Corook Embraces The Rough Parts Of Queer Adulthood

Corook kicked off this year’s Pride Month with a bang. Their second EP, Serious Person, Part 1, arrived at the top of June, gifting us with six cozy queer pop tracks. Over the course of a 20-minute therapy session, the non-binary singer and instrumentalist homes in on the core parts of themselves — the good and the bad — and finds humor in their insecurities.

Their EP’s title track, “Serious Person,” details their relationship with their girlfriend, fellow musician Olivia Barton. Oftentimes, Corook finds it difficult to express their emotions and to handle rough patches in their relationship and makes this known from the very beginning of the EP.

“I’m not a serious person / When it comes to serious things / I’ll make a fart joke when we’re in a fight / Act like you hate it, but I see you smile,” they sing on the opening verse, over soft piano chords.

Corook can’t actually remember a time they’ve done this, but it’s not something they, or Barton, would put past themselves.

“I’m definitely the kind of person that is trying to lighten the mood at all times,” Corook says. “Especially when it’s hard. And maybe it’s inappropriate.”

They’re especially learning how to handle difficulty now that their career has taken off. Earlier this month, Corook performed headlining sets at Brooklyn, NY’s Baby’s All Right and Los Angeles, CA’s The Echo. This past weekend, Corook performed at Nashville Pride, where they are currently based.

On another standout line in “Serious Person,” Corook alludes to their sensitivity to overstimulation, singing “I don’t want you to cook while I’m watching TV.” But they admit that having Barton as their rock has made it easier to cope with newfound notoriety.

“I think [Olivia and I] are lucky to have each other,” Corook says. “This past year has been really overwhelming, especially in terms of my career, and I’m very much needing to learn in real-time how to take care of myself. Whenever I’m overwhelmed, I know I need to take care of myself. And whether that be cooking a meal at home, or staying home and playing video games at night, instead of going out. I try to listen to my body and listen to what’s going on, and act accordingly.”

Part of remaining grounded for Corook means keeping a small team of collaborators, most of which are close friends of theirs. One of the EP’s standout tracks, “Tiny Little T*tties,’ — a gut-punching encapsulation of the nuanced feelings of body dysmorphia — came together while Corook was on a trip to LA.

While in an Airbnb with two friends — Lauren Aquilina and Caroline Pennell — Corook had received a swimsuit that Barton, who was set to arrive at the Airbnb a week later, had ordered for herself, to be delivered to the house. The swimsuit was purchased from a brand called Youswim and was branded as one-size-fits-all gear.

“My friend Lauren — who has a very large chest — picked up the bathing suit, and she was like, ‘This is one size fits all?’ Like there’s no way,’” Corook recalls. “And I was like ‘You should try it on.’ And she tried it on, and she was like ‘Yeah, this doesn’t hold anything in,’ And that’s whenever she was just like, ‘I want to be a tiny girl, tiny little t*tties.’ And I was like, ‘That’s a song. Like, I know that you’re joking, but that’s a song.’ And I grabbed my guitar and then we made it into what it is.”

While Corook often turns to their close friends for inspiration, very rarely do they use the same approach when writing songs. Sometimes they have a beat playing on a loop in their head before they even pick up a guitar; sometimes, they’ll open up Ableton and lay down a percussion loop, and begin playing acoustic guitar over the track; sometimes, they’ll write a line down in their phone notes, and expand upon it when they get to the piano or guitar.

Similar to real life, Corook finds the beauty in the rough parts of their music, particularly via special plug-ins in their DAWs and MIDIs. Some of their favorites include “sketch cassette,” “baby audio,” and “Crystalline.”

“Really, I like anything that makes something sound kinda bad,” says Corook. “I kind of love it. Sketch cassette and RC 20 will make the sound wobble, make it sound old, and make it sound like you recorded it badly. That, I feel, adds so much character.”

And their unique craft has certainly paid off. Their viral hit, “If I Were A Fish,” which they wrote in the course of 10 minutes after receiving hate comments, has prompted several TikToks of musical circles, artists adding background vocals, and artists genre-bending the song.

But they’ve found that their other songs have resonated even more with members of the LGBTQ+ community, and they are happy to be the queer artist they needed when they were younger.

“I remember the first time I heard ‘Baby’ by Justin Bieber, and I thought it was a girl singing, and my stomach dropped,” says Corook. “I was like, “Oh my God, it’s finally a girl singing about a girl.’ And it wasn’t a girl, but I just remember that feeling of like, ‘Oh my gosh, it’s somebody that is like me, and I don’t have to be scared.’ And I’m glad that there are kids nowadays that are able to hear [LGBTQ+ artists].”

Corook is currently in the process of writing and recording their next EP, Serious Person, Part 2, which they say has been a rather “healing” process. They are also set to embark on a North American tour beginning in September.

While on tour, Corook is looking forward to seeing the fans who have resonated with their catchy-yet-poignant queer bops.

“I am just so looking forward to having rooms full of people that are like me,” Corook says. “I’ve been an opening act for the last year-and-a-half, and while being welcomed into those communities has been so awesome, I just had my first couple of headline shows. And it is so cool to be in a room full of people that understand my entire project, and understand the entire scope of what Corook is, rather than just ‘It’s Okay’ or ‘If I Were A Fish.’ The fans of this music are so sensitive and kind, and that is just a wonderful room to be in.”

Corook is a Warner Music artist. artist.