Some artists make music to tell their stories. Others use music to create entire worlds. Get Bec is doing the latter.From the neon energy of Firestarter to the seductive unease of Cocoon, the Australian artist is developing a distinctive pop universe where glossy production, theatrical storytelling, dark humour, fantasy and unpredictability exist side by side. Her music can feel instantly infectious on the surface, yet there is often something more complicated lurking underneath. A song may invite you onto the dance floor before quietly revealing that the story being told is far stranger than you first imagined.
Cocoon captures that approach particularly well. What initially feels like a dreamy, seductive pop fantasy gradually takes a darker turn, introducing a narrator who refuses to fit neatly into the role of romantic heroine. It is this ability to play with perspective, character and expectation that makes Get Bec such an intriguing emerging voice. She is not interested in simply delivering another polished pop song. She wants listeners to enter a story, question what they are hearing and perhaps discover something unexpected along the way.
Behind that creative world is an artist who has spent years developing the technical and artistic freedom to bring her ideas to life. After studying Commercial Music Production in London and receiving the Focusrite Emerging Music Producer Bursary in 2020, Get Bec began taking greater ownership of the entire recording process. Today, she writes, produces and performs her own material, allowing the production itself to become part of the storytelling.
Her creative environment is equally unconventional. Her home studio in Australia can transform according to the song she is making, becoming tropical, dark, cosy or chaotic depending on the fantasy she is trying to inhabit. That intimacy has given her the freedom to experiment at any hour, while the limitations of home recording have encouraged an inventive approach to production.
Returning to Australia after her time in London also gave Get Bec the space to rediscover parts of herself she had previously toned down. The humour, eccentricity and unmistakable Australian character that now run through the project have become important ingredients in an identity that feels increasingly her own.
Yet beneath the humour and theatricality is a serious artistic ambition. Get Bec is building more than a catalogue of singles. She is creating a space where different sides of her personality can exist freely, while ultimately hoping to give listeners permission to embrace their own individuality and pursue their ambitions.
In this exclusive conversation with Spinex Music, Get Bec takes us inside the creative mind behind Cocoon, discussing the darker characters within her songs, the freedom of making music at home, her evolution as a producer, the influence of Australia on her artistry, and her vision for a pop world that audiences can eventually step into themselves.
Get Bec speaks with Spinex Music.
“Cocoon” begins as a glossy fantasy of sun, skin and desire before gradually revealing something much more unhinged underneath. What fascinates you about taking something as innocent as an all-consuming crush and slowly turning it into something darker? At what point did you realise the song’s narrator might not be the romantic heroine the listener initially assumes she is?
I’ve always been drawn to main characters who are both the hero and the villain at the same time. I was obsessed with James Spader as Reddington in *The Blacklist*, and I think I instinctively brought some of that energy into the song. There’s something much more interesting to me about a character you’re drawn to even while you’re beginning to question their motives.
I get bored with generic songs pretty quickly, and I’m clearly a little bit twisted, so I wanted to put a spin on what could otherwise have been another clichéd romantic pop song. *Cocoon* starts in this beautiful, seductive place, but the further you get into it, the more you realise the narrator’s version of romance might be slightly questionable.
I like that I don’t suddenly become the villain. I was both the villain and the heroine all along.
There is a deliciously uncomfortable contradiction in “Cocoon”: the production invites people to dance while the story becomes increasingly questionable. Is that contrast central to how you want Get Bec to operate creatively, where the listener can be having an amazing time before suddenly realising they have been singing along to something slightly disturbing?
Ha, yeah, I’ve definitely got an unhinged streak, and I get a real kick out of the idea of people dancing in a club to something that’s more than just a party song. I love the idea that underneath all that energy there’s actually a fantasy slowly going wrong.
It definitely pulls the songs further into the world of theatre, and that’s something I can’t seem to help myself doing, both in the songwriting and in the production. I like creating more than just a track. I want there to be something underneath it for people to discover.
The next few songs I’ve got coming out lean even further into that, actually, so I think that contrast is becoming a pretty central part of what Get Bec is.
You wrote, produced and performed the song yourself, giving you complete control over both its musical identity and its narrative world. When you are responsible for every major creative decision, how do you determine whether a strange or unconventional idea deserves to stay? Is there a point where you deliberately choose instinct over what might be considered commercially “safe”?
I’ve really learned to trust myself with this, and also to be prepared to take the risks. I’ve been taking far more risks creatively than I ever have before, and I actually held back releasing my music until I felt I’d reached that point.
The songs might not be everyone’s chosen genre, and some of the decisions I make might not be considered the safest ones commercially, but I wanted to get to a place where I was happy with what I was making and could stand by those decisions regardless of who liked what I was doing, or the way I might be saying it. And now I am.
Sometimes it still feels a little scary, but the response so far has been a huge encouragement, and it’s probably made me even braver. I feel like people are starting to actually “Get Bec.” Haha.
The upcoming tracks lean further into that wink-wink humour and some of the stranger instincts I’ve got, rather than away from them.
Your lounge-room studio has been described as a house party, panic attack and fever dream, which says a lot about the personality behind Get Bec. What does that environment give you creatively that a conventional studio perhaps cannot? Do the limitations and intimacy of making music at home actually help you develop a more recognisable sound?
I’ve been building the studio up slowly and finding my own aesthetic piece by piece, while making the space feel really inviting and cosy. I actually change the room depending on what I’m working on. I’ll make it feel summery with tropical plants for one track, then cosy and dark with warm blankets and fluoro lights for another. I literally try to make myself feel like I’m inside whatever I’m creating.
My songs are mostly written from fantasy, with little hints of truth, so I have to find ways of getting myself into the vibe, and apparently props help!
I also like to turn things up loud, and thankfully the soundproofing here is solid. I’m constantly asking my neighbours if they can hear anything and, so far, they insist they can’t.
The other huge advantage is being able to get up and lay something down at 2am, which I do regularly, or just keep working really late when I’m onto something. Having that luxury is massive for me.
I’ve also managed to construct some outstanding makeshift vocal booths along the way, starting with an upside-down lounge chair balanced on a coffee table, then a single bed frame turned on its side, and God knows what else. So perhaps the limitations actually do help. They force me to be inventive before I’ve even pressed record.
“Cocoon” is packed with vivid imagery, humour and an almost cinematic sense of escalation. When you write, do you think primarily in musical terms or visual scenes? Could you imagine your songs existing as chapters of one larger universe, with recurring characters, personalities and places appearing throughout the Get Bec project?
I feel like the songs all have different characters, and that hasn’t really been intentional. I think it’s just because I’m complicated! Or maybe just diverse and have a lot of ideas.
I tend to start with either a visual that appears in my head or a catchy title that excites me and I think I could build a story around. From there, the song starts to become its own little world.
A lot of the time I’m actually writing about where I’d *like* to be and what I’d *prefer* to be doing, which lately seems to involve being on a tropical island somewhere having some kind of intense, slightly dangerous romance. So perhaps there is a universe with different characters forming, whether I consciously intended it or not.
Hence the next track coming out is called *Rendezvous*, for which I used some carefully placed animal sounds in the production, and I rap in the middle 8, which is something people haven’t heard from me yet!
Your music manages to sound polished and fluorescent while still feeling mischievous and slightly dangerous. How do you balance the perfectionism required to create glossy pop production with the imperfections, weirdness and unpredictability that make a song feel genuinely human?
Loads and loads and loads of hours trying things out!
I knew I wanted a highly polished, commercial sound that I felt could sit beside some of my greatest influences in production and songwriting, people like Max Martin, Dr. Luke, Timbaland and even newer producers like Zedd.
A huge influence on me is also Rick Rubin, particularly his approach to instinct, individuality and getting to the essence of what makes an artist interesting. I actually give him a little mention in one of my upcoming records, *Call You From Miami!*
I’m still honing my production all the time, and I always want to be better.
I think the quirkiness and rawness of me as an artist naturally brings some balance to the shiny pop production I love so much. There’s something about me that’s a bit unpredictable, even to myself. I don’t always know which version of me is going to turn up when I start creating, and I think that’s where some of the weirdness and humanity sneaks in.
So the production can be incredibly considered and polished, but I don’t want to polish the individuality out of it.
You studied Commercial Music Production in London and received the Focusrite Emerging Music Producer Bursary in 2020, which gave you access to equipment and ultimately encouraged you to become even more obsessed with making records. How did that period change your relationship with production, and what did you learn about yourself when you moved from simply wanting to make music to becoming the person responsible for actually constructing the entire record?
To be honest, I thought I’d get there quicker, but it’s literally taken me the last six years to reach the level I’m happy with and to bring it all together. That was a pretty crazy period in time as well. I decided to come back to Australia in the middle of it, thinking I’d be back for a year, and I’ve now been here for four, which was completely unexpected.
The Focusrite bursary really encouraged me and gave me confidence in production, but in some ways I think it also distracted me from focusing on myself as an artist. What I’ve learned most since then is that, for me, production is actually secondary. The most important thing is the expression.
At the same time, I can’t really separate the two. The sound choices are just as important to me as the lyrics and the story. Production is part of how I communicate the emotion of the song, rather than being the reason I’m making it in the first place.
Since returning to Australia, you have been developing a sound that feels unmistakably yours, but there is also something distinctly Australian in the world surrounding Get Bec: kookaburras, ugg boots, lounge-room chaos and everyday absurdity. How important is your Australian experience to the character and humour of your music, and do you think being geographically removed from some of the traditional centres of pop music has helped you create without constantly worrying about what everyone else is doing?
Absolutely. This time back in Australia has been really challenging in one way, but absolutely vital to my development and individuality as an artist in another.
The contrast between London and Perth has been vast, and I’ve been really isolated over here. While I’ve definitely done my fair share of complaining about that over the years, creatively it has probably been the best thing for me by miles. I’ve had the opportunity to completely organically transmute behind the scenes and shapeshift to my heart’s content, without anybody watching.
When I went to London, I definitely honed down the “level of Australian” in myself a bit, and since I’ve been back I’ve really been finding that edge again and embracing that style of humour.
I think the distance has given me the space to stop worrying so much about what I’m supposed to sound or look like and just let the whole thing evolve into whatever it wants to become.
Your debut single “Firestarter” introduced listeners to neon nights, unreliable narrators and the feeling of dancing through bad decisions, while “Cocoon” pushes that concept even further. If these songs are chapters in the beginning of the Get Bec story, what do you think listeners are beginning to understand about the character behind them? Is Get Bec an exaggerated version of you, a fictional alter ego, or a place where different sides of your personality can coexist?
I think it’s probably all of those things to some extent, but mostly the last one. Get Bec is a place where different sides of myself can exist and have full expression.
The funny thing is, I don’t think I’ve even come close to fully exploring that yet. I honestly still feel like I’ve just dipped my toe into the more creative and theatrical version of myself within the pop songs I’m making. I obviously can’t walk around in day-to-day life expressing all of this at full volume, so I’m definitely creating a place where I can do that.
That’s part of what makes pop music so great to me. It’s music, but it’s also entertainment, character, fantasy and performance. You can get away with a lot!
There’s obviously also an element of the fact that, right now, I’m purely and simply having a stack of fun. But that’s definitely not all there is to me. There’s a lot of depth and a substantial amount of melancholy there too, and that’s going to get its moment.
Right now, though, I’m having far too much of a good time with the songs I’m writing to worry about changing lanes. As I feel it, it’ll come out.
You are building more than a collection of songs; you are creating a recognisable pop universe with its own visual language, humour and emotional rules. If Get Bec eventually becomes a project people can identify within seconds, what do you want them to recognise first: the sound, the storytelling, the visuals, the attitude, or the feeling that something completely unpredictable is about to happen? And ultimately, what would make you look back years from now and think, I built exactly the kind of pop world I wanted to exist?
I want them to recognise all of those things!
When I start performing live shows, which should be around the middle of next year as the catalogue builds, I can’t wait for fans to be able to dress up, be super creative and express themselves in their own way at the shows. I want the world around Get Bec to feel like somewhere people can step into and become a part of, rather than something they’re only watching from the outside. I almost feel like my shows are gonna somehow be interactive, but we’ll see…
It’s really important to me that listeners feel empowered and feel that they can make their own dreams happen too.
When I look back years from now, I want to be able to say that I did everything within my own power and ability to meet my full potential, and that somewhere amidst all the wink-wink humour, fantasy and ridiculousness, I became a voice that encouraged other people to meet theirs too.
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