Lucy Rose, by some other name, would in any case sound as sweet — albeit bittersweet is increasingly precise for the artist lyricist. Or on the other hand “chirpy in real life, f***ing miserable in music”, as she portrays herself.
Her new collection, No Words Left, is an eerie collection about dealing with the world she lives in. Rose, 29, who shot to distinction in the UK’s non mainstream society scene as an informal member from Bombay Bicycle Club in 2010, is back, with every one of the feels.
What might you save if your home was falling into a sinkhole?
My first idea is that it may very well be an alleviation to have a new beginning. Be that as it may, I have a dog and a spouse, so I feel awful at this point. I’d return for the things that are living.
Most out-there minute?
My mum and I saw a UFO driving home down a country path. We saw a green, drifting roundabout thing with lights. My mum instructed me to call the police, at that point we reconsidered it.
I just viewed the UK rendition of The Bachelor. Twelve ladies all battling about one man — what a dazzling thought.
Most loved smell?
I have such a delicate feeling of smell I’d smell nothing in the event that I could. There are more awful stenches than good on the planet. Yet, the smell of bacon is lovely, despite the fact that we should all quit eating meat.
Most exceedingly terrible occupation?
Working at Karen Millen, when I got to London matured 18 with no cash. I needed to steam dresses in the austere cellar for quite a long time.