Despite the intensely personal and deeply upsetting landscape in which her music is being produced, Debbii manages to retain a sort of pop-star polished cosmic princess quality a la Neverending Story— her stories and her presence are immediately enticing, just like her work, and you can’t help but feel drawn into her world. There, most likely atop the spire of a vine laden castle, she is spinning tales and ballads of hope, comfort and anxiety as her world, our world, crumbles. “When I go in to write a song, when I’m in songwriting mode, it’s like another world. Another dimension. I have a hard time communicating with people. So if anyone tries talking to me or texting me, you’re not gonna hear from me. I love when I have multiple days of songwriting. I have an excuse— I don’t text people back in general,”  Debbii laughs. “Music has always been my North Star.” 

This almost storybook quality to her music and to her presence, a wink to the sort of narrative myth-making required of the American dream—as well as who, and what that narrative works to serve. “My lyrics always have a double meaning,” Debbii notes. “I think a lot of people, whether they know it or not, can relate to situations like this. They don’t know that the wool has been pulled over their eyes. You have to ask the questions yourself to find freedom.”

The songs are fun, of course, but within the fun is something more complex. Each track in its own way, details the immense and often crushing weight of attempting to reconcile Debbii’s two worlds: the glamorous story of the first generation immigrant girl who made it big off of daytime T.V. and into a label deal, as well as the girl who spends her free time LARP’ing, eating blue Jello cups with fruit gushers, and doing her best to make sure her loved ones are okay. 

It’s in these moments of our short conversation that it becomes so tangible this undeniable truth: Debbii is just as much a pop star as someone’s neighbour. A childhood friend, or a girl who’d invite you on a whim to a sleepover after a chance meeting at the park. She’d fit right into my friend group, and she suggests that if we’re ever in the same city we should go to the renaissance fair together. It’s lovely for us to connect in that way, but also a constant reminder that the people who are being targeted are just the same: immensely skilled, thoughtful friends, and imaginative people with loved ones at home. 

I can’t help feeling this looming sense, after we chat, that this is at the heart of the political struggle in the U.S. It’s equally as likely to be your childhood friend, your mother or your beloved pop idol whose livelihood is at stake. Immigrants and people of colour are always the ones creating and keeping the party alive. If we want to keep dancing, we need to keep fighting, too.