It takes a certain composure, as a teenager, to walk out onto Taylor Swift’s stage in a sold-out stadium and play an opening set to tens of thousands of fans who have never heard of you. But it takes even more conviction to use the occasion to play music almost guaranteed to leave them squirming — grimy, bloodletting noise-rock and electro about being a sexual menace and growing disillusioned with God.
The now-20-year-old singer-songwriter Sofia Isella did that last year, opening on the Australian run of Swift’s Eras tour. “Taylor was an angel for allowing me to share that stage,” L.A.-raised Isella said. “I wish I could have recorded that feeling. But the show itself is not as nerve-wracking as it is playing for 20 people. There’s something about a giant room that almost feels a little dissociative, like it’s not really happening or it’s not really there.”
“Dissociative” is a decent descriptor for Isella’s music, too — disorienting, unnerving, drawing out emotions you might not understand. But there’s so much skill in the performances and imagination in her arrangements that they may well get Isella — who plays the Fonda Theater on Nov. 16 — onto much bigger stages of her own, just as the world gets much bleaker around her.
“This next record, I’m having so much fun with s— that’s really f— dark,” Isella said. “It’s like, the only way to stop screaming about it is to have a moment laughing about it.”
Isella grew up in Los Angeles in a family with enough entertainment-biz acclaim to make being an artist feel like a viable career. Yet they still let her be feral and freewheeling in developing her craft. Her father, the Chilean American cinematographer Claudio Miranda, won an Oscar for 2012’s “Life of Pi” and shot “Top Gun: Maverick” and the recent racing hit “F1” (Her mom is the author Kelli Bean-Miranda). Looking back on her bucolic childhood in L.A., Isella recalled it filled with music and boundless encouragement, worlds away from her social media-addled peers.
“I’d been homeschooled my whole life,” Isella said. “My mom would leave little trails of poetry books for me to find, and my dad would set up GarageBand and leave me for hours with all the instruments and nothing but free time. I didn’t even have a phone until I was 16. When I first was on TikTok, I saw everyone had the same personality, because they had been watching each other for so long. Being around kids my age was so strange, because I’d grown up around adults — like, ‘Oh, these kids are so sweet and kind and adorable, but they think I’m one of them.’”
After her family temporarily moved to Australia during the pandemic and Isella began self-releasing music, it became clear that her talents set her very far apart. Drawing on her early background in classical music and a fascination with scabrous rock and electronic music, she found a sound that melded the Velvet Underground and Nico’s elegant miserablism, Chelsea Wolfe and Lingua Ignota’s doom-laden art metal and the close-miked , creepy goth-pop of Billie Eilish’s first LP.
Isella began self-releasing music during the pandemic. Since then, she’s landed opener spots on multiple high-profile tours.
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Her early music showed a withering humor and skepticism of the culture around her (“All of Human Knowledge Made Us Dumb,” “Everybody Supports Women”), but singles came at rapid clip and translated surprisingly well on the social media platforms she loathed (she has 1.3 million followers on TikTok). It all got her onto stages with Melanie Martinez and Glass Animals and, eventually, Swift. (A Florence + The Machine arena tour opening slot is up next.)
On 2024’s writhing EP “I Can Be Your Mother,” songs like “Sex Concept” had the sensual fatalism of poets like Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath, paired with the drippy erotic menace of Nine Inch Nails. “I’ll bend him over backwards, give him something to believe in,” she sings. “We’ll play the game, both go insane and then we’ll call it even … I’m the only god that you’ll ever believe in.”
“The first EP was this whole story of giving birth to yourself, this giant stretched-out muse,” Isella said, leaning into a stemwinder about the genesis of art. “It just doesn’t feel like it’s coming from me. It feels like it’s coming from some weird thing I somewhat worship.”
A May 2025 follow-up, “I’m Camera,” dealt with the depersonalizing effects of sudden attention. On “Josephine,” she makes tour life feel like a proverbial grippy-sock vacation to the breakdown ward — “I’m sock-footed, sick and selfish holding strangers’ hands … I lost something, I sold it, I only remember the ache.”
Isella’s wariness of institutions extends to her recording career. She’s still independent for now — surprising for an artist on Swift’s radar — and uncompromising about what a label would demand of her compared to what they can provide. “I’ve met with a lot of the big dogs, and they’re very kind people, but I just love the feeling of being independent,” Isella said. “Maybe I’ll change my mind on that, but I’m trying to fully understand a label and what its functions are, what it gives the artist in a social media day. I’m trying to fully assess that before I sign any magic papers.”
Her newest material (and her subversively eerie, Francesa Woodman-evoking music videos like “Muse”) feel perfectly timed to the apocalyptic mood in L.A. and the U.S. now, where an inexorable slide to ruin feels biblical. “Out In the Garden,” from September, hits some of the Southern gothic moods of Ethel Cain, but with a sense of acidic pity that’s all her own. “That there’s a small part of me that’s envious / That you full-heartedly believe someone is always there,” she sings. “That will always love you, and there’s a plan for you out there.”
Even at her bleakest, there’s a curdled humor underneath (her current tour is subtitled “You’ll Understand More, Dick”). But if this little sliver of young fame has taught Isella anything, it’s that even when everyone wants a piece of you, no one is actually coming to save any of us.
“There’s nothing with weight, nothing that’s meaningful, to blind faith,” Isella said. “On this next record, I’m about to go really angry because religion really pisses me off, it inflames me. But it’s the most beautiful placebo to imagine that there’s a father that loves you no matter what you do. I’m a really lucky person in that I’ve always been safe and protected, but if you’ve had a rough life, that is insanely powerful to imagine that and believe that.”
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‘ Some details of this article were extracted from the following source www.latimes.com ’
