Maiya Blaney’s new record is guided by a feeling that the artist refers to as “blue,” which, to her, is a frame of mind that is at once personal and elusive. Luckily, music can step in to fill the gaps left by the shortcomings of language, and A Room With A Door That Closes uses a variety of stylistic approaches to communicate hard-to-articulate states. From digital hardcore to soul to grunge, the record hops around in a way that is informed by the New York-based, New Jersey-born artist’s internal life and musical sensibilities. Created with a crew of responsive collaborators—the three producers who contributed to the project are Emerson Fossett, Harlan Steed of Show Me The Body, and Alex Farrar—the album is has a real emotional throughline, and we wanted to know more about it. Read our interview with the artist below.

What was it like growing up in Montclair? Did you ever go to shows at the Meatlocker?

Maiya Blaney: I did go to shows at the Meatlocker, I did. Not sure if it's a thing anymore ... Grimy and transformative. The music scene in Montclair was pretty awesome to grow up in. Growing up in Montclair in general … I'm starting to have more appreciation for it now, but it definitely had its cons. At the time there wasn't really a clear representative of who I wanted to be with the people I was around, and I think that was hard for me. But that also forced me to be more imaginative and inspired, so I think that's actually a good thing. To feel like there's something to rebel against, or fight for. And I love the parks and reserves there.

Tell us about your new record.

The record is called A Room With A Door That Closes and it's about many things ... I think the best way to summarize it is that it is in a lot of ways a solitary record. Because I wanted to make something for me, and for this feeling I got that I couldn't explain ... and felt like I was the only person who had ever felt it before. (Naive tunnel vision, but still.) I called that "blue" and the record is the personification of what my blue can feel like, because it can feel like a lot of different things. 

The beautiful thing is that usually when you write something deeply personal, that usually makes it more universal, so that's pretty cool. It resonates with people, I can't even tell you how much that means. But yeah the record is definitely a nucleus. That's also why the title is the title—it's the desire for a physical private space, but also a metaphor for my brain.

You wrote a lot of this record while moving around. What is your favorite thing about traveling? Least favorite?

My favorite thing about traveling has gotta be that feeling I get when I'm getting ready to get on a plane. It's this kickstart of adrenaline, this "let's get up and go, the world is your oyster" thing. Puts a fire under my butt which I am very grateful to travel for. Least favorite has gotta be living out of a suitcase, never feeling settled, or always feeling like I was about to be kicked out.

“Recognize Me” rocks hard. Where did that song come from?

It came from me! laughs And also that feeling, that blue feeling, and not knowing what to do with it. And I think sometimes you just gotta get it out. So it definitely came from a sense of urgency. And I appreciate that it rocks hard—shout out Alex [Farrar] who produced it with me.

What kind of rock music have you been listening to lately? 

I did a mini deep dive into some of Nirvana's rehearsal outtakes. And I've been listening to the Blue Nile recently. Their production is sick.

What was it like working with Harlan from Show Me The Body?

Harlan is an angel cherub rockstar. He's awesome, and very lovely and selfless. In the production process, I was really wanting translators to make music with, rather than someone who would just try to put words in my mouth. And Harlan was very patient and just wanted to listen and understand exactly what I was saying. And I f**k with SMTB SO hard, so shout out them.

On the other hand, another recent single, “Fumbled,” has an almost digital hardcore feel to it. What is that song about?

Yeah, it does. We called that one "jungle punk" when we didn't know what to call it, ‘cause it just felt like jungle and punk had a baby. And it's about someone who fumbled the bag and I made fun of them for it.

This all begs the question: What is your relationship with genre, and how has that developed over the years you’ve been an artist?

I really see genre as a tool, rather than a house to live in. I definitely felt pretty chaotically limitless during this album. It's kinda like I could have made two albums ... There's the one where I have my final chosen outfit (genre) on for the night, and then you see me in the same outfit but in all the different settings of the evening, and perhaps it feels more cohesive in that way. 

But then there's the album that exists solely in the bedroom, before I leave the house, in which I'm trying on all these different outfits, saying, "this one could be me, this one could be me this one could be me,” and showing the uncertainty, the intimacy, the doubt, the creativity, and also the raw resilience in that. That I kept the trying going until I arrived. And although that's definitely the scarier album to put out in my opinion, I think it's also the truer one. And I think we need truer ones now.