KNGWMN IS NGHTCRWLR

Photography JASON THOMAS GEERING | Styling STELLA EVANS | Makeup ALLIE SMITH | Hair AKIHISA YAMAGUCHI | Creative Direction MASON WEBB

Story OLIVIA BENNETT

“I don’t give a fuck, I’ll go bankrupt trying to put out good music.”

— Kris Esfandiari

The first thing I note of Kris Esfandiari is her Mia Farrow-styled pixie cut, with its unique rat tail, all in a Nordic blonde shade. With a chipper "Hi!", she welcomes me, a vocal tone so different from the deep, haunting melodies she creates. Since the release of Celestial Blues from her King Woman project in 2021, the singer-songwriter and producer hasn't spoken to the press until now. As we navigate the time zone differences between us, I'm reminded of our initial connection at her Melbourne headline show.

Her fond memories of Australia shine through as she describes Sydney's "peaceful beach vibes." As our conversation drifts, she peels a mandarin, revealing her intentions of returning to Australia. "I've always loved Sydney and even see myself settling there in the future for a gentler lifestyle, possibly venturing into film scoring," she muses. Her current downtown LA environment has her yearning for a home surrounded by nature and tranquility. "Living in these busy cities, it's sometimes hard to hear yourself think." As she rubs the mandarin peel, her pearlescent acrylics catch the light, becoming oddly mesmerizing.

With years in the music industry under her belt, Kris has cultivated a seasoned perspective. She began as a vocalist for Whirr in 2010, eventually branching out to helm a diverse array of projects, including Dalmation, King Woman, Miserable, NGHTCRWLR, and Sugar High. "I've seen a lot of stuff go down this last decade," she admits, adding, “I don’t want to deal with shitty, misogynistic, disrespectful, out-of-touch dinosaurs anymore.” Regardless, she remains steadfast in her desire to innovate, harboring ambitions for her new label Genie Mob. This endeavor, she elaborates, is about crafting “a space where artists can freely express themselves without constraints.” The path is strewn with challenges, but Kris is grateful for friends who have helped her navigate them along the way.

She doesn't hide her frustration with the industry's narrow focus. “I feel like making my own label is the next chapter for me," she says. "So much of my life has been spent trying to pitch artists to A&Rs, and I'm just thinking, ‘You guys are stupid; these are some of the greatest artists of our time. I don’t give a fuck, I’ll go bankrupt trying to put out good music.” Through it all, her mission remains clear: to prioritize genuine music, support undervalued artists, and express her multifaceted talents through Genie Mob.

Kris' sophomore NGHTCRWLR album, titled Oz, will be the label's inaugural release. Serving as a darker, more intense follow-up to Let The Children Scream, this industrial noise project stands apart from King Woman’s doom-metal stylings and Miserable’s dark folk. Still, Kris remains enthusiastic about showcasing the breadth of her artistic versatility, ensuring her auteurial vision is evident throughout. She describes the album with a chuckle as being “like camo meets mad hatter,” alluding to its distinctive, somewhat twisted essence. The album's journey began with the unconventional idea of incorporating bagpipes. Guided by intuition, Kris is astounded by how her creative process morphed the album into an entirely new realm, one she's eager to showcase on a global tour.

Kris draws her creative strength from a deeply personal wellspring. "I've always been a bit eccentric," she muses. "From childhood, I've had these peculiar characters and unique voices in my head, and I've never shied away from that part of me." Her reticence about personal discussions contrasts with the vibrant tapestry of her interactions with friends and collaborators, which serves as a source of inspiration. “Every week, I have the privilege of delving into the worlds of different influential friends, seeing a side the public doesn’t often witness,” she confides.

Speaking of influential friends, I bring up the bubblegum pink event orchestrated by Brooklyn-based designer Marshall Columbia. In attendance were her kindred contemporaries, Eartheater, Yves Tumor, Ethel Cain, Slayyyter, and of course, Kris. “Oh, Marshall? He's my bestie," Kris beams, her eyes dancing with memories. It reminded me of when I saw her in Melbourne, watching her supporting act, Darcy Baylis. He’s a dear friend and collaborator on Sugar High, their 2020 project fusing sludgy shoegaze with ethereal RnB. Beneath the sheen of her sleek black hairpiece, Kris’s genuine warmth for those she's close to becomes unmistakably apparent.

After that unforgettable party, Kris and I dug deeper into how she first connected with Marshall. "We first met at a coffee shop," she recalls, "bonding over our unique upbringings." Their bond grew stronger, and during a dinner, Marshall opened up about his work frustrations. Kris, never one to mince words, advised, "Marshall, quit your fucking job, get a studio space, start your brand. In 6 months, you'll be successful, I can feel it.” Her intuition was spot-on when Marshall soon collaborated with Miley Cyrus.

Transitioning to the broader theme of self-expression, Kris emphasizes its paramount importance. Her genuine authenticity is magnetic, especially in spaces that celebrate pushing boundaries. "Growing up, I was stifled. Now, expressing myself is about seeking joy, feeling alive, and constantly surprising myself," she reflects. As our conversation touched on her acting role as a blood-thirsty vampire in Boy Harsher’s horror short The Runner, Kris laughingly confides, "I like to do things that scare me I guess, or freak me out. But stand-up? That's a boundary even for me. Those are the bravest people in the world.”

She's equally enthusiastic about her forthcoming role in the A24 horror, I Saw The TV Glow, which delves into the mysterious cancellation of a TV show that two teenage boys bond over. Despite the film's dark premise, Kris and I share a light-hearted moment discussing its star-studded cast, with Fred Durst being the first name she drops. Recounting her initial interactions with director Jane Schoenbrun, Kris mentions that the music was the initial draw. Their eventual meeting centered around discussions of queer and trans experience, resonating profoundly with Kris, given her upbringing by immigrant parents with deep-rooted biases. "Our chat was intense," Kris recalls, her hands animatedly mirroring her emotions. "Jane's presence cuts deep, she has a way of reaching into you."

By this point, Kris’ apartment is dark. As she walks around her wood-panelled home turning the lights on, our discussion veers into personal territories, touching upon aspects of her dynamic personality. "Switching between personas and mediums keeps life intriguing," Kris confides, "and in many ways, I do it for my family." She recalls her family's unrealized dreams and talents, especially her father's musical prowess. "They couldn't chase their dreams, but through me, they can. It's my duty," Kris smiles, putting on a macho voice, "to make our name known.”

Kris candidly remarks, "So many talented individuals in the music industry end up becoming caricatures of their authentic selves." Her passion for her craft shines through as she emphasizes, "Songwriting is my love. I won't mold myself to fit industry standards. I'm a true artist. I'll set my own pace and release my creations on my terms.”