For Sophie McMinn, understanding herself has never been a straightforward process. Sometimes the only way to understand what she is feeling is to write it down, turn it into music, and listen back afterward. That introspective process sits at the center of Zero, her debut album arriving October 30. Rather than presenting a neatly packaged answer to the question of identity, Zero lives inside the uncertainty. It explores dread, loneliness, social discomfort, fear, purpose, and the complicated process of figuring out who you are while accepting that you may never completely figure it out.
In a conversation with LoudHER Media, McMinn opened up about the emotional world behind Zero, the unconventional ways songs begin for her, leaving behind the structure of formal musical education, and why a broken guitar pedal could become the starting point for a song about loneliness.
Finding the Feeling After the Music
McMinn describes Zero as a record carrying a dark shadow and a sense of uncertainty. But interestingly, she did not necessarily recognize that darkness while she was creating it. When asked when she realized fear had become such a dominant presence in her life, she corrected the idea slightly.
“It was less of a dominant character and more of this just kind of looming sense of dread,” McMinn explained.
The realization did not come until after the recording process.
“And it really wasn’t until after I recorded everything that I kind of understood what that weird feeling was,” she continued. “I’m very much like, I don’t know what I’m feeling until I write about it, until I listen, and then I can kind of analyze after that.”
That admission provides an important key to understanding Zero. McMinn is not necessarily writing because she already understands what she wants to say. The songwriting itself becomes part of the investigation. The music comes first. The understanding follows.
There Is No Finished Version of Yourself
One of the biggest questions surrounding Zero is whether the album is about not knowing who you are or eventually accepting that you may never have a complete answer. For McMinn , it is much closer to the latter.
“I think more of the latter,” she said. “I’m always changing. I think everyone’s always changing, so realizing who you are is an impossible task.”
Rather than seeing that uncertainty as a failure, McMinn has learned to accept it as part of being human.
“It’s more about, like, coming to terms with finding myself constantly.”
That idea feels especially powerful because it rejects the pressure to arrive at some final version of yourself. We are often taught to believe that eventually we will know exactly who we are, what we want, and where we are going. McMinn‘s perspective suggests something much more realistic: maybe there is no final version. Maybe we are supposed to keep changing.
“I think it’d be so boring if you just figured it all out right away anyways,” she added.
When Freedom Becomes Its Own Kind of Fear
McMinn’s relationship with structure is particularly interesting because she spent much of her life surrounded by it. Her musical background took her through classical music, performing arts school, college, and other structured environments. Eventually, however, she stepped into a world where there was no longer an obvious blueprint telling her what came next. That freedom was both exciting and frightening.
“It was a good mix of both,” McMinn said. “I have had this idea in my head for as long as I can remember that I just don’t want any rules, I don’t want any structure.”
But adulthood brought an unexpected realization.
“I think part of growing up is realizing that I need a little bit of structure.”
Moving from an environment with clear expectations into the vast unknown meant McMinn had to create her own system.
“It was kind of scary, I guess, going from the rigidity of everything into this just vast unknown, and so I’ve had to kind of create a structure for myself, like, in my own way.”
That structure still isn’t rigid.
“It’s still kind of fast and loose, but there’s like a framework at least.”
There is something beautifully reflective about that statement. After spending years trying to escape structure, McMinn discovered that complete freedom can be just as overwhelming as too much rigidity. The answer wasn’t choosing one extreme over the other. It was building something that worked for her.
“Eyes” and the Emotions We Would Rather Avoid
One of the album’s more personal moments comes through “Eyes,” a song that examines uncomfortable emotions and the people we sometimes wish we could avoid. When asked what she personally was refusing to look at when writing the song, McMinn was candid about the difficulty of navigating social situations.
“I have trouble being social,” she admitted. “I have trouble being social with peers and with, like, myself and even in my friends and stuff.”
She also acknowledged emotions that can be harder to admit out loud.
“I get, like, weird and jealous and, like, just strange sometimes.”
Rather than attempting to hide those feelings, McMinn turned them into the subject of the song.
“So it’s kind of about the feelings that come up when I see people that I don’t want to see in places that I don’t want to see them, and just, like, grappling with that with myself.”
There is an especially relatable tension in that idea. You can want to be kind to everyone while simultaneously realizing you have limited emotional energy. McMinn described having a “social battery” and wondered when she gets the opportunity to simply turn it off.
“I wanna be nice to everyone,” she said. “I just, like, there’s also; I have a social battery, you know, and so it’s like, when can I turn off? Like, when can I just be a normal person?”
For an artist, that question becomes even more complicated. Being a musician can mean constantly being surrounded by people, including people you may have complicated histories with or simply do not want to interact with. The stage may require you to be present even when your mind is asking for the opposite.
The Personal Story Behind “Cowboy on a Cross”
Few song titles on Zero immediately provoke as many questions as “Cowboy on a Cross.” The imagery combines two seemingly different worlds: the mythic American cowboy and the deeply religious symbolism of the cross. For McMinn , the cross represents something very specific.
“The cross is definitely about martyrdom,” she explained.
More specifically, she described her reaction to people who position themselves as victims.
“When people put themselves in this, like, role of the victim, it elicits this super, like, visceral, like, disgust response from me,” she said. “I hate it. I think it’s really gross.”
But the cowboy imagery takes the song somewhere much more personal. McMinn revealed that the song is partially about her father.
“He’s like a real-life cowboy a little bit,” she explained.
While the underlying story is personal, she does not simply spell everything out. Instead, she transforms those emotions into imagery that allows the song to exist on multiple levels. That is one of the strengths of songwriting: something deeply personal can become something listeners interpret through their own experiences.
How a Guitar Pedal Became Loneliness
Sometimes the beginning of a song isn’t a major life event. Sometimes it is a guitar pedal. “Long Term Loaner” originated from something as mundane as needing a replacement guitar pedal, but that physical object eventually became a metaphor for something far more emotional. McMinn explained that this is actually a common part of her writing process.
“When I’m writing, it’s always easy for me to jump off of something tangible,” she said.
She described needing some kind of catalyst meeting someone, experiencing something, or even having her equipment break.
“I usually have some sort of catalyst that, like, I’ll run into someone or, like, I don’t know, my guitar pedal broke and then I just start writing.”
From there, the process becomes instinctive.
“And from there, like, my feelings just kind of come out naturally.”
It is an intriguing explanation of how seemingly insignificant moments can become emotionally significant. The pedal itself isn’t the story. It simply opens the door. Once that door opens, the emotions come through.
Does Life Actually Have Meaning?
Toward the end of the conversation, McMinn was asked perhaps the biggest question possible: If Zero is about searching for meaning, does she believe life has an inherent meaning, or do we create meaning because we need something to hold onto? Her answer was beautifully uncertain.
“I think both.”
McMinn believes there is meaning and purpose inherent in life.
“I think that life, as a concept, has meaning. I think that there is great meaning. There is great purpose.”
But she also believes the search itself may be part of the answer.
“I can feel it. It’s electric. It’s intangible, but it’s there.”
Then she offered another possibility.
“I also think that the meaning of life might be trying to figure the meaning of life, you know, the pursuit of purpose.”
It is perhaps the perfect philosophy to close a conversation about Zero. The album does not need to solve every question it raises. In fact, its power may come from refusing to.
A Debut That Has Been Waiting to Be Heard
Although Zero will be new to listeners when it arrives October 30, McMinn has been living with these songs for quite some time.
“I really want to get this music out there,” she said. “I want people to listen to it, and I want to get started on the next step.”
There is an interesting disconnect between the artist’s timeline and the audience’s timeline. For listeners, October 30 will be the beginning. For McMinn , it is the end of a long waiting period.
“It’s so new for everyone else when they hear it, but we’ve been sitting on this music for a while.”
Exactly how long? McMinn wrote the songs during the summer before recording them in November.
“So quite a while,” she said.
The album will be released a day before Halloween. That makes the timing feel almost fitting for a record that spends so much time exploring darkness, fear, uncertainty, and the parts of ourselves we might prefer to keep hidden. Ultimately, Zero doesn’t seem interested in telling listeners that McMinn has figured everything out. Quite the opposite.
It documents what happens when you admit that you haven’t. When you accept that identity is constantly shifting. When you acknowledge jealousy, loneliness, social exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty instead of pretending they don’t exist. When a broken guitar pedal can unexpectedly unlock an entire emotional world. When a song about a complicated relationship can become a metaphor anyone can interpret. And when the search for meaning becomes meaningful in itself. McMinn isn’t presenting Zero as the final answer to who she is. She is presenting it as evidence that she is still becoming.
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