Elly Jackson is better known as the flame-quiffed electropop ice queen La Roux, and she’s also well-known for taking her sweet (or bittersweet) time between albums. For instance, it took five years for her to follow up La Roux’s massive self-titled debut (which was nominated for a Best Electronic/Dance Album Grammy, won a Best Dance Recording Grammy for “In for the Kill,” and spawned the even bigger single “Bulletproof”) with 2014’s all-too-aptly titled Trouble in Paradise.

Jackson (who was barely out of her teens when “Bulletproof” unexpectedly went double-platinum and cracked the top 10 in America) and her musical partner/mentor Ben Langmaid actually split during the making of that difficult sophomore record, after which La Roux continued officially as Jackson’s solo project. But then she contended with sexist music executives (who’d wrongly assumed that Langmaid had done all of the heavy lifting in La Roux) and fought to be released from her Polydor contract, and she eventually scrapped what was intended to be the third La Roux album.

Starting over, Jackson triumphantly returned with Supervision, the first La Roux album she made entirely on her own. The record earned critical raves, but then COVID-19 put all promotional plans on indefinite hold.(Supervision had the unfortunate timing of being released on Feb. 7, 2020.) And almost another six years would pass before we’d hear from La Roux again.

But nothing — not a pandemic, not industry sexism, not a difficult second record, not a bitter band breakup, not a lack of mental health support, not getting “really fucked over” by various powers-that-be, not even a doubting Jimmy Iovine — could extinguish Jackson’s fire. So, now she’s back and burning brighter than ever on Old Flames, which trades La Roux’s tinny, bloopy ‘80s synthpop for the sultry Y2K R&B of Jackson’s London youth, yet still somehow sounds like classic La Roux.

Jackson successfully crowd-tested several Old Flames bangers when she took up residency in Los Angeles last year, doing low-key underplay shows at El Cid, the Sun Rose, the Peppermint Club, the Moroccan Lounge, and the Grammy Museum. At the latter venue, she also sat down for an extended, candid interview about her bumpy but ultimately rewarding career journey. Read the edited-for-brevity-and-clarity Q&A below for that fascinating conversation, or watch it in full in the video above.

LYNDSANITY: You sort of soft-launched Old Flames with a mini-tour of underground Los Angeles club. Why did you choose L.A. to start this new era?

LA ROUX: Well, I’ve always loved L.A. and also I think the main reason is because the musical references on the new record are 100 percent American — which is not that different to my last two records, in a way, because I’ve referenced a lot of disco. But I feel with this record in particular, the references were very much late-’90s/early-naughties R&B. … There was a very much an American feel about it, and a feel of the music that was coming out when I was probably about 13 or 14. … I’ve always loved tracks like “Wanna Get to Know You” by G Unit, and I feel like people probably don’t know that about me. … Or, there’s a track by Tevin Campbell, “Can We Talk?” It’ll be the odd track here and there, sprinkled around “Heartbreaker” by Mariah Carey. Just specific, really classic R&B moments that I feel never get old. … There’s a whole kind of musical reference sphere that I’ve never even bothered trying to do in my own records, and I think it’s kind of time. I felt relaxed enough as a person to do it, and I felt like starting it in L.A. made a lot of sense.

What new songs have you been playing here?

There’s one called “Babyline,” probably the most kind of chilled R&B one on the record. “Final Fantasy” is very much, very, very much an early-Pharrell kind of reference. … That kind of combination of Rodney Jerkins, Pharrell, and Timbaland, I missed all of that. And, without being arrogant, I kind of want to try and do my own version of that — the La Roux version of that. That’s kind of what I’ve done on this record.

I feel like that vibe is back in the zeitgeist, like everyone’s kind of into that Y2K era. People wearing the Juicy Couture again…

Well, I’m not doing that!

But it is good timing, even if accidental.

I’ve been away accidentally for a good 10 years! Trouble in Paradise came out in 2014, and then I had Supervision come out in 2020, about five weeks before the pandemic hit. It’s been tough being away from the live environment for so long. Once I knew I couldn’t tour Supervision because of the pandemic, I just thought, “You know what? Fuck it. I’m not going to wait until the pandemic’s over to promote this record.” As an artist, producer, and composer, I’m going to be bored musically by the time I can promote this record; I’d rather just make another record. So, that’s what I did. It’s been making two records, but without promoting one of them. It’s been a long time, so I just wanted to get back out.

It’s interesting that you said “accidentally.” Many artists intentionally take long breaks between records, so I assumed that was the case with you.

It’s not like I don’t take time, to be fair. Trouble in Paradise took forever! It was a difficult second record. Roughly, it was two years of touring my first record, and then three years of making that record.

Was the title Trouble in Paradise sort of a cheeky reference to it being a difficult experience? A lot of change was happening. La Roux was actually duo in the beginning. And of course, since the first album was so big, I imagine the powers-that-be wanted a “Bulletproof Part 2.”

Yeah… I mean, I did! Or, my bank account did. If I could walk into the studio every day and write “Bulletproof,” I’d be like printing money. But it just doesn’t work like that. When “Bulletproof” was written, it was a real moment in my life. I wrote the Arp Jade part and played that, and then the rest of the song just kind of flipped off the back of that. It was just a moment in the studio. The rest of the record was finished and we’d handed it in to Polydor, and then we were like, “We should do a couple more days writing, just to see if anything happens.” And it happened.

But to intentionally try and write a hit is a disaster. I don’t think it often works unless you’re, I don’t know, Dr. Luke or one of those Swedish producers that does it for a living. I’m just not that person. I’m not that producer. I’m not that artist. I write whatever feels right in the moment, and sometimes it might turn into something and sometimes it doesn’t. I was brutally lucky with “Bulletproof,” but it also threw me into a sphere I wasn’t quite ready for or even knew that I could be in. I didn’t understand what was happening. “In for the Kill” had been a hit in its own way, but it didn’t go stratospheric like “Bulletproof.” I wasn’t expecting to be successful in America at all, so when they said things are kicking off out here, I was like, what? It was a really, really strange moment.

But yeah, there was a lot of obviously people going, “Why can’t you just do the same thing again?” And I was like, “A) Because I don’t want to, and B) I wrote this record when I was 18.” You just can’t be in the same place as you were when you were coming of age again. … It was very much of a time, and it was referencing very tinny, thin, aggressive ‘80s music — which I love, but I don’t want to do it forever. It was during a time when I was obsessed with that sound, and then I became obsessed with another sound, and then I become obsessed with another sound. It’s just going through phases. You just move.

Now you’re on your own; La Roux has not been a duo for a long time. Old Flames is entirely, written, and produced by you.

Yeah, I think something that’s always been a bit of a confusion over the years. I had engineers and a co-writer on the first album, obviously — a co-producer and mentor on the first album [Langmaid]. We had a very close relationship, and it was a very, very, very important relationship in my life. It went sour, it went wrong, as these things do. But I think something that people have never grasped, and I don’t know why because I have said it, is I would say 90 percent of every single thing that you hear on every single one of my records [is me]. … And I don’t think people understand that.

Well, I hate to say it, but La Roux began as a duo, and unfortunately, I think when a co-ed duo has a female singer, a lot of people assume the man is the brains of the operation.

It’s a huge assumption. And I get it. Also, you can’t blame it on everyone, because that is a really common situation. I’m not taking anything away from those other [female artists] that do that in any way. But it has made it difficult to be believed that the guy in the room wasn’t composing all the music. … Essentially, no one’s ever written a chord sequence for me. There’s a reason why all the parts sound like they come from the same place on each album; you can tell that there’s a style I have. And that’s been really frustrating for me over the years, to kind of have people go, “So, who did all of this?” And I’m like, “I fucking did it.”

Are people still asking you that, 15 years into your career?

I think it’s maybe less now. But one thing I do find slightly irritating is — I don’t want to mention anyone’s name, I’m not here to make a point about anyone — but there are certain [male artists] that make records that are self-produced, and nobody questions that. It’s talked about constantly and it’s always like, “Oh, they do it all themselves in their bedroom!” But no one says this about me, and I have a studio in my kitchen and I do everything there.

So, at what point during the making or promotion of Trouble in Paradise did La Roux become just you?

I think most of “Kiss and Not Tell” was written. “Let Me Down Gently,” I think, was written; we had arguments about that song. And then we had an engineer that was working with us in a studio in Devon, and everything kind of fell apart. They weren’t getting on. No one was really getting on. Everyone was having a bit of an emotional crisis. There was issues with the label, there was a lot of tension, and there was a lot of pressure. And essentially one day I woke up, and Ben was gone. That was just what he needed to do at the time, and that’s actually completely fine. I think then “Uptight Downtown” got partially rewritten. “Silent Partner” got written from scratch. “Sexotheque” was mostly written, but not produced and not all recorded. It was kind of a mishmash of things that were half-done and half-not-done. But I was pretty much the only musician in the room.

You were still on Polydor when this transition was happening. So, Supervision was really the first album where you were totally on your own.

Actually, there was kind of a period where I was making another record with somebody, and I so don’t want to talk about that. It’s not even funny. That turned into a legal situation.

Is that the album that got scrapped in 2017?

Yeah, it was half a record that got scrapped, and it wasn’t a record I probably would’ve wanted to put out anyway, But it was a product of a bad relationship with the engineer that had hung on from Trouble in Paradise. [Editor’s note: Jackson is most likely referring to Ian Sherwin, who publicly clashed with Langmaid, but she does not specify.] I basically realized I had just put a couple of years into something that no one was going to hear, and it was putting more time in between Trouble in Paradise and me releasing new music, which was really stressing me out. Then I essentially just wrote and composed Supervision in four months. I have no idea how! I think it was just out of sheer panic. And I think that’s the other reason I didn’t have a problem with not promoting it, because that was just a record to get something between me and Trouble in Paradise.

The years were just ticking by, and I didn’t quite know how they were ticking by. … That was just terrifying, absolutely terrifying. Life was flying by, and I realized I just needed to get something out. And my personal relationship had just hit a really ending kind of moment; “Automatic Driver” is about that. “Gullible Fool” spilled out of me. Things just spilled out of me on that record. It was the first time that I essentially just had a laptop at my kitchen table, and a couple of mini-keyboards and my guitar and a bass, and I was like, “Fuck it, I just need to do this right now!” … It happened so fast. It was like my brain knew what it wanted to say, but my consciousness didn’t. It was a really cathartic experience.

It’s interesting and ironic that there were all these delays between the second and third albums, yet then when you finally did put out third album, it was such a quick process. You earned some of the best reviews of your career for Supervision.

People seemed to really like it. It’s a shame I didn’t get to promote it, but I also think everything happens for a reason, and I wouldn’t have made [Old Flames] if the pandemic hadn’t happened. So, I’m grateful for everything that’s happened, even if it felt negative at the time. … I feel like I really got a handle on my groove as a musician on that record.

When you became a solo artist, what obstacles did you face? Was that something you had to convince people in the business about?

Yeah, and it just didn’t work. It was insanity. It was like the minute Ben left, everyone was panic-stricken: “What do we do with her? What are we going to do?” And I was like, “I can do this with my eyes closed.” It was incredibly insulting, and that didn’t help my relationship [with Polydor at the time]. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be in charge of absolutely every single stem and file on the record and handing that mixed to the label. But that doesn’t not make me the composer, the arranger, and the producer. I think it’s a difficult one when you’re trying to convince people of something and essentially they already have a view of you. Our relationship was so tempestuous. There was no way they were going to believe anything that I fucking said. They hated me, and I hated them. They fucking hated me and I fucking hated them right back.

Do you mean the record label hated you?

Well, the guy who signed me, Nick Shymansky, me and him were tight; we were fine. But then he moved to Island Records and he was like, “I’m really sorry, I’ve got to go.” I was like, “I get it, don’t worry. Go.” But then it was the people that took over. It was just a complete nightmare. I don’t feel like anyone got me, and that is a problem. They wanted me to do things that I didn’t want to do.

Like what?

I never wanted to do big dance tracks with big dance DJs that I don’t want to mention the names of. They were doing that with all the other female artists that were surrounding me at the time, and I just wasn’t interested. … They basically saw it as me kind of turning down, as they put it, “millions of pounds.” But I never did this job to make millions of pounds. I did it to make the music I want to make and be the artist I want to be. I was like, “I didn’t do it to make your bank account happier. I didn’t do it so that you could get your Christmas bonus, no offense, but it’s just not why I’m here.” And they kind of just hated me for that. They wanted their fucking Christmas bonus. I wasn’t interested, and I think they saw that as an arrogance, like that was me thinking I was better than other people. And it’s not that I think I’m better than anyone else. I just didn’t want to do it.

Now with this new album, you’re calling the shots. What was going on with you, both personally and professionally, during the making of Old Flames? It seems like you’re in a really happy place now.

Yeah, I’m in the best place I’ve ever been! I’m really happy. I’m really relaxed. I found out things about myself in the last five years. I have mild autism and ADHD — who doesn’t? Everyone fucking does now. It’s not surprising, and I think it’s become a bit of a boring narrative, so I’m not going to go on about it. But I do think that was quite important. It was important finding that out about myself.

How does that inform the creative process for you?

It actually weirdly doesn’t inform the creative process. But it makes sense as to how I can listen to the same parts for 19 hours and be like, “Why is this not exactly how I want it to be?” The level of perfectionism I try to reach can get ridiculous sometimes, or to other people it can seem ridiculous. But I think it’s good for my work. I don’t think it affects me negatively in that area at all. But I think there were certain things that actually I had to address about myself that I’d noticed. And they did need addressing. You notice them in relationships, you notice them with your family. … I’ve been in lots of relationships in my life that were really, really, really, really wrong for me. Work- and personal-wise, I think I’ve always people-pleased, and it’s gotten me into a lot of shit situations.

Like I said, I actually have found so much relaxation, so much calmness, where I didn’t have that before. Even doing things like this [interview] would’ve spun me out 10, 15 years ago. A lot of things about my job would spin me out and I would get really stressed, and it just didn’t make it fun. And it should be fun! Why else are you doing music? I remember when I met my new manager, he was like, “Maybe you just shouldn’t do this job. If you’re going to do music, you might as well fucking enjoy it. And if you’re not enjoying it, why are you doing it?” I sat in front of him — we hadn’t decided to work together yet — and he said, “I don’t want to argue with you. I don’t want to have any kind of relationship like that. I want it to be a free and easy relationship, otherwise there’s no point.” And I was like, “Yeah, I agree with you.”

This was probably a very different kind of managerial relationship than the ones you’d had before.

I think it was so much about trust. I really don’t want to put a fine point on this in any way, but I got really fucked over. I got really fucked over by my record label. I got really fucked over by my first management company. I got really fucked over by my lawyer. I got really fucked over by my accountant. And they all kind of worked together to do that to me. It does make you tense. It does make you not trust people. It does make relationships difficult. There’s no getting away from it. But you can do the work to heal that, without sounding really fucking cheesy. You can. And I have. And it is an amazing place to be, it really is.

I’m very happy for you! But you were so young when the first La Roux album came out, so I could see how you’d be vulnerable to being fucked over, so to speak. How much experience did you have in the world, in life, let alone in the music business?

I’d never had a job. I’ve never had a normal job. I never went to uni. … I was already making records at that point with Ben, so I was like, “Why am I even finishing school? This is pointless. I’ve got some serious tunes!” It was that kind of teenage arrogance. Everyone was like, “Are you sure you don’t want to study music at university?” But why would I do that? I can’t read music or anything; I play by ear. I just didn’t see the point in it. But actually, entering the music industry at that age, it doesn’t matter how much you think you trust your lawyer, or how much you get your parents to check your contracts — they don’t fucking know. I thought I was safe. But now, if I ever see [early La Roux] pictures, I am a baby. I look about 12. It’s mental. I don’t actually know how I was coping with that. … I was terrified all the time. All the fucking time.

Sadly, this is a pretty common story: A lot of young pop stars or rock stars get taken advantage of when they’re starting out. What advice would you give to a young new artist who’s being thrown into the industry now?

You know what? I’ve been asked that a number of times, and I wish I had a good answer. I wish I had a more intelligent answer. It’s like when you have that friend that is fucking it up and you tell them, but they’re not ready to hear it. I wasn’t ready to hear shit at that age. You think the decisions you’re making are right. You think the people you’re putting your trust in are right. It is very hard for someone to come in and go, “Hey, you might want to check this,” especially if it’s been your dream. It had been my dream to be a songwriter and an artist since I was like 3. When you start to make that happen, you’re not listening to other people, really. But maybe some people are more astute than I was.

You say you had this ambition since age 3, so it must have felt weird when you got everything you supposedly wanted, even beyond your wildest dreams, and you couldn’t fully enjoy it.

Yeah, it is a hard one, because also that’s what the record labels and the management use against you as well. Straight away, they’re like: “Well, you wanted this! We didn’t come to you!” … But I remember once being in my parents’ garden and my mom had been asking me questions about being a musician or something, and I was like, “I legitimately do not want to be famous. That’s not my agenda.” Also, “famous” to you as a kid is Britney Spears, and that’s not my jam. I don’t want to be that. I’m not that girl.

And look at what fame did to Britney…

She has some amazing pop songs and I respect manufactured pop music a lot, but I was not looking for that. When I made the first record, it was all influenced by French electronica and underground synthpop, slightly more unusual stuff like rare Heaven 17 records and early Human League and shit like that — a lot of the stuff actually that Ben introduced me to and I just got obsessed with really quickly. [Fame] never crossed my mind, even when we wrote “Bulletproof” and people said, “That’s a hit!”

You really didn’t think you were onto something with “Bulletproof”?

I had no fucking idea. Everyone kept saying that. Ben had a friend called Rollo who used to write and produce for Faithless, and Rollo was like, “You’ll never have to work again.” And I was like, “What? I’m 19. I’ve never even had a job as it is. What do you mean I’ll never have to work again?” It didn’t make any sense to me. You can’t tell a 19-year-old that. I had never tried to write a pop hit. I listened to Madonna, I listened to Wham!, but I didn’t feel like I was hitting that. And then “Bulletproof” came out and my manager managed to make Jimmy Iovine [put it out]. Jimmy Iovine hated it. He fucking apparently hated “Bulletproof.” Jimmy is like, “What the fuck is this?” And my manager was like, “You’re fucking deaf.” My old manager was a very aggressive guy. I guess [my manager] wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t hear it. It’s so tinny and aggressive. “What do you mean, this is a global hit?” It didn’t compute to me. It almost still doesn’t, especially when people say it’s really cool. I’m like, “It is not.” I think “In For the Kill” will always be cool, and there are other tracks, like “Colourless Colour” and “Quicksand,” that I think are cool. But I never thought “Bulletproof” was that cool.

So, when did it sink in that “Bulletproof” was going to be massive?

When it started to kick off, especially out here [in America], it was shock levels, especially because I’d only been promoting my record for three months at that time. We did a residency in the U.K. at a place called the Notting Hill Arts Club… and then “Bulletproof” started to come out and it was like, “In two weeks you’re going to America.” I was still living at my parents’ house. I still had my corkboard on my wall that used to have my homework on it. I was like, “What the fuck are you talking about? What do you mean I’m going to America?” … I became really terrified of flying and didn’t want to go; I pretty much cried from the moment they told me until the time I went. There was no part of me that was OK. And when I came out here, my keyboard player that I was really good friends with at the time couldn’t get a visa, so I came out here with three guys I didn’t know and I was just like, “This is shit.” I just didn’t get it and I was scared to do it. I got over it, but I didn’t understand how it was happening.

People in the industry are more aware about mental health issues now. Do you think there’d be more support now for a new artist going through what you were dealing with in 2009?

Oh, totally. The music industry is a very different place now. You can’t get away with the same shit you used to be able to get away with. My management company are super-aware of mental health issues. We’re all genuinely, genuinely friends. If I say I’m not OK, it’s not like, “Oh, well, fuck you!” — which is what it used to be like. I remember once I did a gig here at the Fonda and there was a hundred people from Universal coming down, and I started to get laryngitis. I did soundcheck and I was like, “I can’t sing.” I started to get flu symptoms, and I was also just terrified. So, I said to my manager, “I don’t think I can do tonight” — which is also a really a big deal as an artist. Canceling a show is not fun. There’s nothing fun about it when 3,000 people are coming and you’re about to let them all down, but you also don’t feel like you can handle it in any way. It’s a horrible place to be in. … I remember him just saying, in a way quite rightly, “You can’t fucking do that. It’s this evening.” But it was the aggression and the kind of absolute no with which it was said; there’s no human care or understanding that I’m terrified and very sick. I saw a doctor and he was like, “You have polyps and pus all over your throat. You shouldn’t even be flying, you shouldn’t be traveling, you shouldn’t be doing anything.” And [my manager] did make me perform that night. … I just think there’s a big, big, big difference now. The world has changed a lot. People have a lot more understanding and I don’t think you can get away with the shit people used to get away with. I really don’t. Which I’m happy about.

Even if things are better now, as release your first album in six years, do you ever wonder if you’re up re-entering the fray like this?

Well, I am not trying to do anything in particular, apart from promote the music that I’ve made. I’ve obviously put the time into this music for a reason, because I’ve loved making it, and I want other people to hear it. I think whatever happens, happens. I’m certainly in a better place now as a person to deal with whatever happens. But of course, I’ve also never invited the press into my private life for a very particular reason. I think there are other [artists and celebrities] that have sort of thrived on that and use that as a kind of duality to what they do artistically, but I’ve never done that. People have never written about my private life, and I’m really, really, really grateful for it. No one’s ever pried. My private life has stayed my private life.

That is not easy in a social media age.

I’ve found it really difficult. It’s also why my social media is crap! I remember when Twitter first came out, it was like 2009, and I remember [my label] pulling me into a room and being like, “This is going to be huge.” And I was like, “This is lame. People are going to start writing 40 characters about what? What the fuck am I going to say? That I’m on the tour bus?” I just found it really reductive. And all the people that I’d referenced as an artist, they would never do this. They would think this is shit. Of course, then 10 years later I was like, “Hmmm, I should have done that shit.”

Going back to this new album, I know you say you don’t intend to write hits and didn’t even think “Bulletproof” would be a hit, but is there one Old Flames track that stands out to you?

There’s going to be quite a few singles, actually. What I try to not do on records is have filler tracks, filler moments where you’re just waiting for the next tune. That’s why my albums are short as well. I will never make a 20-track album, ever. I will never subject you to that! I usually do eight, nine, 10 tracks, because they’re the best things that came out of me in those years. And I don’t have loads of other tracks that I didn’t show you, either. I know when I’m writing a good idea and I know when I’m writing a shit idea, and I just don’t finish the shit ones. But sometimes I go back and check things from old files, and I go back to old things. Actually, “Babyline” was one of those ones that for some reason, I don’t know what I was thinking at the time, but I put it in my folder of stuff I’m not sure about. And then I go back to it, usually every six months, to check if I was being an idiot or not. I went back and found it and I was like, “This is fucking great! What is wrong with you?” And then I finished it straight away. But you need that perspective and you need to be objective. … So, there’s going to be four or five singles from this record. But they’re not going to be “Bulletproof.”