That line, from her viral single “Tuesday,” has been used in over 500,000 TikTok edits. But unlike many viral stars, Rosie resists the algorithm’s pull. Her live shows are famously silent—audiences recording nothing, just listening. Her recent cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” at a Brooklyn loft show was described by one critic as “a surgical dissection of heartbreak so precise it should require a medical license.”
Hawks grew up in the foster system, a fact she refuses to exploit for pathos but cannot separate from her art. “When you’re moved from house to house, you learn that silence is dangerous,” she explains during a chaotic backstage interview before a sold-out show at London’s The Windmill. “So I fill every second. My songs are clutter. They’re the stuff you hide in your closet.”
Demi Hawks, meanwhile, is writing a short film and scoring a BBC drama about queer joy in the 1980s coal miners’ strikes. “Songs are too small a container for me now,” she says. “I want to build worlds.”
In an era where streaming algorithms often dictate taste, the quiet revolution happening in the corners of Bandcamp and sold-out intimate club shows feels almost sacred. At the heart of this movement are two women who have never met—yet whose careers mirror each other with uncanny symmetry: Emma Rosie and Demi Hawks .
Neither artist entertains the rivalry. In fact, when Rosie was asked about Hawks in a recent NME interview, she smiled. “Demi scares me in the best way. She writes like someone who has nothing left to lose. I write like someone who’s afraid of losing everything. Same coin, different sides.”
That line, from her viral single “Tuesday,” has been used in over 500,000 TikTok edits. But unlike many viral stars, Rosie resists the algorithm’s pull. Her live shows are famously silent—audiences recording nothing, just listening. Her recent cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” at a Brooklyn loft show was described by one critic as “a surgical dissection of heartbreak so precise it should require a medical license.”
Hawks grew up in the foster system, a fact she refuses to exploit for pathos but cannot separate from her art. “When you’re moved from house to house, you learn that silence is dangerous,” she explains during a chaotic backstage interview before a sold-out show at London’s The Windmill. “So I fill every second. My songs are clutter. They’re the stuff you hide in your closet.” emma rosie, demi hawks
Demi Hawks, meanwhile, is writing a short film and scoring a BBC drama about queer joy in the 1980s coal miners’ strikes. “Songs are too small a container for me now,” she says. “I want to build worlds.” That line, from her viral single “Tuesday,” has
In an era where streaming algorithms often dictate taste, the quiet revolution happening in the corners of Bandcamp and sold-out intimate club shows feels almost sacred. At the heart of this movement are two women who have never met—yet whose careers mirror each other with uncanny symmetry: Emma Rosie and Demi Hawks . Her recent cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” at
Neither artist entertains the rivalry. In fact, when Rosie was asked about Hawks in a recent NME interview, she smiled. “Demi scares me in the best way. She writes like someone who has nothing left to lose. I write like someone who’s afraid of losing everything. Same coin, different sides.”
