Q&A: Nora Mae Returns With “Change For Her,” the Heartbreaking Finale Before Her Debut Album
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
☆ BY SHEVON GREENE ☆
NORA MAE IS RETURNING WITH HER MOST GUT-WRENCHING RELEASE YET — After capturing attention earlier this year with singles like “The Avoidant” and “Don’t Wake Me Up,” she’s now closing the curtain on 2025 with “Change For Her”. The devastating ballad builds from the simplicity of a piano to a sweeping, cinematic finale. Out on October 17 and co-written with acclaimed songwriter Delacey, the track perfectly captures the moment of watching someone you love finally change, but for someone else. Hitting on both notes of intimacy and intensity, it lands as the emotional climax of her upcoming debut album, Fin, due early 2026.
While earlier singles showcase her playful quirks and femme fatale flair, “Change For Her” strips all of that back while leaving only raw heartbreak and cathartic release. It also sets the tone for Fin as a conceptual, cabaret-inspired project; a record staged almost like a show while unfolding in acts, intermissions, and bows. Drawing on her heritage as the granddaughter of Eartha Kitt while carving out her own path, Nora Mae continues to beautifully combine the worlds of sultry jazz, indie-pop textures, and theatrical storytelling.
We chatted with Nora Mae about building Fin, writing vulnerability as power, and why “Change For Her” had to be the final word. Read on for more.
LUNA: “Change For Her” feels so stark and explosive, the way it starts on piano and erupts into this huge, gorgeous finale. What drew you to that structure, and how did it shape the emotion of the song?
NORA MAE: It happened really organically. I co-wrote it with my friend Delacey. We went into the studio with my producer, Zack [Djurich], and wanted to infuse film score elements into a ballad that was the most vulnerable on the album. We referenced La La Land’s “City of Stars.” At first, it wasn’t supposed to explode, but in the moment it just felt right. The vocals took over and I needed it to go somewhere bigger, almost guttural. I thought of songs like Billie Eilish’s “Happier Than Ever,” or Kelly Clarkson and Adele ballads that explode at the end. There’s nothing more powerful than going on that trajectory with the artist. That’s how it became the final song on the album, with a false ending that comes back like curtain call bows. It was one of those times when you surrender completely and let it happen. Even when recording, I was practically sobbing. We thought about re-recording, but decided you needed to hear the tears. We barely tuned it so the rawness stayed. It’s been the song I’ve been most particular about, playing with sound effects, room noise, creating a whole scene. It’s been a labor of love.
LUNA: I love that you kept the emotion in the vocal. It makes the song hit even harder.
NORA MAE: You can hear it. We even tried a passive vocal, but it didn’t land the same. It didn’t feel gut-wrenching enough. The raw one needed to stay.
LUNA: The song captures the pain of watching someone become the partner you always wanted them to be, just for someone else. How did you balance the intimacy of that devastation with the grandeur of the orchestration?
NORA MAE: Because the album is structured like a musical, with ensemble and cabaret elements, I wanted the song to live in that cinematic, theatrical world. The lyrics and vocal carry the intimacy, and the explosion makes it a visceral emotional experience. For me, it doesn’t take away from intimacy, it amplifies it. It feels like that moment where sadness meets anger and exhaustion; you just want to scream. That’s what the finale embodies.
LUNA: I love hearing the backstory of how it came together so naturally.
NORA MAE: Yeah. I’ve had songs fall into place before, but this one was on another level. The session is almost a blur. I walked out thinking, “This is the best of my career, the most devastating, the most special.”
LUNA: You mentioned that you co-wrote it with Delacey, who’s worked with so many incredible artists. What was that collaboration like?
NORA MAE: So fun. It was the first time we’d written together for my project. She actually brought me the concept beforehand, and said, “I’m scared to tell you, because it’s really sad.” When she shared it, I was like, “That’s so real. We have to do it.” What she brought out of me was the freedom to be that vulnerable. She told me some songs can just be sad; you don’t have to save yourself with strength or ego at the end. That freed me up to sit in the pain without masking it. Because we’re close friends, she also reminded me of things she’d seen me go through, which helped unmask a lot.
LUNA: I love that. So many of the best ballads don’t have a resolution; they just pour out raw vulnerability.
NORA MAE: Exactly. And because a lot of my project carries this femme fatale strength, it felt humanizing to pull that back and just show the real person. Already people are telling me, “I need this song. I need a good cry.” Everyone loves a song that lets you cry.
LUNA: Sometimes you just need a sad song to feel something.
NORA MAE: Totally. We’ve all felt something like that before. Even if the lyrics don’t match your life, the emotion resonates. Pain and heartache connect us as much as joy does.
LUNA: You’ve called this song the finale of the album. What about it feels like a curtain call moment?
NORA MAE: Honestly, no song could come after it. Instrumentally it feels like the end. Story-wise, it’s the true letting go—the pain sits there as the final note. Healing is nonlinear, but this felt like the necessary closing chapter. When I play it for people, it’s always the one that leaves everyone speechless. It needs that space to sit.
LUNA: That’s perfect. Your music is so cinematic and theatrical. Do you picture Fin being staged visually, like a show, or is the cabaret idea more about structure and storytelling?
NORA MAE: In my dream, it would be staged as a full show, maybe even like a visual album. But even without visuals, it’s voyeuristic; you can picture yourself as the main character. The scene-setting, the opening number, the intermission, the finale all make it feel visual through sound alone. Still, I’d love to put it on as a live show or film.
LUNA: I can’t wait to hear it all. The lyric “you’ll change for her” feels both accusatory and accepting. How has writing it shifted how you see past relationships or yourself?
NORA MAE: Nobody really changes for someone else; we change for ourselves. But acknowledging that it feels like someone changed for another person was important. It let me sit in the pain while also recognizing the truth. Relationships end for compatibility and timing, not because you weren’t enough. The lyric toes the line between accusation—anger and resentment—and acceptance. That balance was therapeutic for me.
LUNA: That perspective will resonate with a lot of people.
NORA MAE: I hope so. I may sing it, but the truth is no one changes for anyone else.
LUNA: You’ve mentioned drawing on your heritage as Eartha Kitt’s granddaughter. Do you see “Change For Her” connecting to that lineage?
NORA MAE: Emotionally, yes. My grandmother was one of the bravest women of all time, but she didn’t often show weakness publicly. I think she’d be proud of me sharing vulnerability as strength, because society now embraces it differently than in her time. She taught me you can only be yourself, and that’s power. This album feels like taking my journal and laying it bare. She would see that as reclamation of power—turning pain into art. That’s what she did with her own struggles. She’d be proud of how I’m carrying that forward in my own way.
LUNA: That’s beautiful that you can see that inspiration in her, but also carve your own path. Since this is the last single before the album, how do you want it to set the tone for what’s next?
NORA MAE: I think the singles give a range: “The Avoidant” is quippy and dangerous, “Don’t Wake Me Up” is fun and sexy, and “Change For Her” is gut-wrenching devastation. Together they mark the start, middle, and end points of the album. Now listeners know the scope, but not what fills the in-between. I want people to feel like they’ve seen a trailer for a show; they get the plot, but want to know what happens in the middle. That sense of anticipation excites me. The album is full of genre-bending and experimental moments. It’s fun, limitless.
