Sound as Shelter How Music
Keeps Us Grounded in
a Collapsing World
Keeps Us Grounded in
a Collapsing World
Too often, we reduce music to entertainment.
To background noise. To something that numbs the anxiety instead of helping us feel it. In a world of collective burnout and personal grief, that feels especially sharp. But there are artists who use music not as distraction, but as a practice—
a way to stay alive, in body, in voice, in awareness.
Doe Paoro is one of them.
Living Through Collapse is her first full-length release in seven years. And it’s truly a rebirth. The album came together like a talisman: through shamanic rituals, the grief of a miscarriage, voicework, sound healing, and plant-dietas deep in the Peruvian jungle. Doe Paoro was building a structure that could hold. And whoever might need it.
More than 60% of Americans said they experience anxiety
on a regular basis with
no clear reason
on a regular basis with
no clear reason
In 2023, Gallup reported that 44% of adults worldwide felt emotionally “disconnected” from life. Collapse isn’t a metaphor anymore,
it’s data. And what Doe Paoro offers isn’t metaphor either. It’s an attempt to build an alternative nervous system—made of sound, breath, silence, and vocal tone that doesn’t demand a mask.
Doe Paoro’s worked with musicians from all over the globe: from Solange and Esperanza Spalding's circle to Andean flutists, Costa Rican engineers, and electronic producers across Europe. The album moves between English and Spanish. Some songs were co-created with activists and writers (Teach Us of Endings). Others emerged from spiritual care practices (22 Amens). What ties them together isn’t genre, but tone: calm, vulnerable, and without any need to prove. This is a soundtrack to the act of staying—with yourself, with your body, with others.
In a world where feeling too much can knock you off rhythm, real honesty can be frightening. But it’s also what brings meaning back. That’s why we at THE OTO wanted to speak with Doe Paoro—not just about her album, but about music as something that holds you together when everything else is falling apart. Why it matters to speak and to feel.
And how to talk about pain in a world where it’s already the background hum of daily life.
And how to talk about pain in a world where it’s already the background hum of daily life.
So, here’s what Doe Paoro shared with us.
Your new album feels like both a spiritual document and a protest record — a kind of healing ritual for a collapsing world. When you were writing it, were you more motivated by personal grief or by global anxiety?
— I was motivated more by grief than anxiety because I think grief indicates acceptance whereas anxiety is a fear of what could happen – I know that probably sounds dark but my perspective is that we are already in collapse. Passing the climate tipping point of widespread coral reefs dying, the rise of fascism, opening the pandora’s box of AI, increasing global violence – they are all happening as I type this answer out. I was navigating a very personal grief at the same time – that of miscarriage – but I don’t see that even as separate than the grief for the world because the question of what kind of world would I be birthing a child into felt so present as I was crafting this record.
You’ve said forgiveness was the key that unlocked the music. What does forgiveness look like in practice for you now — as an artist, not a healer?
— As an artist, forgiveness looks like taking personal inventory of where I need to forgive and where I need to make amends, and doing the soul work of turning towards those ruptures and taking steps towards repair. This impacts me as an artist because I truly believe that holding grudges creates spiritual and energetic blockages in our lives and impacts us in ways that we may not be conscious of.
There’s this recurring tension in your work between activism and surrender — between wanting to fix the world and just witnessing it fall apart. How do you personally navigate that paradox?
— It’s so hard. I personally feel this tension on a somatic level – this internal fire for justice and a commitment to fight for it and then a physical exhaustion that can show up as adrenal fatigue or sickness from pushing too hard, and needing to step back. I think that’s why self-care is important as a practice of resilience so that we can show up for those causes that are beyond self. My own compass is that I have a responsibility to show up where I can in my sphere of influence and to enter those conversations and take actions and divest appropriately in service of change. As someone who struggles with chronic illness, I also have to negotiate with my body and hold the balance.
You’ve worked with producers from such different sonic universes — from Solange’s circle to Costa Rican musicians. How did that patchwork of energies shape the emotional DNA of the album?
— I set out with this collection of songs to offer something that could serve as compass and be contextually relevant to this moment the world is moving through. I had the privilege of collaborating with a group of incredible musicians and producers who were located all over the map, ranging from Mexico to Costa Rica to California and the UK, and I think there is a sacred creative grid that we wove together, that is part of the quilt of this record. The root system of this record is far stretching and watered by the artistic gifts of many individuals, who are also each on their own medicine path, and so there is this vibrant tapestry of sounds and approaches to production that enriches the sound of the songs and hopefully points towards something that is universal, which is always my highest intention with music.
You talk about “collective liberation for all.” In such an individualistic culture, do you think music can still unite people around something deeper than taste — around healing itself?
— I really appreciate this question. I have to believe this is possible, I have to keep this hope alight for humanity and the more-than-human.
Music is a wisdom technology that teaches us how to find our way back into harmony with one another when we are in dissonance. We are entering truly unprecedented times with the climate crisis, and I think people are going to be seeking healing and orientation amidst the chaos in a way that is also unprecedented. I think if music, or any art form for that matter, can offer healing and orientation – it is going to be possible for people to transcend taste and seek what grounds their spirit.
If Living Through Collapse is a kind of mirror for this era — what truth do you think it reflects that most people are still afraid to look at?
— To ouroboros back to your first question, I think people are afraid to look at the fact that we are already actively in collapse, and we need to start talking about it and building awareness around it, so that we can respond with resilience, care, and active imagination and organization towards what else comes beyond collapse. Capitalism is not sustainable and very well could break down in our lifetime. Turning towards this reality and breaking the cultural pattern towards avoidance can be frightening but will reward us with being able to respond more appropriately and enter a field of possibility.
So, for us this conversation is totally about music as care. As architecture. Something that allows you to stay in your body—even when it hurts. As a way to come back to reality when reality feels too fragile to hold on its own.
According to the Journal of Affective Disorders, music—especially when combined with body and breath practices—can reduce cortisol levels, improve sleep regulation, and ease symptoms of anxiety. But only when it’s engaged with intentionally, not passively. Living Through Collapse is exactly that kind of record. You don’t put it on in the background. You live with it.
Your new album feels like both a spiritual document and a protest record — a kind of healing ritual for a collapsing world. When you were writing it, were you more motivated by personal grief or by global anxiety?
— I was motivated more by grief than anxiety because I think grief indicates acceptance whereas anxiety is a fear of what could happen – I know that probably sounds dark but my perspective is that we are already in collapse. Passing the climate tipping point of widespread coral reefs dying, the rise of fascism, opening the pandora’s box of AI, increasing global violence – they are all happening as I type this answer out. I was navigating a very personal grief at the same time – that of miscarriage – but I don’t see that even as separate than the grief for the world because the question of what kind of world would I be birthing a child into felt so present as I was crafting this record.
You’ve said forgiveness was the key that unlocked the music. What does forgiveness look like in practice for you now — as an artist, not a healer?
— As an artist, forgiveness looks like taking personal inventory of where I need to forgive and where I need to make amends, and doing the soul work of turning towards those ruptures and taking steps towards repair. This impacts me as an artist because I truly believe that holding grudges creates spiritual and energetic blockages in our lives and impacts us in ways that we may not be conscious of.
There’s this recurring tension in your work between activism and surrender — between wanting to fix the world and just witnessing it fall apart. How do you personally navigate that paradox?
— It’s so hard. I personally feel this tension on a somatic level – this internal fire for justice and a commitment to fight for it and then a physical exhaustion that can show up as adrenal fatigue or sickness from pushing too hard, and needing to step back. I think that’s why self-care is important as a practice of resilience so that we can show up for those causes that are beyond self. My own compass is that I have a responsibility to show up where I can in my sphere of influence and to enter those conversations and take actions and divest appropriately in service of change. As someone who struggles with chronic illness, I also have to negotiate with my body and hold the balance.
You’ve worked with producers from such different sonic universes — from Solange’s circle to Costa Rican musicians. How did that patchwork of energies shape the emotional DNA of the album?
— I set out with this collection of songs to offer something that could serve as compass and be contextually relevant to this moment the world is moving through. I had the privilege of collaborating with a group of incredible musicians and producers who were located all over the map, ranging from Mexico to Costa Rica to California and the UK, and I think there is a sacred creative grid that we wove together, that is part of the quilt of this record. The root system of this record is far stretching and watered by the artistic gifts of many individuals, who are also each on their own medicine path, and so there is this vibrant tapestry of sounds and approaches to production that enriches the sound of the songs and hopefully points towards something that is universal, which is always my highest intention with music.
You talk about “collective liberation for all.” In such an individualistic culture, do you think music can still unite people around something deeper than taste — around healing itself?
— I really appreciate this question. I have to believe this is possible, I have to keep this hope alight for humanity and the more-than-human.
Music is a wisdom technology that teaches us how to find our way back into harmony with one another when we are in dissonance. We are entering truly unprecedented times with the climate crisis, and I think people are going to be seeking healing and orientation amidst the chaos in a way that is also unprecedented. I think if music, or any art form for that matter, can offer healing and orientation – it is going to be possible for people to transcend taste and seek what grounds their spirit.
If Living Through Collapse is a kind of mirror for this era — what truth do you think it reflects that most people are still afraid to look at?
— To ouroboros back to your first question, I think people are afraid to look at the fact that we are already actively in collapse, and we need to start talking about it and building awareness around it, so that we can respond with resilience, care, and active imagination and organization towards what else comes beyond collapse. Capitalism is not sustainable and very well could break down in our lifetime. Turning towards this reality and breaking the cultural pattern towards avoidance can be frightening but will reward us with being able to respond more appropriately and enter a field of possibility.
So, for us this conversation is totally about music as care. As architecture. Something that allows you to stay in your body—even when it hurts. As a way to come back to reality when reality feels too fragile to hold on its own.
According to the Journal of Affective Disorders, music—especially when combined with body and breath practices—can reduce cortisol levels, improve sleep regulation, and ease symptoms of anxiety. But only when it’s engaged with intentionally, not passively. Living Through Collapse is exactly that kind of record. You don’t put it on in the background. You live with it.
That’s why it matters to talk about artists who aren’t afraid to go slow. Who don’t aim for perfection, but presence. Doe Paoro isn’t trying to be exceptional. She’s just someone who chose to stay with the moment, all the way through.
Eyes open. Voice open.
