“Part of what I do is treading the line between flow state and dissociation – being present and being somewhere else,” Aldous Harding says thoughtfully over video call.
For the duration of our conversation at least, the songwriter is quite present. She is bundled up in her mother’s back yard in rural New Zealand, puffing on a cigarette as she looks out over a lawn, a shed and a ball of ginger fur that looks like a cat.
“That’s a dog,” Harding corrects me. “It’s not your fault – she looks like a cheap wig. Her name’s Jessie, she’s a pomeranian, she’s a nightmare.”