There’s a quiet moment before the first note plays, a hush that settles like breath held too long. Then it begins — “Overture,” the moody, cinematic introduction to Flara K’s debut album, Seasons. For the Montréal-based singer, songwriter, and performer, the project is an arrival. A reveal. A reclamation.
“Making this album freed up something in me that I think I kept hidden under the surface for a long time,” Flara K shares. “It brought out a confidence in myself that I forgot was there. It allowed me to explore themes and ways of creating that I’ve always wanted to try but never had the courage to do before.” That courage has shaped every inch of this record. For someone who spent years writing behind the scenes and grinding it out on the road, stepping into the spotlight was personal. “It feels like I’m finally free and not holding back. I’ve never been able to make music or create art that way before and that feels really special.”
That sense of liberation is woven through every track, every interlude, every flourish of synth and harmony. Seasons is full of movement — stylistically and emotionally — and while Flara K’s sound nods to the women in pop who raised her (Whitney, Mariah, Aretha), her storytelling digs deeper into the messier parts of womanhood, heartbreak, and healing.
“I was suddenly in a position to make music just for me,” she says. “To take a good look internally and really dig into what I had been through and what I wanted to share and connect with. It was a full 180 for my creative process and it was incredibly freeing and continues to be really inspiring.”
This shift wasn’t just creative — it was also existential. Flara K is a character, a persona, but not in the way that word is usually thrown around in pop. She’s not a costume. She’s a lens.
“I think they are very much one and the same,” she explains. “But Flara K might just be the heightened, extroverted version of myself I get to explore. I love to experiment with fashion and style and being on stage, but I am also naturally introverted and I love staying in to read in my sweats.” She laughs softly before continuing. “I think Flara K allows me to explore the parts of me I like to share out loud and it also gives me the freedom to let that be whatever it wants to be at any moment without any self consciousness.”
That duality plays out across the album, where vulnerability is often dressed in theatrical flourishes. Seasons isn’t afraid to be dramatic — and why should it be?
“I was definitely consciously leaning into it for the most part,” she says. “A few years ago I got back into acting and a lot like music, you have to go out there and create your own opportunities to gain experience, so I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to blend these two worlds that I’m so equally passionate about.”
Together with her producer Collin Steinz, she wrote a series of interludes that form a sort of hidden narrative arc — a thread running through the album, connecting its emotional beats. “We wrote the interludes to help tell an underlying story of some things I went through while working on the album and it allowed me to explore a whole other platform artistically which was really exciting.”
One of those platforms was visual — a self-directed short film shot in Paris, bringing a noir-tinted lens to the project’s themes. “Going back to Paris to film it kind of just added to the drama of it all,” she says with a smile. “I was doing everything on a budget so using Paris as a backdrop for as much of the album as I could felt like a solid gamble for it to feel cinematic without needing to do very much at all.”
From Montréal to London, Paris to L.A., the emotional texture of each city lingers in the songs like light bouncing off water.
“‘Coda: La découverte’ was written in Paris and it actually starts with a voice memo I recorded of a busker playing the accordion just outside of Sacré-Coeur,” she recalls. “I loved the essence it had, with the people walking past talking in the background and the classic Parisian sound of the accordion. That song will forever take me back to that moment, watching that man play on a busy street corner with a smile on and just enjoying it.”
But even amid the globe-hopping and high-concept visuals, there’s something deeply grounded in Flara’s approach. “Skin of Mine” and “Scorpio Boy” are good examples — songs that don’t shy away from difficult emotions but still manage to have a wink in their delivery.
“It definitely was [difficult] at some points for sure,” she admits. “On some level, because I dug into some topics that were really challenging for me, it was tough to find the right amount of vulnerability to share. But I tend to make light of things and use comedy and sarcasm as a bit of a safety blanket in my life so bringing in that part was something I knew I wanted to include.”
This balance — between vulnerability and levity, truth and performance — traces back to the living room in her childhood home, where she and her sisters belted out Mariah and Whitney as if they were born to do it. “Those were such integral parts of my musical journey that my sisters and those moments are with me no matter where I am or what I’m writing,” she says. “It was OUR dream to sing and to perform and actually getting to do that feels like I’m carrying it for all of us in a way.”
Still, finding her voice took time. And it took community. “I actually remember the exact moment it happened,” she says, when asked about learning to take up space creatively. “I was in the studio with Saint Zenon… and they invited me to come write. We were all in the studio and everyone was riffing and writing their own verses and I was sitting there doing the same. Everyone starts taking turns going into the booth to lay out their parts and I finally got the courage to go and do mine. I was SOOO nervous, and you can totally hear it in my voice in the song how nervous I am.”
That song was “Everywhere I Go,” and the experience was transformative. “Stepping out of that booth and having all those friends supporting each other was such a turning point for me. I got in the car after and cried my eyes out because I was so proud of myself for doing it and for not letting my fear stop me. That moment changed me forever and I still tear up every time I hear that verse.”
It’s that kind of honesty that defines Flara K’s approach to writing love songs too. “Honestly, I just try to be as honest as I can be,” she says. “I try not to think too much about whether it’s cliché or not because I feel like that might add unwanted pressure while songwriting. Even if it turns out cliché I’m ok with that as long as it feels honest to what I wanted to say.”
For Flara, Seasons is ultimately about one thing: learning to take up space. Emotionally. Artistically. Physically.
“I hope it serves as a reminder that you really can do anything you want once you make that choice for yourself,” she says, her voice firm. “It’s YOUR life and don’t let anyone else’s ideas of who you are stop you from doing what YOU want to do — or be who YOU want to be.”
That strength is tempered with reflection. “Taking up space for me now feels like being myself. Giving myself the grace to fail and stumble but also to shine and to just BE. I’m still learning how to do all that and it’s something I have to work at every day, but as someone who suffered from crippling anxiety from the age of 10, this all feels like a gift that I am unbelievably grateful for.”
Seasons is out now. Listen here.
Photos – Philippe Thibault
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