Q&A: Sydney Ross Mitchell’s ‘Cynthia’ Breaks the Rules She Grew Up With
INTERVIEW
INTERVIEW
☆ BY SHEVON GREENE ☆
Photo by Sabra Binder
FROM THE SECOND SYDNEY ROSS MITCHELL STARTS TALKING—about where she comes from, you can hear how much of it still lives in her music: West Texas, faith, the pressure to be “good” and the dilemmas and tug-of-war that come along with it all. Her EP, Cynthia, out today, is the perfect eight-track example of her voice and writing style: honest, spiritually conflicted, Southern-rooted and uniquely in her own perspective.
Born in West Texas as an only girl in a house full of brothers, faith, family and football culture were massive. That upbringing shaped her worldview and narrative instincts with sharpness, desperation and even grace. The EP explores the tension between her religious roots and her current life in LA, and includes some of her most honest and vulnerable writing to date.
Cynthia is a project built on a variety of contradictions: desire versus guilt, sacred versus profane, and past versus present. Key tracks include her project title “Cynthia,” “Queen of Homecoming,” and “May the Landing Come Softly,” covering an extensive amount of emotional terrain. The name of the EP was inspired by a real-life bathroom encounter at a strip club, where Ross Mitchell was forced to confront her faith and identity.
Ross Mitchell’s breakout was especially noted in 2024 with her single “Forward to the Kill,” which earned a co-sign from SZA and recognition from Zane Lowe, who featured the track on his Apple Music playlist and radio show. It’s clear that she’s a rising voice whose honest songwriting is gaining attention.
We sat down with Ross Mitchell to talk about the world of Cynthia; unpacking the moments, memories, and contradictions that shaped the EP and the woman she’s growing into. Read below for more.
Photo by Cole Silberman
LUNA: You grew up as the only girl in a house full of brothers in West Texas. How do you feel that shaped not just your songwriting but also your voice?
ROSS MITCHELL: Having three brothers meant I had to be tough. If I wanted to be heard, I had to speak up. My family is super close, but there was always so much going on that I had to learn to express myself clearly. When I was younger, I felt a little resentful of the area I grew up in because I didn’t think there was much there for me. Now I’m grateful for it; the lack of external stimulation forced me to develop an internal world. I started songwriting because there were things I felt I wasn’t allowed to say out loud. Songs became the place I could say them. At the time it annoyed me, but I’d be a completely different person without that environment.
LUNA: Definitely. I’ve talked to so many artists who feel similarly, especially people from Texas. There’s this duality of “this shaped me so deeply” and “I needed to get out.” When did you first realize that storytelling, or just writing, was the way you made sense of the world?
ROSS MITCHELL: I’ve been writing songs since I was really young. In middle and high school, when I started having experiences I wanted to process, music became the place for that. I didn’t always feel like I could talk to people in my life, or I felt misunderstood, or “weird.” Maybe all teenagers feel that way. People ask when I realized I liked telling stories, but I don’t think of myself as a storyteller. Writing is how I understand what I feel. Only after a project is done do I look back and realize there’s a story. I shared my first original on SoundCloud in high school— it’s still there—and people at school tweeted about it. That was the first moment I thought, “Maybe people want to hear what I have to say.”
LUNA: I love that reminder; not every artist writes with “storytelling” in mind. Sometimes it’s just translating your feelings. So, I’m curious: how did writing Cynthia affect your relationship with your religious upbringing? Did it reopen anything or bring clarity?
ROSS MITCHELL: It brought a lot of clarity. Maybe it’s turning 26, maybe it’s the frontal lobe finally coming in; but I’m learning a lot about myself. The story about the woman approaching me in the bathroom is 100 percent true. At first it was just jarring, but when I thought about it more, it brought me back to that old version of myself. I’ve realized a lot of what I perceived as religious trauma was actually religious OCD. I didn’t know what intrusive thoughts were back then. I just thought I was a bad Christian with too many questions. Returning to these topics felt healing. I hope no one hears the EP as me rejecting religion; it’s more about accepting the dissonance. Who I thought a “good person” was when I was young versus who I am now. I’m learning to focus more on my relationship to faith than the institution of religion.
LUNA: Yeah, I relate to that a lot. The “bad person” definition shifts so much in your 20s. So that woman in the strip club bathroom—what was your immediate reaction? Did it feel spiritual, threatening, familiar?
ROSS MITCHELL: It didn’t feel threatening; more disorienting. I sometimes joke that even at parties, no one ever offers me drugs. Ever. (Laughs) And I don’t even want to do them, but I always wonder how people just know. There’s this insecurity of being seen as sweet or meek in a way I don’t identify with. When she said that to me, it felt like she saw something in me I didn’t want people to see. It made me think a lot about how I move through the world. I didn’t write the song until a year later. I started with the dog-eating-drugs line, and then everything clicked. Each verse is a scenario about the same feeling: being confronted with a part of myself in a way I didn’t expect.
LUNA: I’d be the same way; that kind of comment would send me spiraling into existential reflection. So, with “Queen of Homecoming” and “Cynthia,” you’re wrestling with who you were raised to be versus who you’re becoming. What parts of that Southern womanhood were hardest to let go of, and what do you still carry?
ROSS MITCHELL: I don’t think people outside that environment fully understand how few examples of different life paths I had growing up. I assumed I’d have kids by now. When I was graduating high school, I was miserable because the expected life path—college, job, marriage—didn’t feel like mine. I never fantasized about weddings. Not because I don’t want love, but because it wasn’t what lit me up. I still catch myself panicking about timelines. I have to remind myself daily that it’s okay I’m 26 and single. Everyone’s path is different. That’s probably the hardest thing to shake; the cultural pressure around when life is “supposed” to happen.
Photo by Cole Silberman
LUNA: I’ve seen the word “grace” used a lot in descriptions of your work. What does grace look like for you now, especially living in LA in your 20s?
ROSS MITCHELL: Grace is patience. It’s allowing room for things that don’t make sense. When you grow up with a rigid moral framework—where things are right or wrong, you do or you don’t—it takes time to loosen that. I want my choices to be mine, not what someone told me I should do. That’s led me to explore, stretch, challenge myself. Five years ago, I would’ve thought I “couldn’t” go to a strip club. Now I’m like, yes I can. I don’t have to participate in everything, but I can exist in spaces I used to fear. Grace is giving myself room to make mistakes and learn from them.
LUNA: I love that. “May the Landing Come Softly” is described as your most vulnerable writing to date. What made it hard or necessary to write?
ROSS MITCHELL: I wrote it on tour after dreaming I died in a car crash. I’ve always struggled with mortality, probably more than most people. I was the kid who laid awake thinking about heaven, hell, and whether my family would get in without me. Again, intrusive thoughts I didn’t know how to name. The song is me finally saying those fears out loud. I’m not sure my mom’s heard it yet; I’m scared to show her. But it’s honest about wanting to end up in the same place as the people I love.
LUNA: I completely relate. Last question: what did you learn about yourself through making this EP that you didn’t expect?
ROSS MITCHELL: I learned I’ve grown more than I thought, and also less. Touching on the religious stuff revealed both clarity and lingering pain. “Queen of Homecoming” reminded me how much I still want people back home to be proud of me. But songs like “Kisses on Ice” and “Big Boy Problems” showed me I don’t have to take myself so seriously all the time. I also realized there’s so much more worth writing about than romantic loneliness. My life—my childhood, Texas, the things I thought didn’t affect me—actually shaped everything about my perspective. And that perspective is what makes the music mine.
