Mads Jensen's artistic journey is a tale of creative resilience and transformation. Starting with a dance injury that redirected her energy towards writing, she gradually found her voice in the music world. Growing up in the Mormon church, where music was tightly controlled, only deepened her passion for it. Leaving her religious upbringing behind to pursue a new life in New York marked a profound transformation, shaping her music with themes of identity and introspection. Mads defies genre boundaries, drawing inspiration from diverse influences. Her track "Hot Drug Dealer" showcases her ability to infuse humor and wit into her music. With her debut project, "Now That I'm a Woman," Mads offers a time capsule of stories and musings that invite us to join her on this captivating journey.

Can you share a bit about your journey into music, from discovering your love for lyrics and music due to a dance injury to where you are today as a singer-songwriter?

After the injury, I had to figure out what form the creative energy I’d put into movement would take. My family was quite nomadic- we lived everywhere from suburban Las Vegas to more faraway zones like Copenhagen and Dubai. In the midst of all that movement chaos, I became drawn to writing because I could do it anywhere, and created a music blog where I’d pose as a journalist to swindle my way into shows. Post-high school, I worked as an actual political journalist in Utah, contributed to Rookie Mag, and studied English at Columbia University. So, there was this whole formal writing life before it dawned on me to share music I’d write. I was so shy and intimidated by musician boyfriends. They’d leave the house and I’d jump into action- trying to figure out their instruments and gear before they returned. It was an excuse to procrastinate while quietly building a library of songs. It wasn’t until mid-pandemic that they saw the light of day… I’d been living in Morongo Valley but moved back to New York on a whim. There, I reconnected with my friend Jesse Harris and we started trying things out. Charlie Was a Boxer was the first track we recorded.

You mentioned that the song "If You Could Hie to Kolob" inspired you to make your own music. Could you tell us more about the influence of this song and how it impacted your musical aspirations?

It was more of an early catalyst than primary informant. This one stood out from church hymns as a strange existential meditation on the expansiveness of LDS cosmology, the adventure of spiritual progression. It’s the sole hymn that points out how Mormons are essentially polytheistic: believing that rule-abiding, temple-married members can create a world of their own after death. It was exciting to realize I could take something traditional and add a bit more probing, more depth to its shape.

Growing up in the Mormon church, you had certain restrictions when it came to music. How did this influence your relationship with music and your eventual decision to pursue a different path?

Sundays were only for classical, opera, or religious music. Certain music restrictions bled into other days of the week, too. Anything with swearing was off-limits, as well as anything supportive of themes the church opposed. I wound up developing strong attachment to music, maybe more so than if everything was available at my fingertips, because it felt dangerous, political, essential. My library of burned CD’s felt like glimpses into the world beyond my community- a world which I was eager to take part of.

Moving to New York at the age of 19 was a significant step for you. Could you share some of the challenges you faced during this transition and how it impacted your music and identity?

On a banal level, I’d no grasp of the physical geography and socially, was starting from scratch. But any fears that naturally arose were quickly overridden by sheer will and excitement to explore and create an external world that more closely aligned with how I felt internally.

Breaking away from the life you grew up with in the church must have been a profound experience. How did this transition affect your personal growth and the themes in your music?

I think being challenged in this sort of way- experiencing such a drastic loss of faith and subsequent loss of self, questioning everything, feeling very alone- helped me to develop grit and have access to greater empathy. I’m extremely drawn to mythology, to paradoxes like heaven and hell, and analyzing all the shades in between. Reading Joseph Campbell’s “The Power of Myth” helped me understand how myth  has always played a huge role in society, and (as corny as it may sound) I try to weave stories, truth, magic, and myth into my life through music. 

Your music draws inspiration from various genres and artists like ABBA, Queen, and Cristina. How do these diverse influences shape your sound, and what can listeners expect from your music?

Limiting oneself to genre can be just that- quite narrowing. For each song I write, I’ll make a little playlist of songs with elements I like- can be anything from how someone uses word play to channeling a specific color or sound. I like to play this game when I’m on long road trips where I’ll come up with as many different ways to harmonize with a song within certain bounds- for example, taking Doc Watson’s “Deep River Blues” and trying out Abba-inspired harmonies, playing around with modes (Lydian is a favorite), or pretending I’m singing as Amitabh Bachchan in an old Bollywood musical. Presently, I’m listening to a lot of Claudine Longet, Jeanette, Warda, and exotica like Les Baxter. 

"Hot Drug Dealer" is a unique and playful track. Could you share the story behind this song and what inspired its disco-inspired vibe?

Hot Drug Dealer was a playful experiment written at the beginning of the pandemic in LA. I’d been listening to the legendary disco star Cristina’s record “Doll In the Box”, and quietly tending to a crush on a beautiful, drug-dealing bombshell down the street. About a year later, I dredged up the voice memo and started working on the arrangement with my producer.

You mentioned collaborating with more people and the possibility of incorporating your alter ego Carrington the Clown. Can you give us a glimpse into your future projects and what's next for Mads Jensen?

When cultivating a clown character, a person strips themselves of ego so all that remains is their id- the unconscious part of a human, the animal part driven by instinct and desire. Carrington is whimsical and sardonically irreverent, and there’s something about putting on clown makeup that makes me feel more at ease, more myself, than simply Mads. There’s more freedom in terms of expression- there’s more room for improvisation. Shows don’t have a formal shape- I can mud wrestle, ride bulls, go to comedy open-mics, perform cabaret-style. Stories and humor have equal value to the songs Carrington sings, and are more easily accessible as a clown for some reason. The scary thing about having a solo project is that, while I’m confident in my writing and melodies, I’m not the most well-versed instrumentalist yet, so I’m always eager to find new musicians and producers to collaborate with. 

Your debut project, "Now That I'm A Woman," sounds intriguing. Can you tell us more about the project and what themes or stories it explores?

“Now That I’m a Woman” is a time capsule- a collection of stories, like little love letters stuffed into a bottle that will soon be set off to sea. It includes real stories from the road, my quarter life crisis, and more abstract musings on home, love, death, and rebirth. 

Your new track, "Charlie Was a Boxer," has garnered attention. Could you share the inspiration behind this song and what listeners can expect from it in terms of its sound and lyrical themes?

This track is a portrait of a boxer I spent a lot of time with during my first summer in New York. Sonically, it’s minimal, meditative- with a Casio organ, vibraphone, & some wild homemade instruments (“wollesonics”) by Kenny Wollesen. I’d like to perform it in a church or cave someday.