Lost in the Darkness // Billie Eilish

Part I

(I recommend to watch Billie's DV TV interview on YouTube before reading)
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I can't quite ignore the underlying urge to vomit churning in my gut.

As far as I'm aware, we're somewhere in Central Europe. The Czech Republic.

I think.

I'm tired. I don't get much sleep and that's partially my fault and partially because of my demanding career.

I feel horrible. My hair needs to wash, I'm reminded of that fact whenever I regularly go to run my fingers through the black strands. My back is killing me because I'm on my period, the tour bus' cramped beds and the way I tend to perform on stage doesn't make it any better.

My relationship with tour used to be just as bad as my relationship with sleep. This tour is undoubtedly better, but at the end of the day, tour is tour.

"Billie."

Someone sharply snaps their fingers at me and informs me that my interview is about to start promptly.

I don't appreciate being tossed around like an object but I keep my mouth shut this time. I'm not in the mood and it's evident on my face.

I take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the camera. The room the interview is taking place is remotely dark, two spotlights are centered on my face and on where the interviewer's should be.

I don't look directly at the woman who takes the seat in front of me. Instead I focus on how I plan to force a smile for the next seven minutes give or take.

The person behind the camera counts down from three and a give my nose a little crinkle and scratch the surface of it before we begin.

"American singer and songwriter, Billie Eilish Pirate Baird O'Connell, welcome on DV TV."

The soft spoken sound of the women's voice makes me redirect my attention. I let out an amusing chuckle when she unexpectedly recites my full name. I don't hear that often.

"Thank you for having me," I smile, replying in a voice soft, but not nearly as soft as hers. Slightly deeper as well.

As I spoke, my eyes unintentionally flit down to her chest. I was only looking at her necklace but I realized shortly after it might've seemed like I was staring at her cleavage, so I looked up again.

"How you doing?"

When I met her eyes, my lids lowered themselves and my tone lowered just a bit.

I was admittedly a little taken aback by her appearance. Usually, the people I get interviewed by are older men who probably don't know much about me, even though they've been assigned to interview me.

The woman in the seat in front of me was much younger, older than me but still younger than the others. I first took notice of her long eyelashes that seemed to fan like butterfly wings whenever she would blink. Her lips were a rosy color and her makeup was nice.

Quickly, I took one last glance at her necklace before she responded to my previous question, "I'm great, how are you?"

"I'm good," I lied, but she didn't need to know how I was really feeling.

"Cliche question, but does music still have the power to change the world?"

"Fully." I didn't hesitate. "Bro, it is changing the world."

"How?" She did not hesitate either.

And that's when I became a bit flustered. I wasn't in my element, nor was I prepared to give her a good answer. So, I ended up just spewing some bullshit out of my mouth, not really answering the question, but more so restating it.

I'm sure she was well aware of it, but she didn't beg me to elaborate further which I'm thankful for. I think she sensed I was kinda out of it.

For one of her next questions, she said, "Music journalists sometimes describe your work as being post genre."

She paused briefly.

"Does it please you?"

I smiled again and looked away, "Post genre?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I guess it does. I think anything that doesn't have a name of a genre in the title pleases me. If- if it's like, anti-genre I'm good with it."

"A number of musicians like Thom Yorke or Dave Grohl have spoken of you as the only interesting or even the only punk thing happening on the music scene today. Are they right?"

I shake my head, almost in disbelief at such a statement coming from them. "I hope so. I mean-"

She interrupts me for clarification, "You hope to be the only interesting thing happening on the music scene of today?"

I find the rhetorical question charming and a little comical, once I realized she's reiterating how arrogant I may have sounded.

I laugh lightly and strengthen my answer. "Yeah, fuck yeah!"

She later quotes something I said from a past interview, "Every artist I know is sad. We're sad."

"Why is that?" She looks at me genuinely, patiently awaiting a reply.

I snort just thinking about the person I was at that time and admit I don't think what I said was true.

"You said it,"

"I did say it." I say with a smile. "But I don't know if it's true."

I rant on about how I was in a different mindset back then, how I was in a terrible place.

"That period of my life, I just wasn't, like-" I struggle to find the words.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I wasn't in touch with it. I kind of was lost in my own head, in my own darkness."

She takes note of what I said and moves on to the next series of questions.

From there, I go on and on about refried beans and gluten-free tortillas like a dork.

I list a few items that I always have with me on tour and she kindly asks, "Do you get paid for saying all those brands?"

I can't contain my laugh, "I don't but I should though,"

"That's very unfair." Her voice remains soft and nonchalant.

Another giggle escapes my lips and I point at her, "I like you, you're funny."

"Likewise."

By the end of the interview, I shyly end up confessing I'm afraid of the dark.

I wrote an album inspired by sleep paralysis and I'm twenty, yet I'm still terrified of the dark...