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“I look back at that time, and it was so romantic,” Ryn Weaver tells Billboard, “and I was so young, and so brave, and so scared, and kind of staying high so I didn’t have to come down.”

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Weaver needs every adjective she can find to describe the personal and professional whirlwind that she experienced a decade ago. In June 2014, the singer-songwriter born Aryn Wüthrich made her debut with “OctaHate,” a sleek, lightly swaying synth-pop gem with effervescent verses and a hammered-down hook; she uploaded the track onto Soundcloud, and it rapidly took off with pre-TikTok social media shares and critical approval. 

Pop Twitter noted the song’s pedigree — not only did “OctaHate” boast a co-writing credit from a then-red-hot Charli XCX with Weaver, but Benny Blanco, Passion Pit leader Michael Angelakos and Norwegian polymath Cashmere Cat all helped pen and produce the song. But more immediate were 21-year-old Weaver’s dynamic voice and theatrical delivery, adding dramatic heft to each of the song’s finely crafted melodies. Combined with the news that “OctaHate” preceded a debut album that Blanco and Angelakos would co-helm, and that Blanco would release through his Interscope imprint Friends Keep Secrets, Weaver appeared to have the skills and industry buy-in to become an alt-pop star.

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Weaver’s debut, 2015’s The Fool, brimmed with promise and personality, debuting at No. 30 on the Billboard 200 and prompting a headlining tour and festival dates over the following year. None of the follow-up singles built upon the commercial success of “OctaHate,” though, and a follow-up album never materialized. “It was also very sad, and very heartbreaking,” Weaver says today, “and I was very lost, even though I was just charging into the night.”

In the years since, Weaver’s name would pop up as a co-writer on songs like 2019’s “Dream Glow” by BTS and Charli XCX, and 2021’s “Just For Me” by SAINT JHN and SZA; “Pierre,” the anthemic fan favorite from The Fool, has also been a perennial TikTok favorite, inspiring multiple trends beginning in 2021 and racking up even more U.S. on-demand streams at this point than “OctaHate” (111.7 million to 63.4 million, according to Luminate). Yet Weaver, whose wit and sincerity once made her a must-follow on Twitter and Instagram, mostly vanished from social media, and years passed between updates on in-the-works music.

On Monday (June 16) — the 10-year anniversary of The Fool — that wait finally ended. “Odin St” may be Weaver’s first official single in a decade, created with a darker tone (courtesy of co-producers Benjamin Greenspan and Constantine Anastasakis) and a more mature perspective. But longtime fans will recognize the idiosyncratic wordplay, loping syllables and ornate hooks that bend toward a major chorus, all as magnetic today as when Weaver barreled into view a decade ago.

Now 32 and without a label — she’s no longer working with Blanco but describes their parting as amicable, and says that she still keeps in touch with Angelakos — Weaver says that “Odin St” will lead into the sophomore act that she always knew she had inside of her, but which required time to germinate. 

“I went through a very singular, and yet kind of clichéd, experience,” Weaver explains of her early stardom, “where I didn’t feel like I could fully communicate it yet. It was, like, above my pay grade, the language to discuss what was going on. I needed some space from certain experiences to actually be able to write from a place of clarity.”

Ahead of the release of “Odin St,” Weaver discussed where she’s been, and where she finally hopes to go next. (Ed. note: this interview has been condensed and edited for clarity.)

Where did “Odin St” come from?

Chronologically, the song is where The Fool ended. [The album’s final song, “New Constellations”] ends, “You can run, if you want to.” I think it’s pretty clear that I left my label — I asked to be released — and so I moved to L.A., across the country, and my manager picked out a place for me to stay. It was on Odin Street in Los Angeles, and I didn’t know the lore of Odin at that time, but it was this safe haven, bunker, Grey Gardens situation. I hid there, I guess, and waited for some dust to settle. 

And then later, thinking about the lore of Odin, I just love that he’s the god of wisdom, and he represents people who are willing to give up everything on their journey for their acquisition of wisdom. I felt like that was such a poem in and of itself — being on Odin Street, and knowing that was my journey, but it’s a very long journey to actually acquiring wisdom. It was also the inverse — I was making the first step, but in reality, I was partying, and hiding, and I was with someone I shouldn’t have been with. And so it was kind of this house down the road from wisdom.

When did you start piecing the actual song together?

I think I started an idea for it like three years later, and then I scrapped that. And then I went in with [producer-songwriter] Active Child, and we started something – but it was almost too joyful in a way, too romantic. I started the verse there, and then we didn’t see each other through COVID. And then I was writing with a guy named Constantine, whose artist project is Blonder, and we were writing for a young artist that my friend was managing, in the desert. We got on very well, and we got back home and were talking about working together. He has this very interesting dark guitar tone. 

We hung out all night, and I think it was 7:00 AM when we started writing it. Funny enough, the song is in the key that it’s in because of my throat — I was like, “It’s 7:00 AM, this is where I can sing this song.” And we even tried to change it a couple times, but key characteristics are so important. We lifted it a half [key], and then it sounded like a jingle. I was like, “We’re keeping it where it is, because it’s dark, and it’s gritty.”

“Odin St” has been rumored to come out for a few years now. Why was now the right time?

For my fans, I love the idea of putting something out on the 10-year for The Fool. We never did a re-pressing — we did one pressing, and people constantly ask me, “Can I get a record?” I don’t have any! But this song is literally where I left you, and it’s a darker color palette. I like that it’s lower — I wasn’t really encouraged to sing in a lower register on the first record. So this is also kind of a break-free moment, of I can do whatever I want. And I also just think it’s a foray into a darker new chapter, while still being light enough.

How close was this moment to happening in the past? Were there starts and stops?

There were so many starts and stops.  There have been three separate times I was getting ready, and there were different songs, too. There was one that I was like, “I feel like that’s the wrong story to start with.” I would get close, and then pull back. I’ve had to get to a point of regaining a lot of self-trust, because working with super-producers and then leaving — you have a splash like that, and then you’re coming back, and there’s this feeling like, “This is different.” So I think I was scared.  

I was never lying to anyone. I always thought I would release something, but then the logistics of it come into play. It costs money. I don’t want to give away my power and immediately sign somewhere. Maintaining autonomy was also important to me. I think, at this moment in time, I am able to do that.

Was co-writing for other artists, or serving as a guest vocalist, ever a lane you considered?

I’ve written for other people — I wrote for SAINt JHN and SZA, and I did something for BTS. I’ve had a lot of random, lucky cuts. If you take this much time off — I’m not connected in the industry through family, I don’t have a giant trust fund or anything. I felt like the universe was protecting me, being like, “Here’s this Head and the Heart song, you can keep going.” That was also a really nice way to pull back and de-center myself, especially while I was pulling back the arrow and deciding what this new chapter would look like.

I turned down a couple really big features at the time, but I think it was because I wanted to establish myself as an artist with my voice. The music industry has changed, but at the time, I felt there was a bit of a trap in being a features artist. I really wanted for my first big feature for everyone to be like, “Oh, damn, they’re working together!,” not, “Who the f–k is that?” I was pretty stubborn about wanting to continue to develop my own voice to where it feels like, that is a worthy collaboration, instead of being thrown onto something. I was maybe a little cagey, but I stand by that decision.

Around the release of The Fool, you were all over social media and constantly online. And then you took a step back for a long time.

Well at the time, I wasn’t releasing — I don’t know how many selfies or how much content the world really needs. But also, I started seeing someone who’s wonderful, and who doesn’t have social media. And I was like, “Wow, I want to do that for a minute.” It was like, what am I trying to get here? Am I going to post a snippet? Am I going to react or bandwagon? I was like, “They don’t need me right now. Open up the stage for the people they need right now.” 

I’ve been onstage my whole life, since I was four, and was a bit of an overachiever in that sense. I was performing professionally at events, and singing for sports games, and then I was the lead in plays, and I was in bands, and then I got into [NYU], and then I dropped out of school, and then I met Benny, and everything was just like, good, good, good, good. And I didn’t understand myself outside of the context of other people, and my value was heavily tied to my ability to entertain or perform. 

I think the time off has been really transformative, in the sense that you really do have to find what your intrinsic value is. That was a very painful process. And this is the longest I’ve not been onstage in my life, but it was so crucial to my general development. So I think you have a couple of little ego deaths in there, where you don’t need to fight for attention.

So what were your areas of interest while you were detached? Did you pick up new hobbies?

I traveled a bit. I’ve gone on weird hiking road trips. I got a sewing machine. I got back into painting. I hung out with my friends and my family a lot. I was a good cat mom. I go dancing, I exercise, I swim in the sea. I was living my life! I do have to acknowledge screens — it’s a very depressing truth that we all binge more than we want to, and we all are on our phones more than we want to be, and I’m trying not to do that, but sometimes my nights are that. I was a bartender for a second. I’ve been in therapy. I’m doing what anybody else is doing.

Did you ever consider leaving music altogether?

I did, but I didn’t. You can talk yourself in and out of everything — I was like, “Maybe I’ll go to school and study semiotics! I’ll go write a book!” Or I was like, “Maybe the industry is too toxic!” I was in a very different industry, pre-MeToo, and women were pitted against each other in different ways. There was a little bit of seeing how the sausage was made, and being there, the industry felt strange. 

More for the drama of it, I was like, “Maybe I’ll leave.” And I had enough reasons to, and most people would have. But I think I always had that thing that was like, “It’ll be next year.” It was more prolonging the [return], and never like I was actually going to pivot.

When you did check in with the rest of the world, how meaningful was it to read fan messages asking about a comeback or hoping you were working on new music?

Super meaningful, and also heartbreaking. You take this much time off, some of it is trying to find your next perfect-match collaborator. You’ll do some of the speed dating, and someone will want to do “OctaHate 2.0,” when you’re trying to transform. So sometimes I’d get those messages, and especially when I felt so far away from releasing, I was like, “I want to be there too. I’m figuring it out.” But it also kept me going, knowing that I had such a strong fan base and people that really love me. I also kept in touch with so many of them.

I had isolated for a long time, and became sort of hermetic. I like that side of myself, but I also need people. It’s like in the Peter Pan play, where Tinker Bell starts dying and needs everyone in the audience to say, “I do believe in fairies, I do, I do,” to survive. When you’re out of the public eye, and you don’t know how necessary what you have to say is at all — having people being like, “We believe, we care, we’ll listen,” that matters.

How does it feel to be on the precipice of releasing new music?

I feel really calm, in a way. I think I was so frantic with “OctaHate” — it was one of those releases where it was like, “We’re just gonna put this out today!” “Oh, we are?” It was horrifying. I threw up that day. I was like, “Oh God, this is happening.” But I’ve waited so long now that I feel ready to go. 

We have a couple more songs coming down the pipeline, and then I think we’re going to do an announcement for… other stuff. But as of now, I just want to focus on this. I’m also actively in EMDR, which is really cool. I’m really preparing myself to come back to the industry from every angle, and feel really like secure and stable coming back. So it’s like, a nice summer, getting me ready to to do the damn thing.

Are you thinking about playing shows?

Oh, yeah. I mean, that’s kind of my favorite part of it. I love writing, but being onstage in that communal heartbeat thing — where someone can be attached to the work for a completely different reason [than someone else], but everyone’s singing it at each other — it’s just this electricity. 

I remember before I first went on tour, I was doing radio promo and all this stuff that made me feel disconnected from what I was doing. And as soon as I went on tour, I was like, “Oh my God, this is it — I’m a road dog, I am a sailor.” I grew up doing theater, show after show, and it’s always different. And getting to interact with people, hanging with them after the show — I had people coming on the bus and doing shots with me, and it was just so fun and free. I will be a better girl this time! I mean, you can only pull that off at 22. But, yeah, that’s the best part of it, to me.

What do you expect to feel when you return to the stage and start performing songs from The Fool?

I mean, hopefully no one is the same person as they were a decade ago. I want to say something in defense of The Fool, though. I feel there was a while where I couldn’t listen to it — almost like, “What was that? Oh, my God.” There’s a lot of things that I was embarrassed about when I was younger, like doing theater and this and that. But to me, they’re like, these beautiful baby pictures. And I was just so brave and young, and there was no thought about anything, other than “I only have this many days to write an album, so I’m gonna do it.” And it was high-pressure, high-stakes. I was living a very exciting life. And I just have so much love for that album. 

I’m sure we’ll reimagine some of the instrumentation, but for some of them, we won’t. It’s a chapter that literally gave me the ability to be talking to you right now, and gave me the ability to have fans and have opportunities. I re-listen to it now, and not to toot our horn, but with Benny and Michael and me, it was a sound that’s got legs, and it feels timeless. The songs are strange, but still big. And I feel like that is the way I write. 

I do feel like these two albums are going to be companion pieces — the first one is very bold and bright, and there’s a lot of darkness in what I wrote, even if the energy isn’t. And the newer stuff is a bit of a photo negative. Different colors, but it’s not like I’m not a romantic, theatrical, intense person still. I’ve just matured.