Built on gently unfolding piano lines, soft percussion, and vintage synth textures, “Mystery Woman” distills a tangle of feeling into something crystalline. Owen’s voice, both tender and deliberate, guides the track through memory, curiosity, and the ache of imagined intimacy. In our conversation with Owen, she reflects on crafting vulnerability without spectacle, drawing from the places that shaped her—Nova Scotia’s wild quiet, Montreal’s liberating sprawl—and learning to trust the moments when a song doesn’t need to say more.

What kind of emotional space were you in when you wrote “Mystery Woman” and how did you translate that into the song? 

I wrote this song at the tail end of last winter and it was a very grey day as I remember it. I can be quite affected by my surroundings and so the initial demo came out sounding fairly forlorn. As I continued writing, however, I remember entering into a place of enjoyable curiosity. I had been reflecting on a couple of different relationships in my life and I was inspired to create a character who could embody these experiences. A muse that was sort of an amalgamation of all these feelings, without necessarily being tied to any one person. The more I developed this story, the more curious I became about this imagined person which, ironically, lent itself well to the title and overarching message of the song.

You made this track/video with collaborators between Montreal and Nova Scotia — two places that feel quite opposite. How did those environments shape the song’s sound/storytelling?

Montreal, for me, has been an incredibly liberating place to live. More so than anywhere else I’ve felt comfortable and curious to explore my attraction to different sorts of people, my identity and the way I express myself. I think the storytelling in this song came together from a place of comfort in writing from a perspective that’s relatively new to me but also feels very real and very important. As for the influence Nova Scotia had – I am often seeking out soundscapes that conjure up images of nature and specifically light. I think this has to do with how much the Nova Scotia landscapes where I grew up have impacted my relationship with art and environment. This definitely played a role when I was working on this song and what I was looking for in terms of production.

How do you approach incorporating genuine vulnerability into your songwriting?

I read a wonderful book early in my songwriting practice by the author and painter Natalie Goldberg. One of the guiding principles she spoke about for authors when trying to write honestly and vulnerably is that “if something comes up in your writing that is ‘scary’ or’ ‘naked’ you must dive right in as this idea probably has lots of energy.” She continues on to say that as writers we are aiming to tap into the place where energy is unobstructed by social norms or niceties and our self-critic is nowhere to be found. I certainly don’t always manage to do this when I’m writing, but I try to carry this idea with me. I find that a lot of my own favourite lyrics are ones that may not make a ton of sense, but they feel good to sing.

Your production feels quite warm. What draws you to that kind of sonic intimacy?

I think my preference towards warmer sounds really stems from the music I grew up listening to and what feels the most comforting to me. I have very fond memories of listening to a lot of songs with my family from the ‘60s and ‘70s. Music with full bands and analog instruments. I love that music because of how alive it feels. Like you’re right in the room with these people while they’re playing. I think that intimacy and connection is so beautiful and I want to try and offer it as much as I can in my own music.

You mentioned the feeling of being “an afterthought” — such a specific ache. When you write from that place, do you find a sense of catharsis?

Sometimes it can be very cathartic. If I can figure out a way to advocate for myself in the writing or communicate a response that feels particularly creative or truthful. Other times not at all and it’s a pure pity party! 

You shot the video with creatives from Nova Scotia. What was the most unexpected influence or idea that emerged from collaborating across provinces?

As soon as the production for this song was finished, I had this very clear vision in my head of a woman in a dance studio moving to the song as part of the video I wanted to make. I knew what kind of light the space needed…that the floors would be wooden… I could picture radiators and soft curtains. There happened to be this beautiful old dance conservatory in Halifax that my choreographer suggested when I was scouting locations that ended up being the perfect place. It also just so happened to be the same building as the elementary school I went to for a few years so it definitely felt like a sweet moment of kismet and an opportunity to weave in a bit more of my story.

How do you know when a song has said everything it needs to? Did you feel that way quickly during the process of writing “Mystery Woman”?

I know a song has said what it needs when I can listen back and either revisit exactly the feeling I was processing when I first started the song, or if there’s an element of comfort or resolution that I feel in response to listening to it. With regard to the process of making this song, we got fairly lucky with it. I started it on my own and then brought it to my producer and dear friend Marc-André. We played with some melodies and finished it together and it all flowed very naturally across just a few sessions. Sometimes I’ll feel an itch or a worry that I’ve left something out or there might be a better way to get the point across. This one just felt like a big and satisfying exhale when it was finished. I felt a nice level of trust letting it be done.  

What draws you to softer, more tender moments in your music rather than big, declarative ones? 

For me it really all depends on the lyrics and the message I’m trying to get across. I think with this song anyway, we hit a really nice balance between the two. The verses felt very private, like a dialogue I was having with myself,  so we wanted the music to reflect that. Simple and delicate. For the chorus though, there was lyrically definitely a different energy and feeling coming through so we went bigger. The contrast feels so good to me.These tiny little moments and thoughts that build into this whirling, breathing mess of feelings and sounds all together to really express something… and then of course going back down to a quiet final moment for good measure!