Sylvie Kreusch is chasing the calm after the chaos

Having started her musical career at 16 with some friends, the Antwerp-boorn Kreusch eventually moved on from this venture into her first group proper, Warhaus. Her solo career started shortly after this in 2018. With a string of singles and some compositional music for fashion brands, Montbray came in 2021, followed-by Comic Trip last year, both on Sony Music. These two sides of the Kreusch coin reflect her growth personally and musically across the natural voyage of ageing.

"If I didn't have all the chaotic side of my job, I would feel a bit empty,” she muses fondly. The same could be said of her approach to her output. With two albums, each differing in style, with Montbray delving into the crushing grip of heartbreak, while Comic Trip - and its recent deluxe addition - explored markedly happier and buoyant sounds and flirty territories akin to the likes of the B-52’s.

This evolution came with a moment of clarity. “I think that was the first time that I realised that I got happy from just really small things in life,” she says. “Because I achieved some success with my music, I realised it's not the success that makes me happy. It's the small things in life, and that inspired me to write about small things in life that make you happy.”

Continuing, she explains, "You get quieter, and you're not always searching for the highs in your life to have the big lows,” she says. Having reached her mid-30s, she’s experiencing the all too common change that inevitably happens as you reach this point: “I think it's not wanting to go out anymore every weekend and being happy with yourself and connecting with nature.

That's not to say that Kreusch always toes the line neatly. She also has an ingrained itch to scratch: “I’m always gonna do the opposite of what I did before." Be it a breakup to a cheerful embracing of life and its flirty sides, and even to her own admission, lovers. “You go for different types…that's what I do,” she laughs, hiding in her hoodie. But living and loving and losing are the three greatest inspirations for creatives. Seeing what’s through each door is an irresistible prospect to someone like Kreusch, “Getting your inspiration by getting your heart broken and being very destructive,” she wryly smiles. But that was the old Kreusch. “For me, I don't need those kind of highs, because for me performing is that already. It takes so much of me in a good way, but it also takes a lot of me, for me, that is my drug."

A key player in the chaotic/quietude duality experience for Kreusch has been the European Talent Exchange. A project under the wings of the ESNS (Eurosonic Noorderslag) festival and conference, it allows artists to garner attention from 130 partner festivals and 4000 bookers over the continent and beyond. Kreusch found herself on nine of the participating festivals' lineups this year alone, with her inclusion stretching back to 2021. It's been a key part of her ongoing process to continue her decidedly forward-facing journey. But the venue, city, or country makes no difference to Kreusch. “When they pick me up, I usually don't even know where I'm going, and I think that's really important,” she smiles at the unpredictability, “because every gig should be the same.”

Be it a packed-out festival crowd or a smaller, intimate acoustic gig (often the most intense experiences, she says), the Sylvie Kreusch presented on stage will always be a unified experience. It’s a well-rounded execution that’s developed in the creases of the duality she traverses. “It's so weird, because in real life, I am very shy to share my feelings. Even in relationships, it's hard for me to say the words I love you because I didn't really grow up with that kind of stuff, you know,” she says. “But in my music and being on stage, I feel like I’m totally the opposite. I'm very expressive. I'm very dramatic and very loud, very sad and very angry, my emotions are super big and honest.”

Kreusch has found that her growing ability to be more open and vulnerable on stage is thanks to embracing the notions of the theatres she often plays. “You have to be very big, because the back also needs to see you,” she explains. “It's more like a way of surviving, you can freeze and run away, or you can be super big and just give it your all.” While she firmly falls into the latter category, she does admit it feels more like a survival state: “I get lost, and sometimes I don't even know where I am. It's very meditative.”

Which is perhaps why she finds it easier to expunge her feelings on the stage with a horde of strangers before her. Just as she chases extremes in sound and emotion, Kreusch’s touring life introduces another kind of duality – one where anonymity and connection coexist. “It’s still very strange to me how when there is a huge audience…because suddenly you feel a connection. You feel like those people who bought the tickets, in some way, they felt the connection with your stories, and they experienced the same stuff so you don't feel alone anymore. You can scream all your thoughts and your feelings.”

While on stage, the synchronicity between her and the crowd is fuelling that personal catharsis; creatively speaking, Kreusch wants the future to include more collaboration. While her live band have become synonymous with her project, she’s also keen to expand beyond this and bring other artists into the fold, particularly French singers. “I’ve always wanted to sing in French,” she explains, “so that's something on my goal list too.” But there’s another element that’s likely going to be making an appearance soon, too – her spiritual side. Picking up on the fact that she’s of a generation that has openly refuted religion, and without that monkey crushing their backs, they can instead explore a more intimate spirituality: “I think our generation is exploring this more, and I think there's gonna be a shift in pop music. You're gonna have the AI shit going on, but I think there's gonna be some new, very deep shit.”

For Kreusch, growing older and the rich experiences that have tagged along have aided her belief in, well, belief. Stemming prominently from previously losing two very young friends within the space of six months, “When something happens like that, you need to believe in something beyond,” she sagely says. It’s the same principles she’s applying to a world that seems on a never-ending, fractious path. "How can there be so much evil in the world? We need to believe in something, because otherwise..." she trails off. It was LUX, Rosalia's recently critically-lauded, spiritual album, that brought Kreusch back around, with a better understanding of how it can tie into music. "I really love the fact that she's such a big star…it gives us even more courage to do whatever the fuck we want to do, with everything becoming so commercial and so AI-generated.”

That’s the crux of the Kreusch before me today. She’s emboldened by her own journey traversing the dualities of life, from heartbreak to happiness, her quiet Belgian home with her dog, to a festival filled with people, and has in turn created a fierce stage presence, one with the creative spark to follow – and oppose – her every whim. "We shouldn't be scared to be bold in our decisions in terms of creating," she ends.