun. And part two to this question: what does the process of actually bringing that to life as an independent artist look like when it comes to film and photography and costume and all these elements?

It's been easy, but it's also been hard. Easy because [I’m] in New York, and there are so many people with niche interests here, so sourcing certain things can become easy. Like finding my collaborator Sophie Chalk, who does tintype photography, a very prominent photographic style during that time period. But I also wanted to make sure that none of this felt like a costume. I didn't want to just get a silly little corset from somewhere or ruffly sleeve tops. I needed to rely on my own crafting skills to bring a lot of this to life.

For example, the single artwork, which I truly, truly, truly love. It's inspired by Victorian hair art, which is usually done after you lose somebody. You make bracelets or belts or even little framed pieces of art. I decided to take a twist on that. That photo is partially my hair and partially a wig I got to match my hair, and I built it to be my own family tree. I have things on that family tree that represent my Palestinian background, with poppy flowers, and all the butterflies are meant to represent the different butterfly species that are from Sri Lanka. There were so many fun ways to incorporate that, but this wasn't something I could just buy. I had to craft it, and I had to get really crafty with a hot glue gun and a Pinterest board and figure out all the next steps. It was very similar for the video.

I had to very carefully figure out how to create these Victorian-esque images and find these sets and props in New York City, which should be a dime a dozen, but the right space is always a little tricky to find. That's where I enlisted the help of my friends. Sophie Chalk did the single artwork, but she was also the creative director for the music video. And my producer was Marilyn Warshawsky. This video also relied on a lot of crazy visual and practical effects, so it was a matter of how we could do it all safely, but also do it.

As an independent artist, yes, I do so much of this alone, but it also involves other people. And the best part of being an independent artist is that I can determine who those people are. I can self-identify candidates. I also like doing a vibe check before: yes, you can make something really cool, but do we vibe? So it's done alone, but never alone at the same time. It's finding that community of people who can bring all of this to life.

Pt. 4) Connection

I'd love to hear a little more about the bigger project you're working on. How does this song fit in with the EP? What does this project mean for you as an artist? How do you identify with it?

The goal is a larger EP with a few more tracks to share with everyone. Aside from trying to share my story, and we all go through grief in different forms in our lives, the main point of this project is that this is my catharsis too, and my most personal diary of all the things that I've felt over these last ten years after losing my dad. It's something we all go through, and we have to remember you're never alone in it, because it can be the most isolating thing in the world.

But also, as weird as it is to say, I'm so excited to put out another depressing song! I’m getting to do the thing that I love again. I waited five years to put out music because I didn't have the ability to because of a previous team I was working with. I had to get a day job again and make all of the money to fund this. Everything you see is because I am putting money behind it. No one else is, and I'm figuring out a way to do it because I can finally chart my own course, and I don't have to rely on another person to make that decision for me. So there's this excitement, and it feels celebratory. Every time I put out a song, I want to do the craziest video, I want to do the craziest single, I want to do something fun, because I've waited five years to do it. It's my time.

I have dreams and hopes like so many other artists, but my thing is connection– that's what I care about the most. What has been so lovely with "spiral," [is that] I feel more excitement because I'm actually getting to see real connection. A few people who follow me send me messages like, "I lost this person, and hearing this song really helped me," or "I really love that you're sharing this part of your story," or something about the world-building. I'm not anyone significant at this point, but those things are so much more meaningful to me than anything else I could ask for.

As a listener to a ton of music myself, being able to relate to a song and have it speak to me is one of the most powerful things in the world, and getting to do that for someone else is very special. I know how intimate and personal that is, so it's a really cool feeling. I hope to connect with more people, build this community a little bit more, and let people know that they're not alone.

That's so special. And anything else coming up or being released in the foreseeable future that we should look out for?

There's definitely more music to come in 2027. There's nothing official yet, but I want to have community-based events around each of my songs. I did one for "spiral," there will be one for "no one at all," and I want to do that with each of my songs. I come from a live touring background, and while I love that, right now it's about human connection, so I like to find creative, different ways to connect with people. But aside from music coming out next year, this is what I have right now.

——

💿 Listen to “No One At All” where you listen 
📻 Keep up with Petra Jarrar on Instagram, TikTok, YouTube, and Online

Petra Jarrar Finds Herself on “no one at all”

In Conversation with Petra Jarrar on Her New Single