DBsock’s latest release, Worse, highlights her willingness to sit with emotional complexity and tell difficult truths through music. Built on minimalist production and intimate storytelling, the track captures the slow unraveling of a relationship shaped by self-doubt, manipulation, and, ultimately, clarity. It’s a raw and reflective piece that leans into vulnerability without losing its sense of control.
In our conversation, DBsock opens up about the personal experiences behind the song and how she translates layered emotions into sound. She reflects on Worse as a turning point—both a step toward healing and a bridge to her upcoming release, Empty, which continues to explore her evolving artistic and emotional landscape.
“worse” lives in contradiction—do you think people are generally uncomfortable sitting in emotional grey areas?
Yes, I think most people are uncomfortable sitting in emotional grey areas. Speaking as a bit of a psychology nerd, a lot of that discomfort comes from not being able to clearly identify what we’re feeling. It’s the uncertainty that unsettles us. But sitting in that ambiguity is often the first step toward understanding it. Even for me, it can feel uncomfortable—sometimes even embarrassing—to stay in that space. Still, I allow myself to sit with it and fully experience it, because that’s where clarity eventually comes from.
Is there a difference, for you, between emotional honesty and emotional vulnerability?
Yes, I think there’s a difference, although they often coexist. Emotional honesty is about expressing what you truly feel—even when that truth might be uncomfortable or hurt someone. Vulnerability, on the other hand, is about allowing yourself to be affected. It’s choosing openness despite the risk of being hurt. To me, vulnerability requires courage. It’s what makes genuine connection—and real love—possible.
You chose not to frame yourself as a victim—was that a conscious decision or something that came naturally?
It came naturally. Even as a child, I didn’t really think of myself as a “victim,” even in situations where I was being hurt, like bullying. As I grew up, that mindset stayed with me. On one hand, it’s made me see myself as a survivor—a fighter. On the other hand, it also means I sometimes process the emotional impact later, after everything has already passed. There are moments where those delayed emotions hit all at once. Like in my lyrics: “I know my thoughts always flow, but I flood before I got my eyes closed… I just can’t wash you out.”
Do you think self-awareness always leads to change, or can it sometimes keep people stuck?
I think self-awareness is the first step toward change—but it doesn’t guarantee immediate action. Even after realizing something, I can still find myself stuck in it for a while. That’s just part of how grief works. Whether it’s a friendship, a relationship, or any kind of loss, the emotional process isn’t linear. The important thing is recognizing what I’m feeling, allowing myself to process it, and eventually letting it move through me instead of resisting it.
If “worse” had a visual world or colour palette, what would it look like?
Warm orange and red—similar to the cover art. It feels passionate, slightly intense, but still elegant.
What role does silence or space play in your production choices?
Space is essential to me—it’s like breathing. Especially in R&B, silence creates tension and release. If everything is constant—vocals, production, emotion—it becomes overwhelming. There’s no room for the listener to process or feel. No matter how dense or emotional my music gets, I always make sure there’s space. I don’t want listeners to feel suffocated. I want them to move through the emotion, not be trapped in it.
Have you ever surprised yourself with something you admitted in a song?
Yes, definitely. Sometimes I don’t realize how much I’ve revealed until after I finish writing. The level of vulnerability—panic, anger, acceptance—can catch me off guard. There are moments where I’ll finish a song, and the next day it really hits me emotionally. I might spend the whole day just lying in bed, crying, calling friends, reading poetry. But that’s part of the process. By the time the song is released, I feel a sense of relief. And when someone connects with it, that feeling becomes even more meaningful.
Do you think making music helps you process emotions, or just document them?
It definitely helps me process them. As an Asian woman on the autism spectrum with a background in psychology, self-reflection has always been essential for me. Art is how I avoid turning inward in a destructive way. For me, there have always been three outlets: drawing, tarot (I’ve been reading for about eight years), and music. I naturally overanalyze everything, so I need ways to process that constant mental and emotional input. Writing and producing music forces me to translate those experiences into something clear and expressive. As a bilingual artist, it’s also about bridging cultures—bringing together my Chinese background and my Western experiences in a way that still feels authentic and relatable. I believe emotion can transcend language. If I understand what I’m feeling deeply enough, others will feel it too—even if they don’t understand every word.
How do you balance making something deeply personal while still allowing listeners to see themselves in it?
I focus on being as honest as possible. The world is big enough that someone will always resonate with what you’re feeling. I don’t try to generalize my emotions—I try to express them fully and truthfully. Some feelings are universal—jealousy, love, regret, loss. They might be expressed differently across cultures, but the core experience is shared.
Was there a lyric in “worse” that felt particularly difficult to keep in the final version?
Not really—most of the lines closest to my heart stayed! Because I’m both the songwriter and vocal producer, I’m able to protect what feels most honest all the way through the process. I feel blessed to have that kind of space—the song ends up beinßg a very direct reflection of who I am.
How do you feel about listeners interpreting your music differently from your original intention?
I don’t mind at all. I don’t think anyone can ever fully understand another person. Once a piece of art is released, it no longer belongs only to the artist—it becomes something personal for each listener. My only goal is for people to feel something. As long as the music evokes emotion, I’m satisfied.
What does emotional detachment mean to you now, compared to when you were in that situation?
Now, I see detachment as something that often comes from avoidance. At the time, though, it felt necessary. The emotions were overwhelming, and I didn’t have the capacity to process them, so I distanced myself from them instead. I don’t think detachment is a long-term solution, but I do think it can be a phase in the healing process—something that happens before you’re ready to fully face what you feel.
If “worse” is about being inside the experience, what perspective does “Empty” come from?
“Empty” comes from after the experience. It captures a softer emotional withdrawal—the moment when you think you’ve moved on, but a sense of loss suddenly returns. It’s more about grief, with a final trace of limerence. It’s also a kind of goodbye—a lighter, more peaceful closing chapter.
Do you think intensity in relationships is often mistaken for connection?
Yes, I do. I experience emotions very intensely, but I’ve learned that intensity doesn’t equal connection. In a healthy relationship, the strongest feeling isn’t chaos—it’s being seen and accepted. Constant ups and downs, conflict, emotional extremes—that’s not connection. That’s instability. Real connection is something you build through understanding, communication, and consistency.
Looking ahead, do you see your sound becoming more expansive, or more stripped back and intimate?
I think I see myself being more expansive. Being open and vulnerable is still at the core of what I do, but one difficult relationship doesn’t take that away from me. I still believe in love, in growth, and in sharing that with others—both through my music and in my personal life.
