My Sister, My Lover

My Sister, My Lover: When Band Boundaries Get Blurry

Being in a band is weird. Really weird. And if you're a musician reading this and nodding along, you're not alone. If you're not a musician and you're confused, let me take you on a journey through the strange, intense, sometimes uncomfortable world of making music with other people.

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How We Got Here (We Didn't Expect This)

When Mish and I first met, I never thought we'd be friends. We're very different people. But music has this way of throwing people together and forcing them to bond whether they planned to or not.

It started with partying, making immature jokes on music video sets, and realising we were both down for the chaos that comes with being artists. That first moment I knew I would connect with Birdeatsbaby was a photo shoot in Brighton where everyone spent the entire time singing my lyrics back to me with ridiculous words substituted in. I remember thinking, "okay, these are people I can be myself with."

Where the Intimacy Actually Happens

Songwriting: Where You Can't Hide

For me, songwriting is where things really get intense. That's where I feel seen and heard in a way that doesn't happen in everyday life. When you're writing songs with someone—especially when they're not in their final form—you're basically handing them a map to your soul.

I've written songs about people to those people. It caused problems but it also made for some of the most interesting songwriting I've done.

But it's not always about sexual chemistry. Even when Mish and I write together, every time we share a song or labor over getting one line perfect, we're getting to know each other on a deeper level. Only we know how hard we fought for that lyric and how precious it is.

The Secret Language

There are lines in our songs that mean something specific to us—secret messages that only we understand. The audience might interpret them differently, but when I sing certain lyrics, I know Mish knows exactly what I'm talking about. It's like being in a secret club with your own language.

On Stage: The Lightning Bolt Moments

Stage intimacy is unpredictable—it can hit you like a lightning bolt when you least expect it.

A year or two ago, I was playing with someone and we just looked at each other on stage. It was this jolt of electricity, this powerful connection I hadn't anticipated at all. I'm not looking for those moments—the door is firmly closed for me these days—but when that kind of connection happens, it's genuinely thrilling.

It's like Cupid's arrow, but just for that moment on stage. You hit something at the same time, catch each other's eyes, and suddenly there's this charge in the air. It can feel almost otherworldly—a connection with someone you didn't expect.

The key is knowing where to leave it. That fantasy belongs on stage. It's not reality. You don't want to take that home with you, don't want to hear their stories or listen to them sleep. The magic is in keeping it where it belongs—in that performance, in that moment.

It's not always romantic or electric like that. Sometimes it's just solidarity after a difficult gig, driving someone home at 2am when the last trains are gone. Sometimes it's riding the high together after everything goes perfectly. There's beauty in all of it—the shared struggle and the shared triumph.

Music Videos: Where Things Get Properly Strange

I cannot tell you how many times Mish and I have seen each other naked. I genuinely don't even think twice about getting changed in front of her now. It's just become normal. In our last music video alone we were covered in blood, jumping around fires in our underwear, my hands literally covering her chest.

Sometimes it's awkward. But when you're making dark, gothic music, the videos are going to reflect that. When you've got musicians who understand that you're not being shocking for the sake of it but serving the song, that's when you know you've got a solid crew.

One time I tried to make a music video for a song I'd written about a personal experience, and I got actors to do the intimate scenes. It was awkward as hell from the moment they arrived. I learned pretty quickly: if there's going to be weird stuff in your videos, just do it yourself. I feel like if you're on a budget, there are certain things that cross boundaries in the things you ask other people to do.

Tour: The Ultimate Intimacy Test

Tour is where you find out who your lasting bandmates are. There's literally no physical space. You're getting changed in rooms full of people, sleeping at odd hours, and just existing in each other's pockets 24/7.

Within a week of our last tour, I was sewing up the crotch of Anna's costume while she was wearing it, and obviously Mish was filming the whole thing. That's just what happens when you tour—all boundaries dissolve and suddenly everything is fair game.

In the past, tour was just one long party—we were basically children with access to alcohol. You didn't want to be the first one to fall asleep for fear of getting drawn on or having the entire contents of the room placed strategically on top of you. It was so immature and I'm pleased to say we've grown since.

Now we have this thing we call "passing the brain cell." On tour, you can say to each other, "I don't have any battery left today, I can barely get through the show." And your bandmates step up. Someone handles merch, someone takes over social duties. That's the beauty of having a good crew.

When Lines Get Crossed (And How to Uncross Them)

Nobody tells you this: over the years, I've had to stop working with multiple people because the personal relationship overshadowed the professional one. Lines got blurred and things got messy.

Mish and I went from strangers to being thrown together to being in love with each other to realising "this is way too much, we need to step back" to now having this deep friendship that's professional, boundaried, and healthy.

When I was younger, that door was wide open. I had no boundaries—I didn't even know what a boundary was. Now my life is structured and settled, and that door is firmly closed. I have clear boundaries. And I feel vulnerable with new musical connections because I know where it can lead.

A Word About Safety

As a woman in this industry, there's an extra layer to navigate. There are predators in every field, and some will absolutely try to use music as a way to get to you.

I remember recently I was working with someone, and Mish just casually asked, "Does he know you've got a boyfriend?" Her instincts were telling her something was off, and the moment she said that, I realised—if her spidey senses are going off, this probably isn't a safe situation.

Surround yourself with other women and diverse people who understand what it's like to be vulnerable. Have people around you who will check in, who'll notice when something's off, who'll never cross boundaries or use you.

It's not a surprise that my bands have other women in them. That network has kept me safe more times than I can count.

What I've Learned

Looking back at all the chaos—the partying, the boundary-crossing, the messy relationships—I wouldn't take any of it back. We've written amazing songs through all of it. We've truly been living the art.

What I'd tell my younger self: It's normal for boundaries to get blurred as a musician. And it's also possible to set boundaries.

You will make mistakes. You'll spend time with people you don't know well enough. You'll get burned. But as your career goes on and you build a solid network of people you trust, it gets easier to navigate.

The intimacy between bandmates is real and intense and sometimes confusing. But when you find your people—the ones who understand the chaos, who'll take over your load-in when you can't, who'll call out problematic behavior, who'll labor over song lyrics with you until 3am—that's when you know you've got something special.

The Bottom Line

Musicians are a strange bunch. We're all a bit different in our own ways. We share this intimacy because we're the only ones who understand what it's like to have to make art, to feel things so strongly that you're compelled to live this intense lifestyle. We bond over the vulnerable moments—getting sick in a bucket on tour, seeing each other at our worst and our best, writing secret messages into songs that only we understand. We've survived bad gigs and great gigs, toxic relationships and beautiful friendships, all the chaos that comes with trying to create something meaningful. It's messy and complicated and sometimes you have to step back and reassess.

But that's what makes the music real.

If you haven't watched the "Welcome to The Bitchhouse" video yet, check it out here.

Then watch the Hana Piranha and Birdeatsbaby videos and see the journey for yourself.