Elke’s Divine Urge: Art, Sound, and the Endless Search for Meaning
Every so often, a song comes along that reshapes the contours of your imagination. It might hit you like a freight train of nostalgia or slide into your psyche as the perfect score for a mood you didn’t realize you’d been living. For the Nashville-based artist Elke, that song was Kate Bush’s enigmatic “Suspended in Gaffa.” Released in 1982, the track dances on the edge of whimsy and existentialism, a hallmark of Bush’s signature style. Its ethereal presence became the seed for Elke’s second studio album, Divine Urge—a record that is as eclectic as the inspirations that brought it to life. Bush’s influence is palpable in Elke’s work, but this isn’t simple homage. Elke found liberation in the chaotic, free-spirited energy of “Suspended in Gaffa,” a revelation that helped her break away from her self-imposed creative constraints. "I didn’t realize how much I needed something so unwound,” she reflected in a recent interview. That sense of uninhibited exploration gave Divine Urge its soul—a collage of sounds, ideas, and emotions that feel more like an open-ended conversation than a polished thesis.
Credit For All Images : Zac Farro
Elke’s life reads like a restless novel, each chapter written in a new city. Born in Louisiana, she lived in Chicago, Pittsburgh, and Las Vegas before moving to New York City at 17. Now, her home base is Nashville, though it’s clear her creative spirit resists being tethered. The constant uprooting of her youth may have contributed to the chameleon-like adaptability of her sound, but it also underscores a tension: How do you make sense of belonging when your roots are scattered? This question feels central to Divine Urge, a 35-minute genre-spanning collection that feels like a scrapbook of her inner life. From the cool, deliberate delivery of the title track to the frenetic energy of “One Fake Sedative,” the album invites listeners to sift through its layers like an attic full of keepsakes. Amid the vibrant production and lyrical intrigue lies a personal story of loss and reconciliation. Elke’s father was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago, an event that cracked open their already complex relationship. "It felt like somebody was searing off one of my heartstrings,” she shared, candidly reflecting on the loneliness of processing such news without the solace of a close bond. Yet, in that grief came growth. As her father entered remission, Elke began to see him in a new light, marveling at his vulnerability and even humor in old age. "He’s gotten a lot cuter,” she joked in her talks with AP Magazine, before admitting that the experience brought a strange kind of clarity to her work. On one fateful drive, celebrating the news that her father’s illness wasn’t spreading, she screamed along to music until her car’s Bluetooth gave out. Sitting in silence, she found herself breathing deeply for what felt like the first time in years. It was a moment of surrender that would come to define her approach to Divine Urge.
While the album brims with sonic experimentation, it’s the words that tether it all together. Elke’s path to finding her voice was anything but straightforward. As a child, she struggled with communication, often feeling lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts. Poetry became a lifeline, thanks in part to the influence of friends and mentors like Ana Božičević, who introduced her to groundbreaking writers like CAConrad. For Elke, discovering poetry was akin to unlocking a secret language. She describes the thrill of reading work that felt alive with energy, capable of evoking visceral, almost physical reactions. It wasn’t long before she began writing her own poems, tapping into a raw, unfiltered part of herself that would later shape her songwriting. The creation of Divine Urge was a collaborative effort, helmed by producer Jake McMullen. Together, they leaned into the weird and unexpected, incorporating everything from funhouse laughter to insect buzzing alongside the pounding beats of an 808 drum machine. Elke became enamored with the 808’s visceral effect. The album also features contributions from her boyfriend, Zac Farro of Paramore, who provided drums but took a more hands-off role compared to his involvement in her debut record, No Pain for Us Here. The shift allowed Elke to step into a more decisive, exploratory role, weaving together disparate influences into something unmistakably her own.
One of the most transformative experiences for Elke during the album’s creation was taking improv classes. The practice of embracing spontaneity and releasing the need for control reframed her entire perspective on creativity. “I used to think every experience needed to yield something,” she noted, in an interview with AP. As Elke looks to the future, she feels a renewed sense of possibility. Whether through music, poetry, or some uncharted medium, Elke’s work challenges us to embrace our own “divine urges” and explore the spaces where we feel most alive. As the final notes of Divine Urge echo, one can’t help but ponder: What moments, songs, or experiences shape our lives in ways we don’t immediately recognize? How do we carry those influences forward, crafting meaning from the fragments? For Elke, the answers lie not in reaching a destination, but in finding beauty along the way.
