Kwamie Liv’s songs are floating, transgressive; plucked like fruit from a rich internal sky. Experimenting with trip-hop, R&B and electronica, she moves freely between genres and what they represent, interlacing poetic abstraction with darkly tinged melodies. Her voice is subtly layered, held back.

The Danish-Zambian artist first emerged in February and sparked an instant flurry of blog posts after publishing the sombre track 5 AM on Soundcloud. Since then, she has released songs in steady succession while keeping a low profile, wanting the music to speak for itself. Kwamie Liv is now releasing her debut EP, Lost in the Girl, and we were eager to hear the stories behind it. Strangely, it all began with coffee, cigarettes and a shed.

How did you start making music?

The first song that I wrote came to me in a dream when I was eight. I woke up and sang it into this little recorder that I had. I realised I could create songs. When I was eleven I picked up a guitar and started playing. That became my real way into writing music with instruments. From an early age it was something that I used and enjoyed.

What was the dream about?

The dream is very abstract to me now, but the song was about coffee and cigarettes and a shed. When I look back at some of the songs I wrote as a kid I have no idea where they came from, but I think they’re just based on observing. Somehow you model everything up... Coffee, cigarettes and a shed.

That sounds quite grown up for an eight-year-old! Like an old man’s thing.

I guess it does! There really are no boundaries for what you can say or what perspectives you can adopt when it comes to music. It’s limitless.

5 AM was the first song you put out. What can you tell me about it?

It’s an introverted song in many ways. It takes place somewhere dizzy. You’re in the wave, in the movement, but somehow outside it. It’s about not quite belonging. Follow You is more on the edge, a mood. With Follow You, I imagine driving alone on an endless humid night. Nobody can find you and that’s a good thing. Suddenly, from nowhere, there’s a hand on your shoulder and you don’t know whether it’s your lover or your friend or your fear or your own shadow. It’s more fast-paced. You’re moving, running, free, but there’s also something right there. In 5 AM you’re in the middle of things, observing the world around you.

Like a dream.

Maybe. There might be a dreamlike quality, but for me there’s always a real connection. When I write the music, I’m very grounded in something real and from that platform I can jump into, for example, the voice of an old man who drinks alcohol and sleeps in a shed. It always ties back and is centred around something that’s very real.

And how about Comin Thru? It’s more upbeat and straightforward.

That song came about differently. I walked into the studio and (my producer) Baby Duka was like “hey listen to this”. The beat just blew my mind. There was something rebellious about it and writing it leaned itself up against a pulse that was already there. I was already inspired by a feeling that is the exact opposite of fear. That song is also young; believing that anything’s possible regardless of who you are or where you come from.

It comes back to the idea of boundary-lessness. I create on my own terms. It’s multifaceted, but it’s always you. We are many things.

This summer I gathered all my friends in the wild garden of the Swedish forest. We swam in the lake as the sun laid to rest behind the treetops, boiled our dishwater and picked buttercups for sprawling flower crowns. The playlist for Issue 21 is about light, adventure and everything green, and its bittersweet transiency.

Below is a close-up of one of Marion Barraud's patterns that accompanied this issue's playlist and recipe.

Next weekend, Oh Comely will camp below a Welsh mountain range at Green Man festival. Neutral Milk Hotel is playing, which seems like a magical coincidence since we can't get enough of this song.  Of course, there's plenty of magic going on at the festival this year; that's sort of what they do. Aside from indulging in music (Beirut, Kurt Vile, First Aid Kit), we plan to visit the White Lies cinema tent, watch the green man burn and hike around Einstein's Garden.

​If you're lucky enough to have a ticket, come past our Story Swap stall in the Babbling Tongues area, near the Literature Stage. Between 10.00 and 14.00 from Thursday to Sunday we will decorate postcards with clippings from old mags, create festival zines and swap ballads for horror haikus. Write a secret for our story box and receive something enchanting (or crude) in return.

See you there!

When Kassia Conway was still an unknown musician in LA, finetuning her sharp and sarcastic approach to pop, she often lost patience with people bragging about their creative potential at parties. Instead of joining the conversation, Conway turned her frustration into a hit anthem. Big Talk is the lead single of her debut EP, out now.

We spoke to the American artist about motivational fan letters and swapping bands for independence.

Tell us a bit about yourself.

I was born in St Louis, raised in Brooklyn, and am currently expressing myself in LA. I'm probably best described as a professionally crazy person. I make music and videos, and I have a very difficult time relaxing. I love connection and laughter, but spend most of my time making things.

What has been the best moment of your career?

There have been several along the way – the steps of this journey are always of note, good or bad. But one of my favourite moments would be when I received a handwritten letter in pencil from a girl that chased me down the street outside of a show to give me a hug. Her letter started with the words “Holy shit, you are fucking awesome!” And I thought to myself, this is how I used to begin most of my letters.

Where does your urge to make music stem from?

I’m trying to communicate something I can only seem to illustrate with sounds. I always have far too much to say and words alone never seem to be completely accurate to the level of my emotions. For some reason music has always taken me to a magical place of understanding and I desperately want to understand.

At one point you decided against joining a band and instead went solo. Why was that?

I started a lot of bands and loved it. I grew up learning about music by being in bands - not from school. I was ready to push myself towards having more responsibility and becoming a better songwriter. I also wanted the freedom that only comes when you jump out on your own. I was searching for a sound that reflected my specific point of view but that also made me dance involuntarily.

What can you tell us about this song?

Big Talk is a triumphant blast of a song and it’s a true story as well.

Born from a hunger to start afresh, London-based Liu Bei started as a collaborative project amongst friends with an eye to embark on something new. The shimmering single 'Infatuation' is their first offering, a cinematic soundscape that haunts with reverberating vocals and escalating rhythm. An honest and epic ballad on the devastating effects of love, Liu Bei's debut single sets an exciting forecast for what's to come. 

We spoke to frontman Richard Walters about falling into a new band and writing without perimeters. 

Tell us a little bit about yourself.

My name is Richard. I sing and play guitar in a band from London called Liu Bei.

You've had a very fruitful career in music; tell us about your past, and how you got to where you are now. 

I've been making music for a few years, mostly by myself. Creative solitude is a great thing to a point, and then you really need some company and other brains to connect with. I released three albums and toured almost constantly without a gang. I just reached my limit with that way of working, and luckily met the others in Liu Bei right on the verge of giving up. It brought me back.

You've also written music for tv; how do you find the experience of writing commercial music in comparison to writing music for yourself? 

Being given a brief and strict boundaries to work within is the best thing in the world some days - you can just sit down and switch on. But it is work, not pure expression. If you're fighting against the perimeters you've been set it can be absolute hell. It works the other way round too - sometimes there's too much going on in your head and your life to turn into a song, you occasionally need that roped off area in your brain to get things out.

Tell us about Liu Bei.

I moved to London last year and told myself that it was the right time to find a new way of making music. New home, new project. I wanted to do something that was purely for the love of music with no commercial agenda. I was lucky to meet the others in the band just as I was feeling a little hopeless about what I was creating, and the pleasure of writing and playing with other people was immense. We've not stopped since.

Is there a story behind the band's name?

It came to us via the radio, as all good things should. There was a documentary on Radio 4 about Chinese folklore and they discussed this incredible, kind hearted and gigantic (8ft tall, apparently) warlord called Liu Bei. Nothing else would do after that. There's a sick part of me that really gets a kick from people being a bit lost about how to say it. For the record, it's 'Loo Bay'.

Where do you turn to for inspiration?

I find that reading books and listening to records that leave me a little envious tends to push me to write, as though I've got to justify my existence in the light of such brilliance. Getting out and walking round London is also good. Late nights and hangovers tend to get things ticking too, which is weird but quite common I think. Maybe your brain shutting down a little allows a few more honest ideas to come through.

Introduce us to Infatuation.

This is a song about the sanity-wrecking power of love and obsession. I've seen the clearest-headed people in my life turn into absolute wrecks over the end of a relationship, but they always come out the other end wondering what they said or did, because you're just utterly lost in it sometimes. The strangest thing is that as much as it hurts and tears you up, there's always part of you that doesn't want it to end; there's something right about feeling utterly overwhelmed by your own head and heart.

Infatuation is released on 7th July through ParadYse/Transgressive Records.

Emerging from the Edinburgh music scene, LAW, or Lauren Holt, is not a singer in the traditional sense of the word. While others climb high notes, LAW holds back. Her new EP Cowboys and Hustlers is a short explosion of wide expressions, “a burst of something happening,” she says, that toys with different genres and turns a range of references into one distinctive style. Contrasting soft and aggressive arrangements, her mellow soul vocals float across a jagged soundscape of noisy, minimalistic beats. LAW is hard to define. In a good way.

We spoke to the experimental musician about the craft of singing and why she keeps moving with music.

You come from a jazz band background and have collaborated with alternative hip hop  group Young Fathers. Have you experimented with different music styles throughout your life?

When I started singing at 16, I tried to do as many different kinds of singing as possible. I did jazz, ska, blues and was in three or four different bands. After that I started writing my own stuff with Young Fathers. I learned to measure my voice and use it properly.

It feels like you could release this immense, powerful voice and just beat the crap out of any song, but instead you keep it subtle.

That kind of singing is a bit old fashioned now, isn't it? The craft of singing has been somewhat trivialised recently through reality shows. People think singing is about doing mad runs and silly high notes, when it’s actually about communicating with people. Doing all the Mariah Carey stuff is fair enough, but it doesn't really say anything. It doesn't make you feel any certain way, and you don't remember what the song was about.

Where do you look for inspiration?

You get the hunger from doing different things. I do music on the side of work and try to pick something beautiful out of my day to day life. The studio is a great place. There are books and pictures everywhere and instruments to touch. I like to read a lot on the bus and get a different perspective on life and people. Since I work in a charity shop I get to meet interesting people and have those conversations where you think “I’m taking that!”. Your mind is like a sponge, so when you write it just comes out. It’s important to keep listening to music, it freshens everything up. If you're always moving with music, your ideas change all the time. It means you can move as well, not just stagnate on your own, and make sure it's coherent for what you want to achieve.

What are you listening to at the moment?

Dr John and Jonwayne. I'm interested in white men with beards at the moment! And long hair, preferably.

What’s the story behind your stage name?

My grandma could never remember all the kids’ names, so my name got shortened. She was Jamaican and used to scream “Laaaau!” [instead of Lauren]. I was also looking for something strong and simple, and I think the name sums up our goals and aims with the music. A strong and fierce thing, yet a real person with different layers under the surface. There’s an aggressive side to the music, as well as lots of soul and emotion.

www.lawholt.com

Singer/songwriter Dan Amor’s subtle vocals reflect the soft, billowing landscape of his home on the fringes of Snowdonia. He has always sung in Welsh, which, for the unversed, adorns his songs with an almost otherworldly quality. The language becomes an instrument in its own right, whispering of amber blood and silver lakes through trickling picks on the guitar. We spoke to Dan about his new album, Rainhill Trials, and why Wales remains a constant source of inspiration. 

Tell us a bit about yourself.

I'm from North Wales. I enjoy music, deserted beaches, a good read and springtime. And the occasional glass or two of good red wine. I also run a record label called Recordiau Cae Gwyn Records.

What inspired Rainhill Trials?

The need to continue making music. It's something I can't deny. I wanted to try and make this album sound desolate yet homely, hopefully with a sprinkle of golden 1960's dust. I also thought it would be nice to release a free album.

What does Wales mean to you?

It's my home. The amazing landscape in which I live never ceases to move me. Even when it's raining. We have everything in this neck of the woods: stunning mountain ranges, magical beaches, forests and rolling grasslands.

What are the creative benefits of writing in a language few can understand?

Many understand it in this part of the world! The Welsh language material has always enjoyed a good reception in England. It's also very refreshing, as someone who creates music, to be able to utilise more than one language. It can freshen up one's perspective and approach. It can even affect the way I come up with melodies.

What can you tell us about Brenhines Y Tonnau?

The title translates as Queen of the Waves.The chorus translates as “Kisses from the Queen of the Waves on the Sun King's left hand, we are hanging from the same thread, above the golden waves.” The first verse is about a wooden bird bleeding amber, which is crystallising on his/her feathers, in a silver lake.

Photo: Flip Schulke

Dance, roars and expensive beer. It’s happening this weekend in Victoria Park. Field Day is a two day festival dedicated to new music and we will be there, raising our voices and throwing glitter around. Headliners Metronomy and The Pixies are playing along with a range of exciting acts; from Warpaint, Courtney Barnett and Blood Orange to Jagwar Ma and The Horrors. Cover your hair in pink and purple hearts, grab a pair of shiny pants and listen to our festive playlist below.