Natalie Shay has always treated songwriting as a place where feeling can become something useful. On ATMOSPHERE, the North London artist turns the confusion of love, trauma bonds, disappointment and self-discovery into a record that closes what she calls the “very long first chapter” of her life. Its bright indie-pop surface carries songs that are far less tidy underneath: confessions built to be sung aloud, but written so Shay could first understand them herself.
That tension—between pain and the good that can grow from giving it a melody—runs through the EP and through Shay’s answers. With an album era now ahead of her, Exposed Vocals caught up with Natalie Shay about the stories behind ATMOSPHERE, the theatrical instinct she brings to the stage, and why honest songs can make difficult experiences feel worthwhile.
You describe ATMOSPHERE as a sonic diary and say every song is a confession. Was there a point during the writing process where you considered keeping any of these songs private, or did you always know they needed to be heard?
I always feel like I need to get things out of me for me to be able to process them in my own head, haha. I always have moments when I question if I’m saying too much, but ultimately I’m so glad these songs are out there now. They’re the story of me! So I need to be completely honest, I guess.
The title track circles the question of whether a connection is real love or simply something in the air. Have you answered that question for yourself since writing it?
That one deffo wasn’t love. Or maybe it was. It ended in a bad way, but maybe that’s because it was lovely—and love makes people act crazy sometimes.
“sorry for u” captures a very specific feeling—being let down by someone who then rewrites the story to protect themselves. How did writing that song feel in the moment versus hearing it back as a finished track?
It’s always therapeutic working on a song from writing to recording. I’m always very invested in the narrative. To be able to sit back and listen to the words, I pretend I’m the person I wrote it about, haha.
You bookend eras of your life with bodies of work. What era does ATMOSPHERE close out, and what does the next chapter feel like from where you’re standing now?
It closes out the very long first chapter. I’m ready to do my album now. I’ve learned everything I feel I needed to be able to transition into this era. I feel like being 27 has been a crazy time for me; life is completely changing. It’s all part of it.
You’ve been writing since childhood and describe songwriting as your therapy. After all these years, does the process still feel therapeutic or has it become something different?
Yes, absolutely—always the same. I’m so glad I have this outlet.
BRIT School, more than 20 million streams, BBC Radio 1, Rolling Stone, Billboard and Love Island—you’ve built something significant. What does success feel like from the inside when the work comes from such personal pain?
When great things come from pain, it cancels out the painful thing to me. It makes it worth it. That’s why songwriting is amazing.
You’ve collaborated with dance artists including Grum and Giuseppe Ottaviani alongside indie-pop collaborators such as Kaity Rae and Call Me Loop. How do you decide which creative world a song belongs in?
I don’t really until the song starts unfolding. You can kind of tell if something’s a good fit or not. I’m open to working with so many people.
Supporting Shania Twain at BST Hyde Park and headlining Oslo in the same career arc—what has the live experience taught you about your own music that recording cannot?
How other people perceive and interact with it in a live setting. And the way I perform is almost like theatre because I’m a theatre kid. It helps turn my studio songs into mini monologues.
You say you crave love but have also been damaged by it. Does making music about that tension help resolve it, or does it keep you closer to it?
Both, I think. It keeps me closer to the feeling. I remember how everything felt because I can hear it in the music. But it helps me move on in a painful sense.
What do you want someone in their mid-twenties who feels everything deeply to take away from ATMOSPHERE?
That they’re seen. And not alone. And it’s all life.
For Shay, the value of confession is not simply that it documents what happened. It changes the weight of the experience. ATMOSPHERE leaves the pain audible, but it also shows what can happen when an artist refuses to let pain be the final form of the story. The first chapter may be closing, but the emotional clarity she earned inside it is already shaping what comes next.
Featured photo: Liam Maxwell · Used with permission
