Billie Marten was ready for something new. Since she was 17, the London-based singer-songwriter born Isabella Sophie Tweddle had been pouring her heart out into the sorts of gorgeous folk-pop songs that can take your breath away. With Dog Eared, out this Friday, Marten, now in her mid-twenties, sought to transform her creative process, to situate herself amidst a vibrant creative community and let inspiration strike. She wasn’t necessarily de-centering herself within her own music — these are still her songs, and that’s still her voice singing them — but she was leaving lots of room for her cast of collaborators to color around the edges and in some cases radically reshape her compositions.

That list of teammates begins with producer Phil Weinrobe, known for his work with Adrianne Lenker, Tomberlin, and Hand Habits among others. Working last summer at Weinrobe’s recording studio Sugar Mountain (the final sessions at the studio’s Crown Heights, Brooklyn location before a move upstate to Saugerties), Marten and Weinrobe enlisted a staggering array of talents to work their magic on her songs, including Shahzad Ismaily, Maia Friedman, Sam Evian, Sam Amidon, Mike Haldeman, Mauro Refosco, Núria Graham, Vishal Nayak, Josh Crumbly, and Michael Coleman.

Together, they crafted a new kind of album for Marten. The folk-rock songs of Dog Eared feel rustic but metropolitan, experimental but approachable, eclectic yet coherent. Weinrobe’s production places her thoughtful, tender songwriting into a range of new textures and contexts, resulting in her most mature, rewarding body of work to date. Earlier this month on a video call from her home in London, she spoke about the project with insight and plenty of dry humor, though her enthusiasm broke through often, including when anticipating that night’s Bill Callahan concert at EarTh in Hackney: “I feel that it’s going to be incredibly special and rare to see him.”

Read our conversation below, edited for clarity.

I get the sense from reading your press bio that you had a goal of redefining yourself as an artist with this album. Is that accurate?

BILLIE MARTEN: I suppose trying to sculpt a more accurate version of me, which I guess every artist does every time. But when it’s you, it’s special.

What do you mean by more accurate? What were you aiming for?

MARTEN: Well, I’m always trying to find truth. And I’m interested in people’s true essences and what that core is, and how one can never find that ever. And I feel that over time, I’ve been able to, and have been lucky enough, to try different things out and work with lots of different people and experiment in a non-experimental record sort of way. And this was the first time I felt that I had — I’d done the album I always wanted to make on Drop Cherries, the last record, and I did the classic contemporary folk singer-songwriter record, recorded properly with amazing musicians. I thought that was a good grounding. And then this one was an opportunity to just sink myself, hide a little bit in the sand of other people. And that, to me, gave me a new energy. So I was sculpted by others.

Yeah, there was quite a cast of collaborators. How did you get linked up with Phil and this crew of musicians?

MARTEN: We were recommended to each other by a manager, a mutual manager. We kept missing each other in New York. You know, I would do shows, he would be in the studio and vice versa. And then we had one phone call, possibly two years ago now, where I was in a very rural area, [a] random spot in on the border of Yorkshire and Lancashire, and he was explaining that he had been there to that exact same spot, and that was weird. And we got on. We got on very well. We both wanted to make the same sort of record. We had both done things that we were proud of and done things that we were less happy with, and we both wanted newness, I think. And with that came an unidentifiable sound. I’m struggling to describe this album.

So you’re both aspiring to a certain ideal or a certain kind of creative output. Do you feel like you got what you were aiming for here?

MARTEN: Yes, yes, I do. I love it very much. It’s easy for me to love it because it’s 1/10th me and, you know, the rest of the time I can celebrate the others. It was an album that relied on — just the instinctive nature of it all was very powerful.

When you were conceptualizing the project with Phil, did you know that you wanted to bring a lot of other musicians into the picture? Was that always a part of the plan?

MARTEN: Yes, I think we both wanted interesting musical characters. I wanted a lot of personality on the record. I’d certainly wanted to stand amongst others. I didn’t know particularly any of the players beforehand and then realized how legendary they were. We sort of had different people coming in on different days, so everything remained fresh. But we bonded very quickly. You never know with strangers. And I think because I was away from home and the only English person in the room, it was easier for me to be myself. I felt kind of hidden in a lovely way.

Was it something about this batch of songs made you feel like “I want to set loose a whole arsenal, the whole creative community on these songs”? What was it about this project that felt like you wanted to stand alongside others with it?

MARTEN: Even from the writing, the initial segment, I was aware that I wasn’t trying to write complete songs, that there were gaps to be filled in. There were instrumental sections. There were tempo changes. Or my guitar part would be incredibly simple, knowing that there would be another one that directly coincided with it. I was making room for people that didn’t exist yet. And therefore, it was kind of easier for me to write. I liked writing for a different purpose.

I love the textures and the arrangements. It really did create a whole new dimension in your catalog.

MARTEN: And what’s funny is, if I’m to play the songs to you now just with the the nylon string [guitar], it’s the same song, but it would fall into a completely different sonic category. And what we’re actually doing for one of the deluxe albums is I’m releasing all of the voice note demos. So you can hear from the moment it was written to the moment it was finished, what we went through.

Is there one song that stands out to you as like an especially radical transformation? Or are there ones?

MARTEN: There are ones. The song “No Sudden Changes,” if played by just me, it’s a waltz and it’s quite wistful. Sort of, I guess, the thing that I’ve been doing for a while. And then it turned into this… Shahzad Ismaily was doing the Moog part on that one, and he came up with this — he was doing different different parts every time, and you still have to wrangle him to say, “Can you just play that one thing again and again and again?” And then it became this sort of a jazzy, sexy groove thing, which I never would have heard ever.

What’s another metamorphosis you want to highlight?

MARTEN: “Leap Year” was written on my mobile phone on this app called the iOptigan. That’s just an iPhone version of an Optigan. It’s full of samples, old ancient samples. And you load them up, and then you just press the different chords and you’ve got this soundscape. I think we’re also going to release that. So that was a very insular, tiny, weeny little song. I was whispering on my phone and recording the vocal to the phone whilst playing the phone on the little buttons. And then all of a sudden you put the band on it and it’s like this classic sort of ’50s crooner ballad thing. You know, with the black satin dress and a piano. When I thought of it, it’s just a simple little exercise to see if I could make something out of this software. And then the final product, the traces of the software are pretty much gone. Only analog hardware.

When that song came out, you had a statement that it was, the first fictional love song that you’ve ever written. Is that something you’ve continued to pursue? I don’t know how much writing that you’ve songwriting you’ve done since completing this album.

MARTEN: Not much.

It feels like that would open up a whole new realm of possibilities as a songwriter to start pursuing that.

MARTEN: Yeah, I think it’s a great exercise. I always wanted to be the type of writer that could see somebody across the street, or watch an old man tie his shoe, or something in the mundane that I would turn into this amazing song, but I realized pretty quickly that I would never be able to do that. It takes a true poet to to take one form and put it into the other. So It’s difficult for me to write in in another perspective, and it was a surprise to me how it can come to you. You really switch on your mind palace.

I’ll definitely try again. You do get bored of talking about yourself. Even if it is a necessity. Like it’s the only way that I can have a conversation with myself, right? And then figure out what I’m feeling afterwards, or just to describe my current situation.

I mean, the classic thing of when a musician is then in a healthy, steady, lovely relationship and the well is dry. But luckily I haven’t found that. I think there’s still so many nuances and complexities, and my changes that happen within that kind of relationship, and I think a lot of the album speaks about tiny incremental changes. And I heard this from a friend the other day, but all the world’s trees are slowly and imperceptibly moving west. Like all of them. They’ve all talked to each other.

I’ve never heard that.

MARTEN: Yeah. So change is the only constant.

Yeah, the idea that there is no more inspiration for interesting songs when you have a healthy committed relationship, I feel like we’ve had a few instances of that being disproved over the years. Certainly you’re right that your album is quite good, despite no romantic tumult. And I think about Waxahatchee writing some of the best songs she’s ever written in a stable committed relationship.

MARTEN: Yeah. We’re disproving that theory.

When you released “Swing,” you said you wanted it to sound like Meat Puppets meets the Breeders. That that’s such an interesting like kind of mood board to be giving the producer.

MARTEN: A producer that hates mood boards, as well.

So how did he react when you gave him that?

MARTEN: Oh, I didn’t. I just had that in my mind secretly, knowing that we were pulling towards that station and not talking to him. A lot of producers don’t like references because we’re ultimately talking about someone else’s work. But from a musician’s point of view, it really does help because it’s kind of the only way that we can — it’s the language that we use. You know, I’m not classically trained or anything, and I can produce on a very minor level. But if I say a word like skrinky, then ultimately, you know what that means. Skrinky was a bad example.

Yeah, I don’t know that one.

MARTEN: You know, onomatopoeic language. Or you could say, “Can it sound like the Meat Puppets?” Which I would say is skronky.

Oh, skronky, yeah! That makes sense. I imagine that that communication process of trying to convey what you hear in your head or what you’re imagining to a producer and to collaborators — the distance between what’s in your head and their understanding of it and the execution of it, that’s where a lot of the magic happens, right?

MARTEN: It’s wildly different. That always happens with music videos. A music video is never ever what you want it to be by the end of it. It’s something, but it’s not what you’re talking about at the beginning.

So, having created this album with so many people involved, so many perspectives and contributors, what is your live experience like now? How are you re-creating the album? Or are you even trying to re-create the album?

MARTEN: I’m not trying to recreate the album. I think it’s kind of a pointless endeavor. And obviously we’ve all been to shows where it sounds exactly the same as the record, and it’s like, “I’d like my money back please,” because I’ll just go home and listen to the record. But unfortunately, I am a bit restricted this year with the state of things. I’m limited to a three-piece band, just so we can make ends meet and break even. But what we are doing as a trio is many, many different things. But also, I like a concentrated band sound. You’ve got a great bass player who sings. So there’s harmony; harmony there is really important. And then you’ve got a great drummer that has an incredible range of textures and dynamics and, you know, characters with interest. So, we’ll see. People might be disappointed. Or surprised. Or thrilled!

When you were writing the album, what was on your mind? Were there certain things you were hoping to address with the album? Was there any kind of guiding principle there? Or was it just like a matter of: These are the things that spilled out?

MARTEN: Spill. Definite spilling. That seems to happen. I’m not very good at calling what the song will be about before it’s done. But I do remember having a conversation with myself and my point of view that I was putting down. I remember making a conscious effort to not be mean to me. I think I’ve done enough of that. And in some ways, it’s really helpful for the listener because we can both wallow together over how much we hate ourselves. But after a certain point, it’s kind of like, “OK, we need to just think about someone else for a second.” Yeah, I guess I got bored of doing that. So that was an active choice. Or if I am negative about myself, it’s only slightly this time.

That’s cool. Give yourself some grace. I think that’s a really positive inclination because obviously there are people who probably go too far in the other direction and don’t ever hold themselves accountable to anything, but I think there’s a lot of us who, our instinct is self-loathing. It’s kind of self-reinforcing. You dig a pit that you can’t get out of.

MARTEN: Yeah, it’s kind of like eroticism within narcissism kind of becomes really attractive. It’s harder to not do it. But also, I grew up with a lot of cynicism and dry humor. So I think it is a kind of nurturing habit as well. I also think it’s still very funny. And some of the things I do say across the records are very tongue-in-cheek. I’m being dry sometimes. Like Bill Callahan and how much he talks about death.

Yeah, I was thinking of him as someone who has a lot of experience writing about other characters when you were talking about dipping your toe into that.

MARTEN: I think really good songwriters do that. And I would love to be in that pool. Maybe it comes with a little more growth.

A little more grief?

MARTEN: A little more growth — and a little more grief, yeah.

[Laughs] Yeah, I didn’t know since you’re talking about him writing about death, if you’re saying, “If I just get a little bit more grief, then I’ll…”

MARTEN: Yeah, just an extra helping of grief, please.

You talked about how you were the only English person there. This was at Phil’s studio in Brooklyn. Is this the first time you recorded in the US?

MARTEN: Yes.

Was that something you were actively seeking out, or was it just like, “That’s where Phil is, and I connected with him”?

MARTEN: I was actively seeking a non-English album. I don’t know why. Maybe I’ve just done it. England becomes smaller and smaller. And when I do a sort of residential record, I’d rather do it very far away from home than close to home. Because then I get homesick. And I don’t really like making albums in London either, because I get very distracted. So I knew I wanted to go somewhere. I think we had a discussion about the classic thing of “Shall we rent a chateau in France, or should we go to Iceland, or should we go up to Bear Creek?” or you know, where do we want to go? And I think I just wanted to be surrounded by Phil’s usual methods and people and sphere. And I got to spend a lot of time with his family. I rented a friend of a friend’s place in Bed-Stuy, which is just around the corner from him. So it was exciting for me. And also, the studio was about to — he’s actually just moved to Saugerties. He’s got a big studio out there now, so it was the last album session [in Brooklyn].

Oh, wow. Yeah, I had imagined it being in upstate New York. When I was reading about the cast of characters who all participated, for some reason I just assumed that it was in upstate New York until I was getting ready for this learned the studio was in Crown Heights. So that changed my whole perspective. I had imagined it being recorded out in in nature.

MARTEN: Yeah, well, that’s why I’m proud of us, for making a making a sort of semi-bucolic-sounding record with us being in the heat of disgusting sweaty July summer in Brooklyn. But it gave me a certain energy that I enjoyed. Every day we’d leave the studio and go to this bar called Bad Luck Bar. And they did half-price oysters and martinis. So we’d just go and do that and then go to bed about 9 p.m. and then wake up and do it again. And I was seeing shows as well. I was seeing shows all the time.

Oh. Like who?

MARTEN: Well, I got to see one of my all-time heroes, Diane Cluck, do a show, and it was so inspiring. It sort of fills your meter up. Like your health-ometer goes down as you leave it without seeing a show. And as soon as you see even one tiny little bit of good live music, it just shoots all the way back up into the green.

That is so true.

MARTEN: And you realize it’s not that complicated at all. You can do anything you like. And I sort of, I didn’t think she was real. I just had a handmade CD of hers for a few years now. and didn’t think we’d ever meet, and we met. And I was there with Shahzad, who ended up playing with her, but he didn’t tell me that until he was on the stage.

Classic.

MARTEN: And then afterwards we met, and she signed her setlist and gave it to me, and it was in my laptop case to this day. She’s one of the heroes that is good to meet.

We have to wrap up soon, and I don’t necessarily want to end on a negative note, but I definitely am curious about any heroes that are not good to meet.

MARTEN: Oh no, I really put my foot in there. It’s because someone asked me that this morning, and there was a whole conversation about it. I’d say in general, I don’t know about you, but all the people that are current heroes grew up in a problematic time. And therefore there’s a generational gap on how we see things, and what’s good and what’s bad. And I suppose it’s not their fault, but they could be a bit more right on. I won’t mention any names, but there’s obviously a whole — I mean, all my heroes are kind of bad people, you know? John Martyn was a horrible alcoholic wife beater, and I literally named my [stage] name after him, so. What can you do?

Dog Eared is out 7/18 via Fiction.