Emma Rosie, Demi Hawks !!install!! -

Her stage presence is volcanic. During a recent performance of her track “Spite,” she dismantled her own drum kit mid-song, handed the snare to a fan, and finished the track using only a broken cymbal and a megaphone. The audience wept and moshed in equal measure.

Though one hails from the fog-soaked folk trails of the Pacific Northwest and the other from the gritty, synth-heavy basements of East London, both artists share a singular mission: to weaponize vulnerability. They are not just singers; they are archivists of the messy, beautiful chaos of young adulthood. If you close your eyes and listen to Emma Rosie’s 2024 breakout EP, Saltwater Stains , you can smell the rust on a fire escape and feel the humidity of a sleepless summer. Rosie, 23, possesses a voice that cracks like old leather—warm, worn, and impossibly honest. emma rosie, demi hawks

Her rise was accidental. A classical piano prodigy who rejected conservatory at 19, Rosie spent two years working graveyard shifts at a 24-hour diner in Portland, Oregon. She wrote songs on napkins about customers: the trucker who cried into his coffee, the newly single mother counting quarters. Her stage presence is volcanic

Demi Hawks, meanwhile, is writing a short film and scoring a BBC drama about queer joy in the 1980s coal miners’ strikes. “Songs are too small a container for me now,” she says. “I want to build worlds.” Though one hails from the fog-soaked folk trails

Whether alone or someday together (a joint tour is the holy grail for their fanbase), one thing is clear: Emma Rosie and Demi Hawks are not fleeting trends. They are the whispered beginning of a new canon—artists who remind us that the most radical thing a young woman can do in 2026 is be unflinchingly, messily, gloriously real. Seek out the unofficial “Sad Girl Starter Pack” playlist on Spotify, curated by fans, which alternates Rosie’s “Lighthouse” with Hawks’ “Concrete Angel.” Just keep tissues nearby.

That line, from her viral single “Tuesday,” has been used in over 500,000 TikTok edits. But unlike many viral stars, Rosie resists the algorithm’s pull. Her live shows are famously silent—audiences recording nothing, just listening. Her recent cover of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue” at a Brooklyn loft show was described by one critic as “a surgical dissection of heartbreak so precise it should require a medical license.”