schön! at sundance | 2026 recap

Ugo Fritsch.

What do Camille Cottin and the European rave scene have in common? ‘Jetski’, the latest video by Promis3, directed by Nails Guiguet, brings them together in a sharp, queer fable of exclusion and transformation. Set in a hyper-coded luxury ski resort, the film follows a journey from rejection to radical metamorphosis, where anger becomes a creative force and invisibility turns into power – blurring the lines between club culture, cinema and political storytelling.

‘Jetski’ presents itself as a queer, futuristic fable. How did this story of rejection, escape, and metamorphosis come about?

Promis3: It started from a very simple feeling: being in a space where you’re not supposed to belong. Somewhere exclusive, snobbish, where your presence is looked down on. From there, we wanted to follow that feeling all the way through. Not just rejection, but what comes after. Instead of disappearing, the characters get kicked out and transform. The “fable” aspect came naturally; it allowed us to push that emotional arc into something more physical, more radical. It’s really about what happens when people who are made invisible come back in a form that can’t be ignored anymore.

And how did your collaboration, the three of you, begin?

Promis3: It made sense quite quickly. We previously released already on Naïla’s first CDLF compilation and stayed in touch, and performed on her CDLF event. Naïla was already working between film and club culture, and building that bridge through CDLF. We played ‘Jetski’ the first time on the CDLF HÖR takeover, where Naïla invited us.

Naïla Guiguet: The desire to direct a music video actually came quite late, almost unexpectedly. With my two practices — DJ and label founder on one side, screenwriter and director on the other — it might have seemed obvious, but it took me time to want to bring them together in that way. It was a first, and I really hope not the last. Fiction filmmaking usually involves very long production timelines, whereas music videos offer a kind of immediacy that’s incredibly exciting – almost exhilarating — along with a great deal of creative freedom. 

With ‘Jetski,’ I loved being able to translate into images all the emotions the track had sparked in me. Promis3 already had a very strong visual identity, a highly performative approach to music, and a unique stage presence — especially with their use of live vocals, which is quite rare in rave contexts. For a first music video, it felt like the perfect match.

Why did you choose such a highly coded setting as a luxury ski resort to tell this story?

Promis3: Because it’s a space with very clear rules. A luxury ski resort is about control, appearance, class: who belongs and who doesn’t. It’s polished, but also quite rigid socially. That makes it a perfect place to introduce something disruptive. You can read it almost like a closed system. And once something doesn’t fit into that system, the reaction is immediate.

Ugo Fritsch.

At what point did you decide to push the video into something more surreal and almost fantastical?

Promis3: That shift was always part of the idea. We wanted to start in something very recognisable, a performance, a room, a social dynamic, and then slowly break away from that. The turning point is the moment they’re kicked out. After that, reality starts to loosen. The disruption scene opens something, and from there it becomes possible for subjects to transform, for the body to change. It’s less a sudden switch than a gradual slide into something else.

The final transformation is very striking. What does this hybrid, half-human, half-machine figure represent for you?

Promis3: For us, it represents a refusal to adapt to the rest. After rejection, the characters do not adapt to fit in; they come back altered, excessive, harder to categorise. The hybrid body is made from the very elements of the space that rejected them: ski debris and instruments. So it becomes a reclaimed being, something assembled out of violence but turned into energy. It is both vulnerable and powerful, both damaged and inventive. That tension was essential. We wanted the final figure to feel like a new mode of existence.

Is this metamorphosis a form of revenge, a kind of armour, or a new way of existing? Why use a “monstrous” aesthetic to talk about emancipation?

Promis3: It is all three, but above all it is a new way of existing. There is definitely revenge in it, in the sense that anger is not suppressed; it is redirected. There is armour too, because the transformation creates protection, a shell, a force field. But what interested us most was the possibility that emancipation does not always look harmonious or reassuring. Sometimes it looks excessive, impure, even monstrous. We wanted to reclaim that. The so-called monstrous can be a site of freedom, because it escapes the demand to be readable, pleasing, or acceptable.

Ugo Fritsch.

Naïla, your work in cinema, particularly ‘Dustin,’ presented at Cannes Critics’ Week – already explores bodies, nightlife and queer communities. How do these themes extend into ‘Jetski?’

Naïla Guiguet: Much like in ‘Dustin,’ I wanted to stage queer bodies in their full power — to sublimate them while also grounding them in something human, without erasing what might be perceived as deviant or unsettling. To me, monstrosity doesn’t lie in the bodies themselves, but in the way they are perceived. 

Promis3’s bodies exist in multiple in-between spaces, at points of friction, to the extent that they almost become monstrous — but not in a frightening way. It’s more of a projection: what anger and a deep sense of injustice can generate when pushed too far. The message was very clear to me: don’t play with us. We deserve to be seen, heard, and loved. And in a way, I find the real monster in the video is the crowd — that cold, normative social body. That’s the tension I wanted to create: to shift perception, and show that everything is about energy, emotion, and feeling, rather than appearance.

Your writing is often very sensory and grounded in reality. What did the music video format allow you to do differently?

Naïla Guiguet: Precisely to move away from realism. The format allowed me to embrace excess — something more baroque, more “too much.” Where cinema often demands a certain narrative coherence, here I could construct a series of contrasting tableaux without having to justify them in a conventional way. In just three minutes, we move through very different atmospheres, and that freedom to navigate between them was incredibly stimulating.

As a DJ and founder of your own label CDLF, your perspective is also shaped by club culture. How does this dual practice influence your direction?

Naïla Guiguet: I think it has allowed me to develop a more playful relationship to filmmaking. For a long time, I saw cinema as a very serious space, almost rigid, where intellectual reflection had to dominate. But through music and the club, I discovered how powerful — and necessary — it is to make people dance, to create joy and euphoria. Today, I strongly believe that entertainment and critical thinking are not opposed. You can create work that is both political and emotionally engaging while still being accessible and joyful. My relationship to the body, to movement, to collective energy — all shaped by club culture — has definitely influenced the way I approach directing.

Ugo Fritsch.

Promis3, your music blends rave, eurotrance, and queer club culture – how would you describe your visual universe alongside your sound?

Promis3: We always gravitate towards bigger-than-life situations when it comes to concepting the visual aspect. We like dynamic oppositions: if we show beauty, we also like to show ugly; if we embody serenity, we also like to embody violence, etc. Our music is intended in an over-the-top way sometimes, which correlates strongly with our need to exaggerate the visual reality.

Do you think about your tracks from the outset as narrative or cinematic objects? With ‘Jetski,’ did you want to push the visual dimension of your project even further?

Promis3: Yes, definitely. Even when a track begins with an energy or a hook, we usually think about the imagery quite quickly, what kind of visual mood it belongs to, what kind of image it carries, and what kind of concept it could generate visually. With ‘Jetski’, that instinct was even stronger because the title is already such a clear visual object. We started very literally, thinking about jetskis, and then somehow that shifted to snow scooters, which opened up the mountain setting. From there, it naturally evolved into this ski resort world, which is actually completely disconnected from what you’d expect from something called ‘Jetski’. We were laughing about it with Premier Cri at some point: the track is called ‘Jetski’, but the whole story takes place in the middle of winter, ends in a monster transformation, and there’s not a single jetski in sight.

How did you concretely work together, who brought what at the beginning: an image, an emotion, a narrative idea?

Promis3: At the beginning, we shared a few different directions with Naïla and the team, more like moods and concepts than a fixed story. There was the idea of a human jetski as a hybrid being, something more like a luxury resort narrative in the Swiss Alps, and also a more monster-driven, almost yeti-like concept. Naïla connected with several of those ideas and started combining them into something more structured. From there, it became a real back-and-forth, refining the narrative, the tone, and direction.

The production then really elevated everything. We were able to shoot at Maxim’s in Paris, which became this almost surreal, ultra-posh ski chalet, and then in the French Alps for the exterior scenes. Naïla directed the project, but it was a very collaborative dynamic. We appreciated that we were able to be closely involved throughout, especially on editing, mood, styling, and locations. It was a very fluid exchange between everyone.

Ugo Fritsch.

Did you have to make compromises, or did everything come together quite instinctively?

Promis3: Yes, definitely, it’s kind of inevitable in cinematic projects. At the beginning, everything lives on moodboards, and it’s always very ambitious. You imagine everything super big like a full James Bond-style pursuit on snow scooters, heavy VFX, and an endless amount of shots and looks.

Then, step by step, you’re confronted with the reality of production: budget, time, logistics, and you realise you can’t do everything. So it becomes a process of refining: deciding what’s essential and how to translate those ideas in a smarter, more realistic way. In that sense, compromises are constant and they’re also part of shaping the final result. That said, between us and Naïla, it didn’t feel like compromise in a creative sense. She was really open to dialogue and our input, especially on things like styling, mood and editing, where we had a clear vision as well. So it stayed collaborative throughout, more about adjusting the scale than changing the core ideas.

Ugo Fritsch.

The video builds a strong sense of tension. How did you construct this progression from invisibility to explosion?

Promis3: At first, the characters are there, but they’re not really seen for who they are. That tension builds until it turns into rejection. From that point on, the film moves into something more intimate, where anger can finally surface. The destruction scene is key because it marks a shift: the moment they stop accepting that treatment. After that, everything speeds up towards transformation. The arc moves from being overlooked, to release, to coming back in a form that can’t be ignored.

The destruction scene feels like a release. Do you see it as a political gesture? Is it important for you to transform anger into creative energy, especially within queer narratives?

Promis3: Yes, definitely. The scene feels like a release, but it’s also something more intentional than that. In queer culture, a lot of creation comes from intense emotions: rejection, desire, love, frustration, anger. You see it everywhere, in music, fashion, film. There’s a long history of turning those experiences into something expressive and shared.

For us, the destruction scene sits in that space. It’s not about destruction for its own sake, but about what you do with that energy. Anger can either stay inside you, or you can transform it into something else. In ‘Jetski,’ that moment is a turning point. Everything that was oppressive or limiting becomes material for something new. So yes, it’s political in that sense, it shows that transformation, and the idea that even negative emotions can be redirected into something powerful and creative.

Ugo Fritsch.

How did the collaboration with Camille Cottin come about?

Naïla Guiguet: I met her around the release of ‘The Innocent’ by Louis Garrel. She had been struck by the character of Clémence, played by Noémie Merlant, and while researching it, she found out that I had contributed significantly to writing that character. She also realised that I was a DJ. We ended up meeting shortly after, somewhat by chance, and immediately formed a strong connection, with a shared desire to work together. We actually have other projects in development.

‘Jetski’ felt like a way to begin collaborating without pressure — almost like a playground, a first shared experience shaped only by positive energy. And it was incredible. We feel very lucky to have worked with her on this. Her presence brings visibility to the project, and helps shine a light on queer artists and musical aesthetics that exist outside mainstream pop standards.

Her character is subtle but essential. What does she represent in the story? Does she act as a witness, a form of solidarity, or a turning point?

Naïla Guiguet: Initially, she was meant to play a more antagonistic role — almost a “mean waitress” figure. But very quickly, it became clear that it was more interesting to position her as an ally. She shares a similar social position to the group — they are both subjected to the same structures of power and symbolic violence. That creates a form of implicit solidarity, almost political. It becomes an alliance of the marginalised against the arrogance of the powerful — a way of expressing the idea of intersecting struggles. In such a codified environment, that gesture of solidarity becomes quietly subversive.

The styling clearly follows the transformation – how did you approach this evolution from control to something more organic and hybrid?

Promis3: The styling was conceived as part of the narrative, not as something added on top of it. At the beginning, the styling is more controlled, polished, and in line with the environment. As the story unfolds, they become less disciplined, more torn, more unstable, gradually moving towards a post-human transformation. The idea was that the costumes shouldn’t just dress the body, but reflect its mutation. That evolution was key to making the transformation feel believable.

To what extent do the costumes become an extension of the body – or even of the machine?

Promis3: We see clothing as an extension of the body. It says a lot about identity, about where you place yourself, about how you want to be seen, the scene or world you want to be part of. In the video, that evolution is quite direct. At the beginning, we’re trying to fit into that high society world, so the looks are more polished, more in line with the setting. Once we’re kicked out, it shifts and the styling becomes more raw, more disrupted, closer to us. Then the fur look comes in as a kind of reset. It marks a return of confidence, like something is building before the transformation. And in the end, everything merges into that hybrid figure, where those norms no longer matter, and the body carries all the stages it’s been through, including the tension and the violence, to arrive at that final, monstrous form.

Ugo Fritsch.

How do you represent queer and feminist struggles without becoming overly didactic? Do you still see the music video as a political space today?

Naïla Guiguet: I do; however, I always like to look at life through a lens of humour. The struggles are real, but the way we cope should not always be that serious. Making a music video about a ski monster isn’t that serious either, but it does tell you a queer story that holds a powerful message. I think for me with this project, it was important to bring this subject matter in a fun and entertaining way rather than a heavy or loaded vibe.

And finally, ‘Jetski’ is released on Comme Dans Les Films, Naïla’s label. How does the label’s vision and identity shape or support a project like this?

Promis3: CDLF was the ideal home for ‘Jetski’ because the label is built precisely around freedom, inclusion, self-expression, and a dialogue between music and cinema. It is not just a classic label for releasing tracks; it is a platform for projects that need visual ambition and conceptual space. Since CDLF already embraces festive, queer, and creative approaches, it made it possible for ‘Jetski’ to exist in a way that feels fully coherent: as both a club release and a cinematic video.

photography. Ugo Fritsch
fashion. Nikita Vlassenko
talent. Promis3 + Naïla Guiguet
production. Premier Cri
interview. Manon Pelinq

For singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist Claire Rosinkranz, music has always been a garden — a place where roots intertwine with weeds, blooms emerge alongside decay, and cycles of growth and rest shape every new season. The platinum-certified artist’s sophomore album, ‘My Lover‘, reflects that philosophy, exploring vulnerability, resilience, and self-discovery through lush melodies and intimate storytelling.

Raised in a household steeped in music — her Icelandic father a classically trained composer and violinist who now produces her records, one grandmother an opera singer, the other a music educator, and her mother also a musician — Rosinkranz’s creativity was cultivated from birth. Classical music, ballet, and family collaborations shaped her ear, her instincts, and her love of expression, grounding her artistry in both precision and freedom.

Her rise to global recognition began in 2020 with the viral success of “Backyard Boy,” and the following years have been a period of deliberate growth and reflection. At 19, a serious health crisis forced her to pause and confront her own limits, an experience she later channels into the poignant track “Chronic.” Now, stepping into a new chapter, she’s preparing to bring ‘My Lover’ to the stage as a supporting act on Alex Warren’s tour across Europe, ready to share her songs in a live context where each performance can bloom in its own unique way.

In conversation with Schön!, she opens up about the inspiration behind her immersive visuals, the lessons of patience and growth from her own life and her health journey, and what it feels like to be budding again in both life and music.

Growing up in such a musical family, how did that environment shape your artistry and confidence in trusting your instincts?

Music has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. My dad was always playing violin around the house, my mom played piano, one of my grandmas was an opera singer, and the other was involved in music too, so it all felt really natural. For a long time, I didn’t even think about music as a career because it was just everyday life. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it. I just didn’t really think about it in that way. I was also dancing growing up, and being surrounded by classical music definitely shaped my ear and my desire to get into music.

I started singing really young, and then writing. That’s still my favourite part of the process. It feels so good to get my thoughts out, whether I’m journaling or writing a song. Being able to combine both is really special. I think people listen to music to feel understood, and it’s even more powerful when I can write my own songs and get to the heart of what I’m going through.

My dad started bringing me into the studio at a young age because I naturally gravitated toward writing. He’d have me write songs for things like commercials, and I had so much fun with it. Eventually, I wanted to start producing my own music too. He has a classical background — he was a violinist, conducted when he was younger, and later moved into film scoring and composing — so I was really lucky to have that environment. At one point, he even told my mom he wanted to dedicate a year to helping me with my music because he could tell how passionate I was. Now, years later, we’re still making music together.

What’s been really important is our dynamic — he’s always given me space to create whatever I want. He focuses so much on production that I don’t feel self-conscious about the lyrics or the meaning behind them. I can bring him something really personal, and he just responds to the music itself. I remember playing him a song I had just written, something pretty intimate, and I was a little unsure about sharing it. But he just listened and said, “That’s really cool.” That kind of response makes it so much easier to trust my instincts and keep creating.

Yeah, he’s probably just used to it at this point. I mean, the album is called ‘My Lover’. There are going to be vulnerable moments.

Exactly. He just loves the music so much that it doesn’t really matter. If he started micromanaging at all, we wouldn’t be able to do what we do. We both care about the music enough to respect each other’s space.

You have ties to Iceland, right? 

Yeah. My dad was born there and raised in Sweden, but we still have property there through my grandma, his mom, who was an opera singer. My grandpa — my dad’s dad — passed away when my dad was five, but he was the director of the first opera house in Iceland. That’s how my grandparents met, at the opera house, and it’s still around. We go there sometimes. He looks exactly like my grandpa, who I never met, and there’s a statue of him at the opera house. I’d love to build a studio out there someday. We still have so much family in Iceland. I’m technically half Icelandic, but my dad didn’t teach us the language growing up, he was worried we’d be misunderstood, so my sisters and I never learned it.

You mentioned a perfume store that you referenced when discussing ‘Bleeding Love’. Was it Fischersund? 

Oh my gosh, yes! That’s the place. I love that you’ve been there. It’s very descriptive and sensory, and of course, you’re smelling everything too. The clip at the beginning of the song is from the woman who was guiding us through the experience. It was her interpretation of one of the poems that really resonated with me. All of the poems are immersive; they pull you into a world. I already loved where they took me, but the way she described it and her energy really stood out. I loved how she spoke about everything. I recorded it, and my dad recorded it too. We both immediately wanted to make something out of it.

I think it came pretty naturally because I genuinely connected to it. When you feel something strongly, writing becomes easy — it just flows. It’s much harder when you try to force it. At the beginning of the song, there’s that scene where she’s at a party, steps out onto a balcony, and she’s hot and flushed, smelling the earth and the air. It feels euphoric but also a little lonely. I’ve experienced moments like that, so it felt very real. When something makes you feel that way, it’s easy to write from it — it just comes out. That kind of immersive experience really inspired me.

Are visuals something you think about while songwriting, or is that something you come up with after the fact?

Both. I think a big part of writing the album came at some point — I don’t even know exactly when it got sparked in my mind — but the garden theme was something I always wanted once it appeared. It might have been a long time ago. I remember watching a ballet, and there were dancers in white — white pancake tutus, white leotards — and others in black, black tutus and leotards. They were dancing together, and it was clear that the white represented life and goodness, and the black represented darkness.

Watching it made me realize that when you have both, it can still be beautiful. Even darkness can be beautiful when there’s still life within it. You can’t just have light; darkness on its own isn’t beautiful, but when there’s contrast, when redemption or life is coming through it, it becomes meaningful. It shows that whatever happens in the darkness can still be part of something beautiful.

That idea parallels the garden. I always think about the life cycle of a plant or a flower. You plant it, it blooms, reaches its fullest form, then it wilts, dies, and returns to the ground. You can’t skip the grieving, the wilting, or the dying, but that’s not the end. It becomes nourishment for what comes next. There’s always new life. It’s like a dance — there’s this ebb and flow between life and death. The garden is always doing that. There’s growth, decay, blooming, watering, roots, and weeds. All of it exists together and works together, and it’s really beautiful.

When I was making the album, I was just present with what I was experiencing. I was going through normal life situations, and while they’re all different, the thing tying them together is me. I started thinking about what could parallel all of that, and the garden felt right. My life is a place where there’s growth and loss, blooming and decay, roots and weeds. Even the hardest experiences — things that felt awful in the moment — I had to be present with them and go through them. Now I feel like I’m living on the other side of that. The garden became this thread throughout the album. Any song can be part of it.

There’s a nice juxtaposition throughout the album. You have “My Lover”, which is a really beautiful track about love, but there are also songs about your chronic illness — something you were struggling with that prevented you from doing what you wanted to do. How did that experience teach you about growth not being linear? Plants and flowers don’t grow in a straight line either — they need different amounts of sunlight and water at different times. It’s an interesting way to look at it.

Even before I went through that crash, I remember thinking, “Every time you go through something hard, you end up being thankful for it.” Even if it really sucked in the moment, I’d come out the other side thinking, “I never want to go through that again, but I did learn a lot.” I didn’t regret the experience, even if I wouldn’t choose it again. I remember telling myself that the next time something hard happened, I’d try to hold onto that mindset.

 I had never been through something as intense as that. It became a matter of life and death, and that’s a much harder place to say, “This is fine.” I didn’t know if I’d make it through, because it was my health. In a way, I experienced the fullness of what it feels like to almost die, and now I’m on the other side of it. During that time, I always say this: sometimes doing nothing is the most productive thing you can do. I wasn’t really “doing nothing” — my body was working hard to keep me alive — but externally, I was still. And I think we’re so quick to label that as lazy or unproductive.

I had so much time to heal, and eventually to think. I had space to reflect, to listen to myself, to be gentle with myself. There’s so much we can learn in stillness, but we rarely allow it. It sounds extreme to say, “Do nothing for a week,” but most people feel like they couldn’t do that. Still, there’s so much our bodies and our inner selves want to teach us, and we don’t give ourselves the space to hear it. We’re always telling ourselves we have to be doing something to be productive. I’ve realized that’s not really true. Even when I was younger, I’d spend time just sitting and reflecting — climbing a tree, being completely unstimulated — and I learned so much in those moments. I felt the most connected to myself. That’s something I’m trying to get back to in my music — reconnecting with that childlike state. There’s so much wonder there, and when you’re in that place, you don’t feel like you have to go out and chase everything. It feels like everything you need is already right there.

I love that idea of childlike wonder. It’s something I hear a lot when I interview actors. They talk about how acting used to feel like play. It wasn’t tied to self-worth or success. It was just something you did to get out of your head and just be.

I think about that a lot. When I made “Backyard Boy,” which became my first big success, I was in a completely different mindset than I’ve been in at other points in the industry. At that time, I just loved it. I knew it was what I wanted to do forever because I loved it so much. I didn’t have an audience or validation motivating me, but I was the most motivated I’ve ever been. It felt like what I was made to do — to just create. As you go through the industry, you start to notice shifts. Sometimes things are going really well, and other times people feel more distant. When you experience success, it becomes easy to let your motivation come from your audience or external validation.

But I realized I was at my best when I wasn’t fueled by any of that. I was just still, doing what I loved, giving myself space to be bored, to be a kid. I feel like I’m getting back to that place now, and that’s been a really meaningful journey.

I wanted to ask about writing “Chronic.” You mentioned you weren’t making much music while you were really ill. Was writing that song part of processing the experience later on?

I definitely couldn’t write when I was really sick. I wasn’t doing anything, but I still deal with it. Chronic illness is ongoing, and I’m still trying to understand what’s going on with my body. There are times when I feel remnants of that intense crash — episodes where I feel really fatigued or experience similar symptoms, just on a smaller scale. It might only last a day, but it’s still intense. And it can feel discouraging when you think you’re doing better, and then it comes back. It feels relentless. I remember being in one of those moments — really fatigued and frustrated — and thinking, “I need to finish something.” It’s such a hard feeling to explain. You can say you’re tired, but it’s not that kind of tired.

Yeah, it’s not like, “just sleep more.”

Exactly. It’s so heavy. When your body feels that way, you don’t even have the energy to work toward getting better. I sat down at the piano and thought, “I need to feel understood,” and I started writing. That song really does make me feel understood. When I listen to it, I think, “Yeah, that’s what it feels like.” When I’ve shared it with friends who also have chronic illness, it’s resonated with them too. That makes me feel like I did a good job. Being able to articulate emotions is really powerful, and it’s also really hard. I think that’s why music helps so much because feelings can’t always be expressed through words alone. Having melody and sound alongside the lyrics lets you get closer to what you’re actually feeling.

You haven’t toured this album yet, but are there any songs you think will take on a new meaning or life when performed live? Playing in front of a different audience every night — who all interpret the songs in their own way — can really change things. Are there any tracks you feel will evolve like that?

I played a couple on the Maroon 5 tour, and it was interesting to see how they translated live. I feel like “Chronic” actually connected the most. Those kinds of songs are really fun live because they don’t have to stick exactly to the record. The musicians can play with them, and it feels like we can move with the music instead of staying in a fixed version of it. There’s something really powerful about that one.

I’m also excited to play “My Lover.” I haven’t performed it yet, but it’s a song I really want to sing on stage. In some ways, I feel like we could have produced it more or added more to it, but I think the live performance will bring out everything it’s meant to be. It’ll feel complete in that setting.

And lastly, talking about the garden cycle — what part of that cycle do you feel like you’re in right now?

I feel like I’m budding again. My cycles change a lot — sometimes quickly, sometimes it feels like a long process. Right now, I feel like a small sprout. It feels like a new chapter, a new season in my life. I can tell I’m in a learning phase again. Certain thoughts keep coming back, and I find myself questioning things — what I believe, how I think, how I see things. There’s a lot of reflection happening. It feels like I’m just starting to push through the soil again, slowly growing into whatever comes next.

‘My Lover’ is out now.

photography. Kaitlin Edwards
interview. Kelsey Barnes

Fresh off the momentum of a rapidly rising career, Alex Sampson is stepping into his own — both on stage and in spirit. Hailing from a small town of fewer than 2,500 people, the singer-songwriter’s journey feels almost surreal, shaped by instinct, faith, and a clear sense of purpose. Now playing some of his biggest shows yet, Sampson is embracing every moment with a grounded perspective and an undeniable passion for performance.

For Schön! curated, he gives us a glimpse into the person behind the music, from the sentimental pieces in his wardrobe to the artists who inspire him, the meals that feel like home, and the songs that soundtrack his story.

What are you up to right now?

I’m currently on tour right now! As of writing this, I’m in Denver, about to play my first theatre show!

If someone asked you what your origin story was, how would you describe it?

I’d describe it as pretty crazy. I’m from a very small town with less than 2500 people living there so the fact that I’m where I am now is insane. God really paved a path for me.

Describe your style in 3 words.

Clean, simple, casual.

What is the most precious thing in your wardrobe?

The most precious thing in my wardrobe is a shirt my girlfriend got me. It has her eyes on the back, and it’s my favourite shirt I have.

Which living person do you most admire?

I’m not sure who I’d say I most admire. There are a few artists I look up to and take inspiration from. Harry Styles and Role Model are my top 2 right now.

What was the last book you read?

The last book I read was the Bible, but other than that, I think it was my buddy Tanner’s book, ‘A Modern Day Screwtape Letters’.

If you could play any venue, which one would it be?

Recently, I discovered the Alex Theatre in Glendale. I think it’d be hilarious if I headlined a show there. “Alex Sampson at the Alex Theatre.”

Where are you happiest?

I’d say I’m my happiest when I’m on stage.

Ideal 3-course meal?

Cheese curds, medium sirloin steak, mashed potatoes, and banana cream pie to finish it off.

Who would play you in the story of your life?

Probably Mason Thames. I get told we look alike a lot lol.

What’s one song that you’d like to listen to for the first time again?

“Ghost Of You” by 5 Seconds Of Summer

An underrated song/artist you love?

Owl City. All the way.

The track that describes your coming-of-age story?

Definitely “Growing Pains”.

An album that you’d put in a time capsule?

‘Kansas Anymore (The Longest Goodbye)’ by Role Model

A lyric that you love and the song it’s from?

“Your ex was just a gateway drug” — Gateway Drug

A track that reminds you of a happy moment?

“River” by Joni Mitchell

A song that you discovered recently that you love?

“Zombie” by The Cranberries

Best record to get you out of a funk?

“Sally, When The Wine Runs Out” by Role Model

What’s the last song you searched for on Spotify?

Friend Zone.

A song you wish you wrote?

Again, “Ghost Of You” by 5 Seconds Of Summer