ART MEETS FASHION | Angelika Dusk: Now I can say that I am proud of myself

30/07/2025

Written By: Tatiana Georgakopoulou

Style Editor: Sissy Souvatzoglou

Photographer: Katerina Tsatsani

MONOPOLI.GR

After a long personal journey, Angelika Dusk returns and dares to do everything that once frightened her. She can now congratulate herself, trust her instinct, sing about what truly expresses her, and dance with the same carefree spirit she felt as a child growing up in the bright ’80s.

It is midday, the heatwave is at its peak, and I arrive at Angelika Dusk’s lush, green musical refuge: NOISY KING studio, which serves as a creative home for her, as well as for the musicians who record there. I meet her just a few months after our last conversation, prompted by Deeper Love – the uplifting track that made us dance à la Flashdance last spring. That song marked her return to the music scene after five years away from it – five very defining years for her, which included motherhood as well as a personal journey that finds her today in a place of acceptance and inexhaustible creativity.

Deeper Love, which was also released in Greek under the title Syndesi Alithini – her very first Greek song – was only the beginning of this new era for Angelika, which also sparked, among other things, a major celebratory live show at Piraeus Club Academy. A few months later came her most recent release, Breaking My Heart. I had heard this song on the radio and, as it often happens with Angelika Dusk’s music – from her debut album Marionette to today – I didn’t immediately realize it was by a Greek artist. Nor did I believe it was a “current” song, as its sound instantly transports you, from the very first note, to the bright ’80s era.

Angelika Dusk has turned toward the 80s – an era we all associate with liberation, passion, and dance – simply because she loves it, because it truly expresses her. After all, this is what matters to her now, she has learned to listen to herself and judging by her recent releases, it has worked out very well. Today, she sings to pass on a little hope euphoria she herself feels when she dances and writes music, at a time when we need light more than ever.

This luminous mood was also conveyed during the photoshoot for the new Art Meets Fashion editorial, which took place – not by chance – in the atmospheric, nostalgic setting of the welcoming Diner 72. There, in a setting that seemed to have stepped straight out of the ’80s, Angelika Dusk shone with her authenticity and effortless energy, capturing this new chapter of her life in every frame: full of light, rhythm, and a deep need for connection.

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What role did music play in your life growing up?

My earliest memories of music go back to a very young age. I remember being three years old in our first home. My father loved music very much and would play all these songs on a cassette player – songs that ultimately shaped my sound today, the sound that still expresses me: the ’80s. We listened to Michael Jackson, Madonna, Stevie Wonder, Bryan Ferry, Joe Cocker, Cock Robin. I’ve even gotten a tattoo with a lyric from my favorite song, Just Around the Corner, which I feel somehow connects me to my father. My mother, on the other hand, played VHS tapes with soundtracks. I grew up with Grease, Flashdance, Footloose, Jane Fonda and her iconic aerobics. Of course, I wore a leotard too and tried to do whatever they did in the dance routines. These influences are engraved inside me as the sweetest part of music and of my life – perhaps because they are connected to my most carefree years. Every time I hear this music, it touches me like no other.

Was singing always your dream?

No, I wouldn’t say that. Of course, I remember this characteristic story – which I often reminisce about – from when I was little, singing into a hairbrush while holding my dog. I generally look back fondly on that period. One of my favorite songs back then was from the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack, which featured Patti LaBelle among others, and those songs truly made me dance endlessly. It may sound strange, but for some reason I completely forgot about it for about thirty years. I somehow remembered it and when listened to it again, I started crying, because suddenly I was 4 again. It brought back all those childhood images: my room, a fabric trunk with polka dots where I kept my toys, dancing with my dog and my parents. As much as I loved singing and dancing, though, I don’t think I had ever thought that I wanted to become a singer.

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When did you start realizing more clearly that music was your calling?

At around fifteen or sixteen. I liked playing music with friends – not professionally, of course – in various small bars. Later, when I went to university, I remember opening the catalogue of all the available courses I could choose from, and my eyes immediately landed on music. I said, “This is what I want to do.” Indeed, I focused exclusively on music – although the first years were very difficult. Unfortunately, we hadn’t had music classes at school – I didn’t even know the notes, so I had to take intensive lessons. Then the word “should” entered my life. I “should” get a “proper” job – becoming a performer wasn’t considered possible and it didn’t even cross my mind at the time – after all, I hadn’t written any songs yet.

So, for eight years, I worked in the music field, but on the production side: organizing concerts for the National Broadcasting Corporation of Greece’s Orchestras and Choirs, for the Athens Festival, and later in England for the Philharmonia Orchestra. Until I became deeply miserable – almost depressed.

Was there a defining moment that made you change course and follow your dream?

At some point, I was watching a musician whose concert I had organized myself. As she was playing the piano on stage, I was backstage thinking, “What am I doing here? That’s where I want to be.” I was already thirty years old when I decided to change my entire life and become a songwriter-singer.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. I had to clash with myself, and with the people around me. They were used to the “good girl” who always did what others expected of her, who was always there for everyone else and never put herself first. It was an extremely difficult time, and during those two to three years – until I was thirty-three – I often had panic attacks, because I wasn’t just changing professions, I was essentially staging my own rebellion.

It was difficult for those around me too. Angelikoula, the quiet girl who dressed modestly and worked in an office, suddenly began to liberate herself. I also started from zero. Someone might say, “Come on, you had financial support from your family.” Yes, but I had absolutely no connections. My father was not involved at all with the industry. I still have the piece of paper where I wrote down everyone I knew – and didn’t know – from the bartender at a random bar to a former classmate who played music at school, who might possibly know someone relevant. Little by little, after two or three years, I was extremely lucky to meet some key people in England through mutual acquaintances, –such as Jonny Lattimer, with whom I connected deeply and still co-write music to this day. Of course, I also encountered various “weird” situations, with “shark” producers. They didn’t really care, they just wanted to do something quickly and the result was obviously not very good – or they simply didn’t pay attention to what I wanted. Later, I met Rupert Christie, with whom I also collaborate to this day. He is a wonderful person.

How did you feel when, after all that effort, you finally held your first album, Marionette, in your hands?

I can’t say that I felt proud the way I do now. Back then, I was extremely hard on myself. I kept thinking that I wasn’t good enough, that I shouldn’t be doing this because I wasn’t the best. I wasn’t in a very good psychological state at the time, that’s the truth and I can say that the album reflected everything I was feeling then.

It expressed the tension I carried inside me, my relationships with friends and family, but also the psychological warfare I was experiencing. That’s why I wrote lyrics like “I won’t be your marionette no more,” or Black Dragon, a song that likens psychological manipulation to a black dragon.

There were many disappointments – not only romantic ones, but also in my other relationships – as well as anger, and all of that came out through a fairytale-like album. I used many metaphors and images – carousels, horses, dragons – not only because I liked them but perhaps also to hide what I truly wanted to say. I’m glad I made Marionette, it was a nice pop album, exactly as I wanted it at the time – perhaps more adolescent in spirit, because even though I was thirty-three then, it took me a while to have my teenage rebellion.

From the fairytale world of Marionette to the darker Beautiful Mess. What does that album express for you?

Each album is true to its time, and I think it’s wrong to go back and ask, “Why did I do that?” I don’t want to do that, because at that moment, Beautiful Mess – a beautiful chaos – was my truth. I was a mess. I was making this huge effort, something completely different from what I was used to. We were a quiet, low-key family and suddenly I was doing interviews and playing live shows and at the same time, commitment was difficult for me, so I pushed people away who might have loved me. That’s why this album contains songs about self-destruction, about death – which is the ultimate destruction – and that’s why its sound was darker, more rock-oriented. Rock is a sound I adore – I’m a rock girl. My father introduced me to classic rock – Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, all of that – so this side of me came out naturally. It matched the anger I felt and the dark thoughts I had. So, this album, too, was honest for me.

From your last album, five years have passed—along with a pandemic, motherhood, and a break from singing. How did you experience this change-filled five-year period?

Many things happened at once, indeed. The pandemic came at a time when I had somewhat lost my identity – who I was. I had started listening to what others were telling me and letting myself be influenced by other people’s opinions. I was driven by the idea of  “I want to become famous, rather than the songs,” which was obviously a huge mistake, I made choices that had no cohesion. Someone would tell me to sing cabaret, blues, Greek, French – and I ended up doing a complete mishmash. Neither the audience nor I knew what I was doing anymore. At some point, I started hating everything and quit. At the same time, I became pregnant, so I devoted myself fully to that – I wanted to be there for my child. Then the pandemic arrived, which also served as an excuse to step back. I remember that during the pandemic I played the piano constantly, but I didn’t sing at all. In fact, I was saying that I would never sing again – and I meant it. I told my friends it was over, “because I’m not good enough.”

What made you say, “No, I’m not going to listen to what others say anymore”?

Therapy helped me a lot to reflect and understand that I wanted this so deeply, that I had such a yearning to express myself, to write, to sing, that I simply cannot abandon it. I realized that other factors were at play, such as the fact that I have a constant inner critic telling me that I’m not good enough. I had lost myself, I didn’t know who I was or what truly represents me. A few years later, my husband invited Rupert Christie to the studio, because he wanted to start a new band himself. So, I was there when Rupert was in the studio and I remembered why I had loved all of this in the first place. Of course, it was a huge change – I had become accustomed to being at home all the time with my child. But I loved it so much that I reached out to Jonny Lattimer so we could write together again. When he came, I basically “vomited” five songs in three days. I had so much to say – it was like having a volcano inside me, ready to erupt. And eventually, it did.

How different was this time in the studio?

This time, the songs that came out were much more emotional, more introspective, but also more optimistic. I no longer wanted to write about negative emotions. Imagine that I had kept old notes with various thoughts of mine; when I reread them, I was frightened. I said, “No, I don’t want to write like that at all.” So, I started writing songs such as my upcoming release, titled Cry, which I translated into Greek myself – and I’m very proud of that. I wrote: “I will be here when you cry, I will never judge you, whatever you feel is not wrong.” And I truly mean it. This song is for little Angelika, who needed that non-judgmental embrace and acceptance – but it’s also for my daughter. I believe everyone will relate. Who doesn’t want that kind of embrace? The last thing you want, when you’re crying, is for someone to tell you “don’t.” There are some verbs that don’t take negation in front of them. You can’t tell someone “don’t cry” or “don’t be afraid.” We hear this our whole lives, so I wanted to write the opposite. I want to cry and be held – and you don’t need to say anything, just accept me.

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The first song of this new “era” that we heard was Deeper Love. How was it born?

This is a song about a deeper kind of love, about the connection I longed for but kept pushing away. At the beginning, I wasn’t writing with the intention of making an ’80s album. We were writing in a very demo-like form, just playing piano or guitar. But it gradually became clear to me what I wanted to do: make music that is truthful to who I am. And for me, that truth is ’80s music – because, as I told you earlier, there is no other music that touches my soul the way this does. So, I thought, “why not do it?” This is what expresses me, this is what I listen to.

How did Syndesi Alithini, the Greek version of Deeper Love, come about? It was your first Greek song.

I decided very easily and simply. I realized that I had been hiding behind English lyrics. Of course, it took me time to understand this. In the past, I used to say that I wrote in English because that’s what I was used to. And it’s true – the English language still expresses me. After all, I was born in America and feel connected to that culture. But I realized that I am in Greece – and this is where I want to convey my message and the essence of my music. Besides, I’m no longer interested in making myself famous, but in making my songs known – and I don’t mean that in a commercial sense. I simply want what I have to say to be heard. For example, “I will be here when you cry” is a very universal message. And unfortunately, it’s harder for people to truly hear and connect with it in English. Even my friends don’t really listen closely to the lyrics when they’re in English; they focus on the melody. So, I decided to try it. In general, I’m in a phase of saying “why not?” – but only to the things I want, not to what others tell me. Because in the past, my “why not?” was an answer to other people’s desires.

Are there any voices that influence you now?

No. I don’t listen to anyone anymore except my instinct. And that’s exactly what I followed with Syndesi Alithini, when people were telling me that Greek lyrics don’t fit this genre. In the end, I did it – with lyrics adapted by myself and Nikos Moraitis. I went into the studio, and when I sang it, the emotion came out so naturally, as if I could connect even more deeply with my body and myself. That’s why I decided to translate my next song into Greek as well. It’s a way of communicating and connecting with the audience.

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Did you feel exposed writing in your mother tongue?

Yes, maybe – but at this point, I don’t care. In the past, it was a big problem, I had put up a wall without even realizing it. Now I think: whoever wants to listen will listen, and I’ll be there too – singing and looking them in the eyes. That’s what I love about live shows: singing and looking at the other person, connecting with them. I don’t want to look only at my band and be disconnected. That’s the beauty of someone truly being there and understand what you have to say. And I’d like to ‘expose’ myself even more. For example, at Mariza Rizou’s concert, I felt so moved by how she spoke to the audience and expressed exactly what she feels – things people can relate to. To reach that point, of course, you must work on it internally, learn to open up and free yourself, without caring what people will say.

Is this a period of acceptance for you?

Yes – and I hadn’t achieved this feeling of acceptance before. Now I can say, “I am proud of myself.” I’m proud that I went through four extremely difficult years regarding my mental health and still stood back up. I dared to do things I was very afraid of – like going into the studio, writing, and singing again. And not only did I do it, but I also like the results. When I translated my lyrics and sang in Greek – something I had never done before – congratulated myself. From now on, I say “well done” to myself much more easily. I say it without having that little devil inside me telling me I’m not good enough. Of course, I listen to criticism, and I know it’s impossible to be perfect at everything. But instead of getting discouraged and cancelling myself, I’ll simply say that I’ll work on it – that I’ll try to do better.

Did motherhood affect you in this process of acceptance?

Definitely, because motherhood made me grow up, even if late, at thirty-nine (laughs). I realized that there is no one else here for this child – she only has her parents. We are her family, the ones who will give her love and acceptance.

This child needs you, teaches you patience and very often, something new comes up and you don’t know how to handle it. In the end, the best thing is to let your instinct respond. You know you’ll make mistakes, but at least they’ll be different from the ones your parents made.

Above all, what I give her is acceptance, understanding, and of course boundaries – but in a different way from how we experienced them. Now I look for new ways.

What is it like raising a girl in today’s world?

That’s what I wanted, and I was so happy when we found out she was a girl. But if I allow myself to think negatively, I get extremely anxious. First of all, with mobile phones, you never know what she might encounter – anything from bullying to getting influenced by beauty standards. On the other hand, as a mother in a time that is becoming more tolerant, where it’s easier to talk to and inform children, I choose to speak to her honestly – according to what she can understand at each age, of course.

When she asked me about death, for example, because of our dog, we entered into such a conversation, and little by little she understood. When she was sad, I told her, I’m here, I understand. I also teach her how to say “no” – in many contexts, from refusing a hug to setting boundaries with strangers. We didn’t learn these things. I remember that when a teacher touched me when I was twelve years old, I didn’t dare say anything, because we didn’t know what it meant or how to protect ourselves. We didn’t know how to set boundaries.

Is it easier today to be a woman?

Society has certainly progressed, but in Greece we are still very far behind. I’m lucky to have a partner, my husband, who supports me and doesn’t believe that only women should carry responsibility within the family. We share everything.

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Were the ’80s a more carefree era? Is that why you’ve turned to them musically?

I think that even if I had been born in the ’90s, I wouldn’t have liked the music of that era. I believe I would still have been obsessed with the ’80s. That music has such beautiful melodies, such wonderful effects with synths, reverb, drums.

There was also something more immediate, more authentic back then. I miss the times when we didn’t have mobile phones, when we weren’t alienated, when we weren’t glued to a screen. Back then, when you were waiting for the bus…you looked at your shoes. Or you thought about something, or talked to the person next to you. Of course, I was a child then, but I feel that you could go out without being afraid. You picked up the phone to talk to someone, you had to wait for the song to play on the radio or buy the cassette to hear your favorite track. Now there’s so much information, and within a second you’ve moved on to the next thing. Things felt more real back then.

Your new song Breaking My Heart also moves within this ’80s atmosphere. How did it come about?

This song was born mainly from the sound. Some songs are born primarily from lyrics, when I want to say something specific and then we build the music around that. But this one was born from the sound. I wanted to do what Quincy Jones and Michael Jackson used to do – start with a melody, a riff at the beginning that’s very strong and then repeat it. They did this throughout Thriller and Bad. So, I told Jonny that I wanted us to find a riff, a bass line that we would repeat, and then we started building the drums. By then, I knew that I wanted to make something ’80s, so all the sounds come from vintage equipment. The result was a song that’s much more entertaining, more fun, more playful, and that talks about romantic relationships – about flirting with someone you can’t quite have. How many of us have done that? Despite the title, it’s not a tearful song; it’s a game. You’re telling the other person, “You’ll see, in the end we’ll be together.”

You also place importance on the visual aspect, right?

Yes, I absolutely loved the music video. I want the visual element to be connected to the music, and I’ve generally envisioned that for this entire album. For this specific video, together with my team – Giorgos Athanasiou and White Room – we decided to do something very ’80s. Giorgos Athanasiou is a very fresh director, and he added a comic element to the video. We had a wonderful time, laughed a lot, and I danced a lot. This is a song I would put on a playlist with fun ’80s tracks that make me want to dance. I have many songs like that on the album.

What images do these songs awaken in you?

This album is a mixture of fun but also melancholic ’80s songs that make me feel nostalgic. For example, they take me back to certain beaches I used to go to when I was younger, with dates. I’m not talking about crowded, noisy beaches, but quiet ones – after everyone has left, when the wind is strong, maybe it’s already autumn. I hate summer, after all. These kinds of images come to mind. Or I imagine myself in my car, the window rolled down, listening to music. For me, the car is the place to listen to music. I might have arrived at my destination and still not want to get out, just so I can listen to the entire song. So yes, this album also has dreamy, contemplative tracks, but definitely songs that make me want to dance – Breaking My Heart is one of them.

You often mention Rupert Christie and Jonny Lattimer, and you’ve built a stable collaboration with your band. Is it important for you to work as part of a team?

In general, I feel secure on my own. I like spending time with myself. Even when I had stopped singing and was only studying classical piano, I would sit alone for five or six hours a day – and I enjoy working alone at times. But of course, I do want to be part of a team and when a collaboration truly clicks with someone, I don’t change them. Good people are very hard to find. There is a lot of hypocrisy, and I can see it in people’s eyes, I recognize it immediately, and it exhausts me. So, it’s no coincidence that after so many years I still work with these people. It’s not just that they are good professionals, because there are many good professionals who aren’t good people. All these people are genuinely kind, and in fact, with two of the band members, we’ve been together since the very beginning, eleven years ago. I appreciate them, and they appreciate me, and I can see that they truly enjoy the project. In fact, our bassist, Petros, told me that he believed in me from the very first moment – from the first time he was sent the early Marionette songs to play. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to trust someone. Rupert is also a producer who works with very big names and has an enormous workload, yet he works with his heart – he doesn’t do it for the money or because he has to. We have such beautiful conversations every time we’re in London; we love talking about music.

At the same time, you returned on the stage. What was that experience like? Were you nervous?

As I told you, I used to say that I would never sing again. I made these very dramatic statements (laughs). Then I would say that I would never sing again unless I could truly let go. So, I worked very hard on that part.

In the past, when I sang, a thousand thoughts would run through my mind: whether I’d hit the note, whether people would like me, whether I was standing correctly. And despite all the lessons I had taken, no teacher had ever taught me how to properly use and trust my voice. That changed when I found my current vocal teacher, Juliana Beltran whom I still work with via Zoom, because she’s in Los Angeles. In two years, she taught me very basic but essential things. That gave me much more confidence, and now, little by little, I feel much better.

I no longer think about the note – I think about the emotion, what I’m saying, the connection with the audience, with myself, with my band. So, I said, “Yes, now I can step onto the stage.” And I did it when I felt ready. There was no “should”. The first live show at Piraeus Club Academy went very well. Many of my former classmates were there, and everyone told me how much they enjoyed it. For me now, it matters more that I’ve emotionally touched someone in the audience than that I’ve been technically perfect. I want the audience to have a good time. At the party I did at Galiandra, on the other hand, I was a bit anxious. I was thinking, “Why am I doing this job? I want to hide” (laughs). It’s difficult, because you want people to enjoy themselves, you want them to take something away from it, and all the pressure is on you. But the moment I stepped on stage, everything disappeared, because I sing songs that I love. I create the playlist myself, and we take a journey into the magical world of the ’80s – from melancholy to more danceable, optimistic, hopeful moments. That’s the journey. I don’t want it to be just a party, but I also don’t want to paint everything black. It’s a beautiful route.

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What is your relationship with social media? You seem quite active.

If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have told you that it tires me. Now I enjoy it, because I have this team around me, and the atmosphere and energy between us are great. We laugh and say silly things anyway, so I often just have the camera on to capture those moments too. It’s part of this process of letting go. I don’t think anymore that what I post has to be perfect – like I used to. It’s still difficult, I haven’t reached the point where I can pick up my phone and talk to it by myself, because that still feels strange to me, but if I have company, I don’t mind at all. And I think it’s a very good solution, because what are you going to do – wait for a record label to promote you like in the old days? No. You tell your truth on your own, you show your own character.

Does this connection with the audience matter to you?

Absolutely. Connection happens through the songs and, of course, through live performances – but through social media, someone can also see other sides of who you are.

Would you ever release a song with the goal of it going viral on social media?

If a song doesn’t express me 100%, it brings me no joy for it to go viral. And since it’s very difficult for a song to go viral anyway – as we all know, it’s a very tough industry – I’ve started paying much less attention to views, likes, and streams.

If you asked me right now about the numbers of my new songs, I wouldn’t know them. And if you told me they were small, I wouldn’t care, I’d laugh. I constantly try to listen to myself. I want me to be the guide.

I ask myself, “Do I like this?” If the answer is yes, then I share it. I won’t sit down to write a song thinking, “Let me add a clarinet or a trap artist because it’s trending.” It might be a trend, but that’s not me.

I create on different levels. It’s not only my own songs that I’m working on now – I also have this whole concept, which is visual. I do covers of songs I’ve loved, like Poison, which I did recently.

Do you know what comments we got on TikTok for that? I don’t mind. Of course, some people won’t like it. I liked it, and that’s what matters.

We’ll also do more covers – Greek ones as well, songs I grew up with, like Mando, Evridiki, Alexia. So that’s how I create: as who I truly am – a 44-year-old woman, a mother, a musician. I have my own songs, I reinterpret the ones I love, I live in the ’80s because that’s what expresses me. I don’t hide anything, and I don’t try to be something else. And whoever likes it, likes it.

But perhaps that audience is small.

I know and that’s also a realization. You have to know where you’re aiming. Do you want to become Marina Satti? That’s not possible. Marina is so multifaceted – both her personality and her music – that she covers many genres and does something that can speak to all of Greece and beyond.

You have to know where you’re going and be okay with that. You have to be okay with the fact that not all of Greece will know you, for example.

What does the future hold for Angelika?

I want to let things unfold naturally. I don’t have a timeline. I will definitely release a song in October, in both Greek and English, and then continue with a few more singles. In my mind, I would like to have released the album within a year, but again, I’ll decide based on how I feel. The album might be ready, but I may want to share more singles in order to tell a story. With the speed at which things move today, it’s unlikely that people will wait to listen to an entire album. I’m doing this mostly for myself. At the same time, I’ll continue releasing covers of songs I love, and from autumn onwards I’ll do more live performances. I’d like to perform more regularly in one place, so people can come and experience this ’80s journey.

What does this album represent for you?

My truth. This album is me, it’s Angelika.