Samantha Marie Moves Through Chaos with Whimsy

When I join the Zoom with Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter, Samantha Marie Saglibene, I’m met with a luminous grin. Her excitement is palpable – to join me today, in part, but more strikingly, to uncover who she is. 

What she has already discovered is someone colorful. Samantha Marie has built a cohesive visual signature: there is the Monet print blooming behind her, the fluttering dresses and romantic destinations that she captures on social media. There is a similar effervescence in the way she speaks – every minute of our call teeters with pep, with the thrill that comes from finding the words you meant to say.

But the music tells a more intricate story. Beneath her joy, Samantha Marie’s indie-pop catalog is marked by strife: there is the turbulence of her mental health, the steady current of aging, and the lingering question of how to shape broken pieces. “I could use you as a way to breathe / ‘cuz I’m the same as seventeen,” she whispers in “sweet song,” an expansive, aptly-named meditation on the moments between the choices you’ve made and what’s yet to unfold. Her strength lies in her determination to coexist with fragility. She finds wonder in unlikely places – even in the sting of memory.

My conversation with Samantha Marie explores her bond with her collaborators, her openness to different forms of creativity, and the doubt that she is learning to navigate.

You mention that you have written poetry for most of your life. At what point did you decide to transition those talents into a music career?

I think I had always had music as sort of a secret. Growing up, it was something that I would do behind closed doors. Then, when I moved to LA, I was surrounded by songwriters. I wrote music before I moved to LA, but in 2022, when I felt [I was] “in” this community, that’s when I blended it with poetry. Poetry, I had always written for fun, as a sort of release.

Who were some of your earliest idols—in music or in art—and how have those changed over time?

This question is always tough to answer because I’m constantly being inspired. My friends really inspire me – I’ll go to a friend’s show, and I’m blown away. I’ll listen to Lana Del Rey and I’m blown away… 

I went through that phase of being in freshman year when music was my rock, and I really leaned on artists like The 1975. I felt like [that era] was so honest. I would get home from school and rely on that music, because they were talking about things that I felt that nobody was talking about on the radio. That’s something that I would hope to give to someone with my music. Especially with how I write now, where I’m more vulnerable.

Do you still find yourself listening to those types of artists? You’ve mentioned Lana – do you feel like artists like her are a more recurring force? 

Absolutely. It’s really neat to see female artists like her so strong in their artistry, and making some of her best music at 39. I’m constantly inspired by her. 

[My Spotify] is so drastic – it can go from a folk song to jazz, to a really old rap song. 

Congratulations on the release of “sweet song”! It’s a poignant track, and the stripped-back production heightens its reflective nature. Tell me how this single came about.

I’ve been loving folk-inspired production because it does give that lyrical focus. This song in particular, I had just met my co-writer and co-producer Prithvi [Prakash] – we got coffee in LA back in October to get a sense of each other’s energy. It was magical; after that, we scheduled a production meeting. It’s so nice when a producer-writer relationship can come together that organically. I was in her home—when you feel comfortable around someone, I think you can make your best work—and I remember having an off day. I felt a bit insecure; it was that existential crisis of ‘Am I doing anything right?’ and ‘What am I doing in my life?’

It was raining in LA, and writing that song just had to happen that day. We probably wrote it in an hour. I remember when I wrote out the chorus and [those stanzas], I was thinking ‘…I don’t know what happened, but it happened and I love it. I said everything that was on my mind in these four lines and I feel so much better now! Now I can go on with my day!’ [laughs] 

That’s the process of writing for me: reorganizing my feelings.

Being around someone you trust, [there is] liberation in that it allows you to reach into certain parts of yourself and to think that the other person’s going to want to make those parts work. 

The music video for “things i do” was so cool – It captures the feeling of being unable to escape yourself, sort of. I loved the moment with the helmet of mirrors where you’re trying to shake it off. What did the creative process for that video look like?

Thank you for the recognition! I put a lot of work into trying to convey that message. I had had the idea a long time before we started production on it. I called a director named Michela Maria—we had done a couple of videos together before—and I said “Michela, I have this idea. I just think it’s really important that we get creative with it.”

I wanted to convey this [vision] of me thinking this perfect version of myself into existence. That is what we do sometimes: we put standards and expectations on ourselves that are so high and it’s so tough to meet them. In the video, [that version of myself] followed me around the house, taunting me. Placing the mirrors throughout the video was very last minute – the process was tough, and creating the mirror helmet was really interesting. The perfect version of myself puts [the helmet] on, and the regular me is laughing and watching me struggle with it, because it is all of these reflections and criticisms that we tell ourselves that are so hard to shake off and can get really blinding. [A mirrored image] is what you see when you tell yourself those thoughts. Eventually, I shake it off, and towards the end of the video, we see that the perfect version of myself isn’t real. It’s just something that I thought into existence. 

Your music generally leads with a sense of vulnerability – how does this translate to your shows? What do you value most about sharing these moments with a live audience? 

I love this question. I think my live shows have changed a bit – I used to do full band shows, which are a lot of fun to do, but my music [back then] was different sonically. In 2024, I started doing acoustic shows because it felt better as a performer. Sometimes I’ll have one harmonist with me, but usually it’s just a guitarist, a harmonist and me, and we get to focus on lyrics. The audience gets to hear things in an intimate way: because these songs are so lyrically driven, it’s the best way for me to deliver that and make it personal. 

I used to create setlists with what I was going to say in between the songs, but I stopped doing that because I wanted to be present. I thought, ‘what’s gonna come up is gonna come up, and it’s not going to be perfect.’ I started to let the banter just happen, which is tough because I get really nervous for shows. I have one on June 10th [in LA] and I’m already thinking about it… but then after a show, I think ‘thank gosh, it felt good.’ No matter how many times I perform, it is a little nerve wracking.

I’m sure that enables the audience to feel like they’re that much more connected to you. 

Being an introspective artist, I’m wondering if there is a song of yours that has taken on a new meaning over time – something where, as you listen to it now, it’s a time capsule that you’re able to reflect on a bit differently. 

I think the entire shapeshifting record feels that way. Many other artists who are close with their writing can relate to that feeling: when you write something and you release it, you’re taking one big deep breath and letting go, but when you revisit it, it’s this old part of you. You are looking back at a time capsule. 

The song “shapeshifting,” I wrote it when I was very scared of getting older and I was processing that happening in my life. When I listen back, it’s about this acceptance of change and growing. 

That goes for the interlude of the album, “it’s been so long (used to get me by).” That interlude contains a voice memo that was never touched, and when I listen back, that feels like a past version [of my life] that is still so true.

In addition to your own releases, I learned that you’re building a name for yourself as a songwriter for other artists. How do these experiences challenge you creatively? 

Writing for other artists is something that I really have come to love. There’s so much involved because you’re doing something that is not necessarily for your own direct benefit. You have to give someone the gift of your best work, something that you would release because your name is [associated] with it, and you get to interact with someone else in a vulnerable way. You’re also letting go of things, because you’re bouncing off ideas: you can have an idea in a writing room and think that it’s the best thing you’ve ever read, but someone else comes in and says “scratch that, I think this is a better idea,” and you have to let that go.

It’s different from solo writing, which is a challenge for me – to have something rewritten, but also to focus on new genres. [The way] I think is more pop-focused where it’s verse-pre-chorus-verse-pre-chorus-bridge-chorus. I think genre-shifting is really fun. And exploring different themes, it can be out of your comfort zone, but then you write something that you never would have written before because you’re inspired. It’s a beautiful thing. 

What are some of the songs you’ve written or co-written that you’re most proud of? 

My friend Lexi Cline is a country-folk artist, and she’s going to come out with a song this year called “Boots Fade.” That one is one of my favorites. She’s also released a song called “I Still Remember” and “Dinner & a Movie.” 

A lot of [my favorites] are unreleased, so I don’t know if these artists want me to talk about it. But even co-writes for myself: I would say “white,” “shinjuku,” and “sweet song.” With co-writing, I love that everyone’s talents come together. 

You may think, “I know myself better than anyone else,” but it’s quite true that a co-writer can come in and rephrase something. They can give you slightly different language to describe something innate. 

It’s incredible when that happens. I’m like, “woah – thank you so much!” With melodies, too, you know, someone can get you out of a melody block. Someone will play a chord or tune a guitar in a different way… 

I find, too, when I write for other artists, I get more vulnerable because the song is not attached to me. I don’t think about how I’m releasing it, it’s just the writing that gets to come out.

I really like the whimsical nature of your paintings – there’s delicate colours that contrast with deeper meanings. The piece summer in la doesn’t last too long, it’s a simple phrase but the way that you visually represented it was quite interesting. Can you share more about art as another tool for expression? Do your music and your art influence each other?

Yes, they do in a big way. I think when I finish a painting, it’s the same feeling of writing a song. I have a lot of fun creating those colors, I don’t just use them as I make them. summer in la doesn’t last too long was [inspired by] me accepting change in time; it came about like writing a song does. With paintings and writing, sometimes they say so much and so little.

Would you ever consider doing your own album art someday? 

I would love that. I’ve never even thought about that. [Visual art] is so honest and it shows that we can be creative in many ways. We can use many things as outlets, the possibilities are limitless, and we cannot be boxed in. We are not one thing. 

That’s the beauty of painting and songwriting: it’s just a very freeing way to reorganize your feelings. With painting, there’s no strings attached, whereas with music and writing I think ‘are people going to like this?’ [Painting] was just for fun and I would see what happens.

Do you have any rituals that help you stay grounded and connected to your sense of self? It would make sense that you have ways to preserve yourself, your inward-looking energy. 

Meditation. The meditation that I do is usually Vipassana – focusing on my breath helps me to get space from the inner chatter. I get to connect with myself and say, “well, is that true?”  [The world] can feel loud sometimes. 

I think being inspired by other artists is another one. Reading other artists, listening to other artists, going to another live show, that is a really good way to get back with yourself. Realizing that someone else has this feeling, this connection.

What does the rest of the year look like for Samantha Marie?

I’m working on a project: it’s an album titled Samantha Marie, because all of the songs that I’m working on right now are things that I’ve been wanting to say. [The project] feels self-titled. For the first time, I’m not giving myself a tough deadline – I know that it won’t be done until 2026. I think I’m going to enjoy releasing some singles this year and giving myself some time. I also want to release some live performances. There is a single coming out this summer called “Coffee and Yoga” that I’m very excited for. 

I’ll be making art, making more prints, and there is an 80% possibility that I might be locating to New York City as my permanent residence. It would be a major shift, I’ve been in LA almost five years now. I’m enjoying the ride of this beautiful opportunity to share art with the world. I’ve thought about [moving] for a while, and it’s weird how we sometimes know when it might be time.

Words: Rebecca Judd

Photography: Emily Wentworth & Megan O’Dell

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