SPOTLIGHT: CHASE

Photo By Jorge Castro

Meet Chase and tune into her newest single “Pretend Again.”

“Pretend Again” feels like a personal unraveling. When did you realize this moment of self-discovery was meant to be a song?

I felt a certain dissonance growing up in circles where selling out and conforming to expectations meant success, praise, and belonging. So the realization that there might be a world, and a way forward, outside of that kind of life was incredibly loaded and complex. I think I knew it was a song when the weight and tension of that possibility, and what it meant for me, was sitting heavily on my spirit. That’s what this song ended up holding. For me, it felt like grieving the end of something that once felt familiar or safe, and opening myself up to the beginning of something that finally felt real.

You describe the songwriting process as pulling a thread on a sweater. What was that initial “thread” for you that started the journey?

I think there was always a quiet disconnect between what I was being told and what I knew deep in my soul, particularly when it came to who was fully deserving of love and acceptance, and who was only conditionally tolerated. At first it came through in small moments, questions I couldn’t give answers for. I didn’t realize it right away, but over time, I kept pulling at those questions, and eventually, everything I’d wrapped myself in started to come undone.

The lyric “What if the parts of you they said weren’t whole were holy in the end” is so powerful. Can you walk us through what that line means to you?

That line came from something I had been carrying for a long time. I wrote it out of the deep grief I’ve felt watching people I love be pushed out of faith spaces and other communities, told that they had to change who they were in order to be accepted. Over time, I’ve come to believe the opposite: that the parts of us others try to erase are often some of the most sacred.

You worked with Philip Weinrobe who is known for intimate and emotionally resonant projects. How did that collaboration help shape the final version of “Pretend Again”?

Phil’s mark on this track can’t be overstated. We searched for a long time for the right person to help bring this song to life, and his approach was exactly what was needed. His process is so focused on the raw performance and the feeling in the room. There’s no pressure to be perfect or polished in a way that feels performative. Instead, it’s about connection and intention, and that creates a warmth you can really hear in the track. Phil has so much technical knowledge, but what really sets him apart is his intuition–he knows how to draw out what the song actually needs, and what each person in the room has to give.

Your voice has a timeless, classic soulfulness that feels immediately evocative. Who are some vocalists you studied or found comfort in growing up?

I’ve always been drawn to big, emotional voices- singers who really feel what they’re saying. I grew up in a very musical family with everything from jazz and opera to funk and pop in the house. Julie Andrews brought me a lot of comfort as a kid, Adele really spoke to me in my teens, and in high school, Freddie Mercury stood out- not just his voice, but his fearless self-expression. I think I was craving that kind of freedom even then.

The song’s themes touch on grief, freedom, and the collapse of a false identity. Was it cathartic putting that truth into the world?

Yes, definitely. Writing this felt like a deep exhale- like letting go of something I’d been holding without realizing it. For so long, I tried so hard to be palatable, to follow the rules and not cross any lines in order to be loved, and finally naming what I’d been carrying felt both freeing and overwhelming. Letting go of that, even just in the act of writing, brought a kind of clarity and release I wasn’t expecting.

There’s a cinematic quality to “Pretend Again.” Was there a visual image or emotional scene you imagined when you were writing or recording it?

While I was writing, I imagined speaking to my younger self, and to people I love who were hurt by the same systems. When we recorded it, I remember feeling like I was floating out in the ether, surrounded by sound and feeling. It was disorienting, but also full of possibility. Like I was suspended somewhere between grief and hope, with everything beginning to open up all around me.

The lyrics suggest a reckoning with something deeply ingrained. Was there a specific life shift or realization that sparked this release?

There was a moment where something clicked, and I couldn’t unsee it. It wasn’t one big event, more like a slow buildup of questions that finally reached a tipping point. Suddenly, the things I’d been taught to fear or reject by authority figures and religious leaders didn’t align with the love and truth I knew deep down. That shift was disorienting, but it also opened something up in me. It made space for honesty, for grief, and for something new to grow.

You’ve called this track “the sound and shape of grief.” How do you hope listeners experiencing their own unravelings might feel after hearing it?

I hope more than anything that it brings comfort, whether someone is in the middle of that unraveling, has come through it, or hasn’t faced it yet. It’s a gentle invitation to ask the questions that terrify you, even the ones you were told not to ask, and a reminder to give yourself grace when the answers don’t come easily or without a cost. I hope this song feels like a soft place to land for anyone who’s ever felt alienated or alone–for people who’ve been made to feel like their differences are something to hide rather than something to hold close.

“Pretend Again” doesn’t shy away from vulnerability. Do you believe artists have a responsibility to tell the truth, even when it’s painful?

Absolutely. For a lot of us, myself included, music is how we show up in the world. It’s how we process, speak, and connect. I do think there’s a significant responsibility there to represent what’s real. Sometimes that truth is heavy, but honest expression always seems to lighten that burden, not only for ourselves but for the world.

Your influences span icons like Etta James and Adele. How have those artists helped you find your own artistic identity?

Listening to artists like Etta James and Adele early on helped me understand the emotional weight a voice can carry. Hearing how they used their voices to communicate something raw and real made me want to explore that for myself. Over time, I stopped trying to emulate other singers and started to ask what my voice had to say–not just sonically, but emotionally.

There’s a spiritual undertone to some of the lyrics with words like “holy in the end.” Does faith or spirituality play a role in your songwriting?

It feels natural to use the language that once shaped my understanding of the world to describe both my past and present inner life. My faith and spirituality look very different now, and I hold them closer than ever–because I’m able to experience them as my truest self. I used to believe

certainty and answers were the hallmarks of faith. Now, I feel most connected to the sacred when I lean into the questions and rest in the mystery, and that’s exactly where I tend to find myself when I’m writing.

Your debut sets a very specific emotional tone. Do you see “Pretend Again” as a one-off story, or the start of a larger chapter you’re ready to tell?

I definitely feel like this song is a kind of overture–like the opening credits of a story I’ve held inside for years. Writing it helped me cross a threshold I didn’t know I was standing at, and changed the rules for what I felt I was allowed to say. It opened something in me I don’t think can–or should–be closed again.

What was the most surprising thing you learned about yourself while writing or recording this song?

Growing up, I had a pretty complex relationship with my voice. Singing was my joy, but it also became the way I earned belonging in many of the communities I was part of–so long as I performed the version of myself they expected. Writing this song helped me begin to reconnect with what it means to use my voice on my own terms. I didn’t expect how freeing and how necessary that would feel.

With “Pretend Again” being such an honest introduction to who you are, what’s the one message you’d like new listeners to walk away with?

If there’s one thing I want people to carry with them, it’s that no matter what you’ve been told, nothing about you could ever make you broken or unholy. You are exactly who you are meant to be and are deserving of complete love without conditions, exactly as you are.

Listen to “Pretend Again” here.