Interview by Passion Dzenga | Photography by Claryn ChongTo get familiar with Léa Sen is to step into a world where sound, memory, and emotion blur like light in a hotel hallway. Her debut project, LEVELS, unfolds like a quiet odyssey — each track a floor in a surreal, liminal hotel, each space a reflection of growth, grief, and the slow return to self. Born from solitude, sharpened by collaboration, and grounded in deep introspection, the album is a reformation in real time. In this conversation, Léa opens up about confronting perfectionism, reconnecting with girlhood, and learning to trust her voice — not just in music, but in life. From wormhole elevators to unresolved endings, we journey through the LEVELS that shaped her.You frame LEVELS as a journey through a liminal hotel, with each floor representing a different stage of emotional growth. When did that visual metaphor first come to you?I was listening to an astrophysics podcast and the guy said elevators are like the poor man’s wormhole. You step in and suddenly you're in a different place without realizing how you got there. It reminded me of how memory works — how you can be fine one second, then in a feeling or a past version of yourself the next. That visual stuck with me. It reminded me of Interstellar as well.The idea of moving through life like levels in a video game is so relatable — especially the feeling that there's always another level. What level do you feel like you're currently on in your life?Falling in love with girlhood again after rejecting it for so many years. Slowing down, listening, becoming someone I feel safe being. I still want it all, but I want to get there with love and patience.The concept of an “empty hotel” evokes a feeling of isolation and introspection. Was that influenced more by your physical environment during lockdown or your internal emotional state at the time?Definitely physical. I actually met so many people in London, made friends, fell in love, even during lockdown I connected with people online. But I just felt a load of ignored baggage I needed to sit with. I isolated myself very intentionally. I'm a pretty sociable person, I love people so much — but I just needed solitude even though it felt uncomfortable.You’ve said the album explores spaces that shape us — cities, relationships, seasons. Which of those spaces did you find the most difficult to revisit in the writing process?Ghostwriter was difficult. I really struggle to communicate with people I love more than anyone else and admitting it sucked.You moved to London on impulse, without contacts or a plan. Looking back, do you feel like that risk was essential to your growth as an artist?As a woman it was everything and my art is just a reflection of what I go through. I couldn’t even imagine a version of myself without leaving it all behind.How did working with your brother Florian change the dynamic of creating this album? Did having that familial trust make you more vulnerable in the studio?It forced me to look at my perfectionism and control freak tendencies and eventually just let go. To trust that I’d be okay if I opened up in my lyrics — and okay if I asked for help. It helped me ease into opening up.You’ve collaborated with artists like Sampha and Joy Orbison. How has working on other people’s music helped you unlock new aspects of your own?With Sampha I tapped into a fire I didn’t even know I had. With Joy Orbison it was the first time I just had pure fun making a song.You’ve described the album as a reformation. What were you reforming from? And what did you feel you were reforming into?I was making music to survive — now I want to build the world I’ve always dreamed of. The album was my first step into doing that.“Ghostwriter” deals with the difficulty of expressing yourself, especially in a new language and a new city. How did you find your voice during that time?I kept second guessing my pronunciation over and over — so one day I just decided to speak how I speak and not care how people feel about it.There’s a beautiful mix of the familiar and the surreal across the album. Was that tension between reality and dream intentional from the start, or did it evolve naturally through the process?It was intentional. I always knew the first song would be Home Alone. I wanted to explore my struggles with daydreaming and how memory works — how we all remember things differently, how emotions warp what we hold onto.“Video Games” is both nostalgic and existential. How did memories of childhood become a way for you to reflect on who you are now?I think it was inevitable that the more I had to face patterns, the more I would ask the question: where does it all come from? It’s not that the memories helped me reflect — it’s the reflection that helped me revisit the memories.The final track, “Lobby Boy,” leaves us with more questions than answers. Why was it important for you not to end the album with resolution?In my heart, I wanted resolution. I’m an idealist. I love the idea of beautiful endings. But real life didn’t give me that — not when we finished the album, not when we shot the visuals, not now. There’s no answer. Just growth. Lobby Boy was my way of embracing that.You’ve talked about wanting to give people a sense that they’ll find their way, even if they feel lost. Which artists gave you that feeling when you needed it most?Mitski gave me a lot of peace in my own struggles and questions. Also Joni was one of those women that felt so strong and independent yet such a devoted lover and I felt really seen by her.Now that LEVELS is out in the world, how has your relationship with the songs changed? Do you still feel like you’re living in the hotel — or have you started checking out?I’ve definitely left the hotel of memories now. It was just a visit. A necessary one but temporary.What do you hope listeners take away from walking through these “levels” with you?That making peace with your past often starts in solitude. And that the support you need isn’t always the one you imagined.