Gia Ford

Gia Ford – Transparent Things Album Biog

How often do we hear from the outsider’s perspective? For rising new artist Gia Ford, those figures on the fringes of society are by far the most fascinating. Her songs tell the stories of the downtrodden to the downright dangerous. And through them, we begin to hear familiar, uncomfortable truths about ourselves.

Raised between Sheffield and Cheshire after her parents divorced, Ford developed an early passion for both poetry and original songs. “I’ve always loved writing creatively, and poetry is something I do for my own pleasure,” she says. “The two come together quite naturally, to the point that I end up writing these short stories that happen to be set to music.” This has culminated in her spectacular debut album, Transparent Things, a collection that demonstrates Ford’s signature Sheffield swagger, burnished with nods to alt-pop and psychedelic sleaze. Most of all, it shows how Ford is able to craft songs like no other artist of her generation.

“I think there’s a particular style of being very literal in a lot of modern lyrics, but I don’t find any joy in writing like that,” she explains. “It’s so morose talking about myself all the time.” Growing up, she found herself drawn to artists such as Kate Bush, Bjork, The Rolling Stones and Dusty Springfield: all enigmatic artists whose multi-layered songwriting only added to their allure. “What I’ve discovered through writing this album is, in a way, I am still writing about myself,” she says. “A few themes have come through that really surprised me.”

Transparent Things is about alienation. “Most of the characters in these songs are outcasts, all with unique ways of feeling on the periphery, somehow,” Ford says. “I’ve discovered, through the grouping of these songs, that I’m drawn to this sort of story.” While each song operates in its own realm, their subject matters create a throughline of eccentricity that turns Transparent Things into a kind of odyssey of outcasts. “Thematically it has a mythical quality, stemming from the repeated references to creatures, ghosts and undefined spirits. It’s a world of its own,” she says, “where the characters have more in common than I initially thought was possible.”

The album was recorded in LA, at the renowned Sound City Studios with legendary producer Tony Berg – known for his work on celebrated albums including Phoebe Bridgers’ Stranger in the Alps and Punisher. For Transparent Things, Berg once again demonstrates his skill at capturing the magic in storytelling: it’s all in the details. Nothing is overstated, but the subtle layering of instruments, and the irresistible pull of Ford’s writing and vocal work, make for an immersive experience.

We dive straight in on opener “Poolside”, a David Hockney splash of cool percussion, spaghetti western twangs of guitar and a rattlesnake shiver of the castanets. Ford sings in her alluring siren’s call, redolent of St Vincent. Told from the perspective of a poolboy working under the glare of the LA sun, “Poolside” taps into a feeling of disconnection that, in some way, everyone can relate to. “There’s this separation between him and the people he’s working for,” Ford explains. “He’s invisible to them.” With those images of clear blue water and lush green palms, and the bitter voice of the poolboy as he toils away in the luxury homes of his employers, Ford makes a simple but masterfully executed point about class, wealth and aspiration in the modern age.

She bares her teeth on “Alligator”, an epic, surrealist journey that sees Ford question what she could become should she allow herself to be consumed by ambition. “It’s a song about the desperation to be seen and heard,” Ford says. From an alligator to something altogether more fantastical as she realises she’s being ignored; her creature grows feathers and begins to drift “10 feet off the ground”, floating across a desolate landscape where nothing is certain. “Too far along now/ I wouldn’t even know how to turn around,” she sings. The instrumentation – creeping organ notes, shuffling rhythms and buzzy guitar feedback – wanders, languorously, along an uncertain path. Ultimately, Ford realises, she is risking her own demise in allowing ambition to get the better of her. Referencing Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s 1978 poem The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, she sings: “Albatross in the sky/ Aim my crossbow in the night.”

“I was frustrated at the time because I felt like I was doing everything right but it wasn’t going anywhere,” she says of the song’s theme. “It’s a bit of a self-critique of my own ego, self-obsession and being desperate to be noticed. I was putting on lots of masks throughout the song to garner attention. We’re always asking questions of ourselves, but I think especially with social media, our egos have ballooned quite significantly.” Using the albatross as her metaphor, Ford notes how “you’re almost cursing yourself” by actively seeking out attention. “Every day, you’re waking up and being defined by that behaviour,” she says. “And I felt like I was turning into a creature that I didn’t recognise.”

Ford wasn’t just born with these gifts – she’s worked at them, honing her craft over the years through writing and live performances. In her teens, she began performing at local open mic nights in Brighton, later travelling to London where she began to meet like-minded artists, and the manager who would later help sign her to the independent Chrysalis Records. “I really enjoyed performing during that time,” she recalls, “because I found that people really listened while I was singing. So that gave me a lot of confidence.”

This is evident on “Loveshot”, which bursts in with a sexy strut of funk guitar riffs and rippling synths. Ford squares up, eyes narrowed as she observes the scene in front of her – myriad characters bustling up and down a busy street. “There’s an old man handing out flowers, overlooked by commuters; a preacher; a young girl forced to grow up too fast, trying to navigate the world around her,” she says. “‘Loveshot’ looks at the human race and the stories we create, and asks how we could spend more time on love than we do now.”

Empathy for others drives each song on Transparent Things, even if Ford doesn’t necessarily condone her characters’ behaviour. “Buzzing on You” follows a stalker infatuated by a woman who lives in his neighbourhood, and explores the fine line between love and obsession. The song is a theatrical and meticulous composition of haughty harpsichord notes, spooky harmonies and sneaky synths. “I don’t wanna lose you,” Ford howls. “I wanna see you/ Wanna know you/ Never wanna leave you.” On the rock-leaning “Housewife Dreams of America”, we find a woman struggling with her confinement at home. Her predicament, and her neglectful husband, quickly become a metaphor for how lonely (and dull) life becomes when we’re forced to conform.

Arguably no song better encapsulates the character of “the other” than “Paint Me Like a Woman”. The song is from the perspective of a woman who feels herself morphing into the villain as a result of abuse and mistreatment at the hands of all the men in her life. It is a look inside her mind as she feels herself drifting away from who she really is; allowing her rage to weave itself into the fabric of her being. It's a comment on how we hurt each other, how we change each other, and a question: who gets punished for this terrible nature we have all, to varying degrees, embodied?

Throughout the record, listeners will pick up on the signature flair of Ford’s guitarist, Conor Houston, whom she met over Instagram when she was looking to form a band. His songwriting talents transpire on tracks including “Loveshot” and “Try Changing”. “His musicianship and distinct influence have really helped shape what this record has become,” Ford says.

While Ford enjoys drawing on the stories of others for inspiration, many of these songs are still deeply personal. “Don’t Drown Me Out” is a gorgeous, sprawling ballad that recalls Joan Baez’s crystalline vocal performance on “Diamonds & Rust”. Closer “Our Mutual Friend” was penned shortly after the loss of Ford’s grandmother, in which she tries to see death as a kindly friend whose job it is to guide us to the next realm. “I was thinking a lot about demystifying death; seeing it as a part of life, like a new adventure or change of consciousness,” she explains. Regardless of whether she’s tackling those vast, universal themes, Ford somehow always finds a fresh perspective.

“Falling in Love Again”, the first song she wrote for Transparent Things, is an unusual but poignant depiction of how grief makes us behave in ways we wouldn’t expect. The father of one of Ford’s friends had begun dating again, while still mourning the death of his beloved wife. Over time, her friend began to notice that her dad’s girlfriends were dressing like his late partner. “At first it sounds odd, and might make you feel uncomfortable,” Ford points out. “But really it’s a love song, just told in a different way.”

She hopes that the messages in each song will reveal themselves to listeners gradually, over time. “Transparent Things isn’t a concept album, but I think I have always been drawn to darker subject matters,” she says. “We’ve all gone through a period of not understanding why we feel a certain way, or having the sense that something is missing in our lives. We’ve all felt like outsiders.”

ENDS