Time is a fickle thing — it moves whether we like it or not, it alters our perception, and it can change our own memories as it passes. For Arima Ederra, there’s only one thing that slows down the clock: love. And on her new album, A Rush to Nowhere, she studies her own relationship to time, how it transforms who we are as we age, and the different ways love anchors us within it.
Ederra describes the album title as a double entendre: a rush to nowhere and a rush to know where. Written over two years between Los Angeles and away from it, she slowly learns how to loosen her grip on time. Instead, she leans into a more fluid understanding that’s shaped by her own memory, feeling, and reflection. The songs are all crafted around the passing of time and how love helps define certain moments and experiences, folding the past and present into one and woven together through layered vocals and shifting arrangements.
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Reuniting with longtime collaborator Teo Halm and expanding her sonic world alongside Rahm Silverglade, Ederra pushes her sound into more expansive territory. She experiments more with raw, unrefined demos as a lesson in trusting her own instincts. In turn, the songs are more delicate snapshots of diary-like moments that coexist with bolder, more dynamic compositions.
That same ethos extends into the album’s visual world. Shot as a full-length performance piece inside Union Station, Los Angeles, the project transforms a space initially made for movement into a place for Ederra to pause and reflect. It acts as a mirror toward the album’s tension between rushing forward and learning to stay present.
Coinciding with the performance, Ederra reflects on time, expanding her sonic palette, and why it was important to use Union Station as a backdrop to her album.
Your album circles around time as something felt rather than measured. When did that shift in perspective first click for you while writing A Rush To Nowhere?
I think I’ve always struggled with time as a concept. It’s always felt like such a rigid way of measuring one’s life. I think what feels more natural to me is quantifying my experiences and using that as markers of where I am, who I’ve become, and how I show up in the world. I journal a lot, and working on the album helped me articulate some of those feelings.
You’ve described time as a spiral rather than a straight line. How did that idea influence the way you structured the album?
I kept drawing this image in my notebooks. I was reading The Order of Time by Carlo Rovelli and came across something along the lines of, “Time is not a line with two equal directions: It is an arrow with different extremities.” I kept drawing this image in my notebooks, which was a double-headed arrow. The arrow also took the shape of a spiral that fed back into itself. This idea that time isn’t moving forward so much as it’s circling, limitless, and looping. I think, subconsciously, it inspired some of the production, too. Some of the songs have this repetitive, trance-like thing, and some break that wall.
Do you see your songwriting more as searching for something or as arriving somewhere?
Both, depending on the song. A lot of these songs started from my own experiences, and writing helped me work through what I was actually feeling or questioning. I think I’m asking a lot of questions, but then there are songs like “You’re My” or “Wrapped Inside Your Love” that feel like declarations.
Compared to An Orange Colored Day, this record feels more expansive sonically. What pushed you to take bigger structural and production risks this time?
It started as wanting to push myself vocally. I wanted to find a way to bridge how I sound live into my recorded songs. Playing and seeing shows also inspired me to reach for something bigger. Which, in turn, also made us push ourselves with the dynamics and arrangements of some of the music. I’ve gotten more confident with my voice and wanted the music to reflect that growth.
You spent months listening to demos by Joni Mitchell, Minnie Riperton, Stevie Wonder, and Prince. What did hearing their unfinished work unlock for you creatively?
I love seeing how songs start. I’m someone who suffers from demo-itis and was curious to see how some of my favorites transformed their songs. I didn’t listen to much of Prince growing up, and listening to his demos made me appreciate his genius even more. I also think there’s something special about the way songs can be stripped back. It’s one of the ways I like to test how much I love a song by stripping it down to one instrument. Minnie Ripperton is one of my North Stars. I love how she’s able to move across registers so effortlessly. The stuff she did while in Rotary Connection was insane. Joni is one of my favorite writers.
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Teo Halm returns as a key collaborator. How has your creative chemistry evolved since your earlier work together?
Our work together has evolved because we’ve evolved in our friendship, too. Teo is family to me, and I’ve gotten really comfortable expressing what I want with him. I also think he knows me really well — there isn’t this wall up to perform for either of us. He knew I really wanted to push myself and the sound of this record, and had the talent and ambition to push himself, too. It’s really fun to make music with your friends. He’s one of the kindest people I know and really treats me and the work with so much care. We got to bring together so many friends and talented people — it was really a dream team of so many people I love.
Working with Rahm Silverglade, what new textures or ideas did he bring into the world of this album?
For a lot of An Orange Colored Day, it was just me and Teo finishing things. With this new record, I knew I wanted someone who could bring a new element, and Rahm was the perfect magician. He’s not only an extremely talented musician, but he’s also interested in pushing his tools beyond their function. He brought so much warmth and curiosity to the studio and honestly reminded us to have fun.
Songs like “Heard What You Said” bring in a more rock-leaning structure. What drew you toward that sound palette?
I was working through some big feelings and wanted the music to feel just as grand. I was reading “Running Up That Hill” and learning a lot about Kate Bush, too. She was such an innovator and found a way to pierce through whatever music she was producing and singing over.
What inspired that darker, more abstract aesthetic?
I think the music lives in this in-between space emotionally, and I wanted the visuals to reflect that. I’ve always been drawn to the tension between light and darkness in music, photography, and visual art in general. Chiaroscuro felt right because the album isn’t purely light or dark, but rather in the contrast and tension between the two. I love surrealism and time, and memory feels surreal to me. I worked with this amazing photographer duo, Obsolete, in London, and they completely understood the visual language.
Shooting a full-length performance visual at Union Station in Los Angeles was such a striking choice. What made that location feel right for this project?
Trains, buses, cars, and commuting in general have always been one of the few places where I naturally slow down and reflect. That symbolism started surfacing a lot as I was imagining the visual world of this album, and the idea of a train station just kept coming up. Union Station also felt right for something bigger than just a performance setting. It’s such a beautiful building with its own history in LA. There was something about that grandeur that made it feel like the right place to gather people and be present together.
How did the symbolism of a train station connect to your ideas about time?
Train stations are cool because it feels like you’re in between where you came from and where you’re going. Clocks are everywhere, and people are rushing to catch their train or sitting around waiting for it. The room feels alive and still at the same time. The toy train on the album cover was a nod to that concept and the passing of time.
Performing the album live with collaborators like Teo Halm and Rahm Silverglade, how did the songs transform compared to their recorded versions?
I’ve never played with people I’ve made music with, so it was really cool to see the songs come alive in a different way and play them with my friends for the first time. When you’re in the studio, it’s such an isolated experience, and it’s like pieces we’re trying to put together. Playing things live feels limitless and less constrained. There’s so much more room for a different type of magic, and we’re all feeding off each other energetically.
The visual seems to blur past and present. Were there specific moments during the shoot where you felt that theme come alive in a real way?
A moment that comes up — I landed in London the night before the music video shoot for “Heard What You Said.” I think there was a moment on set when I felt disoriented from jet lag and had a flashback to working on the song in the studio. The distance between those two moments almost felt like a blur.
