ROSE BETTS: WHERE HEART, HUMOUR, AND HONESTY COLLIDE

PHOTOGRAPHY CATIE LAFFOON - WORDS MAISIE JANE DANIELS

Talking to Rose Betts feels like stepping into a world where heart, humour, and honesty collide - just like her new album, There Is No Ship. With Irish roots, an English upbringing, and life in LA shaping her, Rose crafts songs that can make you laugh, think, and sometimes bring a tear to your eye all at once.

In our chat, she reflects on a Sound of Music–esque childhood filled with song and storytelling, and the quiet power of solo writing retreats in secluded cabins - all of which shaped the album’s core themes: identity, belonging, and the bittersweet passage of time. Tracks like Doodles, Come Away, and You Never Looked Back weave infectious melodies with reflection, reminding us that mistakes, regrets, and joy often walk hand in hand.

Rose’s music feels both intimate and expansive - a space to reflect, to laugh, and ultimately, to celebrate.

Maisie Daniels: Hey Rose! How are you?

Rose Betts: I’m good - it’s early-ish here…

MD: Are you in LA?

RB: I am, yeah.

MD: I’m calling from London and it’s very cold. I’ve got my hot water bottle on the go!

RB: I’m so jealous! My sister was saying the same thing - that it’s really cold in London. You don’t get the proper seasonal changes here, so I do miss that.

MD: Yeah, I mean, it’s lovely - really sunny and with crunchy leaves everywhere.

RB: That sounds so nice.

RB: Whereabouts in London are you?

MD: Tottenham, North London.

RB: Oh, cool. I never lived that far north -  I was always scattered around other parts of London, but not up there.

MD: Let’s dive straight in -  born in London and now living in LA, how have those two places shaped you as an artist?

RB: Oh, nice question. I suppose London and England are the bones of everything. I feel like England's relationship to culture is very specific, and history and poetry and language, so I think I've grown up immersed in that. I’ve always really loved literature, and I've always had that to inform my songwriting. I’ve always read a lot, and I think that comes from the culture I grew up in. In America, of course people read, but the relationship with literature doesn’t feel as old or deeply rooted. In England, there’s Shakespeare, there’s history, and a certain atmosphere: the colours, the smallness, the quaintness - that really lends itself to storytelling.

You don’t really take yourself too seriously in England. We tend to laugh at ourselves much more quickly. American comedy isn’t really about that. But moving here, especially to a city like LA, you have to develop a tougher skin. It’s such a competitive, ambitious place, but there’s also an amazing energy for getting things done. In London, where you have seasons and a different rhythm of life, you can easily spend a whole day in a pub and only come away with half a poem. In LA, you get swept up in the slipstream of energy, and I think being here has definitely made me a bit tougher.

MD: Nice answer. Going back to your childhood, was music around from the very beginning for you?

RB: Yes. I had a very unusual and beautiful musical childhood. We were all singing from a very young age. Our parents were musical - they sang us to sleep and woke us up with music. It was completely embedded in our lives. We sang before every meal, and again at the end of it. We sang and learned all these folk, pagan, Celtic seasonal songs. So yes, we were all musical, because it was such a natural, everyday part of life.

MD: You sound like the Von Trapps from The Sound of Music!

RB: Yeah, I know we actually did get called the Von Betts sometimes [laughs]. There were six of us, and we’d sing together all the time. We used to holiday in the south of France, all packed into a car, and our parents would take us to cathedrals just to ask if we could sing. As kids, there were moments when you just didn’t want to do it, but you’d get through it - there was always ice cream at the end. So yes, we were quite eccentric. But music opens a lot of doors. Before you know it, we were on a catamaran in the Mediterranean, just singing away. It’s bizarre, but somehow it all fits.

MD: I love that. You have such a cracking way of storytelling. Music was obviously a big part of your life, but what was your journey into songwriting? How did that start?

RB: I think I started by writing little poems I liked. I’m the eldest of four, and I have a twin sister, so it was always very crowded at home. I never had my own room, and I think I really craved some personal space. Songwriting and poetry gave me that - being alone in a room with an instrument, in this case the piano, felt private and personal. I liked having that small space to myself. I wasn’t thinking, “I want to be a performer.” It was more a form of escape and a way to rest. That’s what it was for me.

MD: And would you say that’s still how you write your songs - quite isolated?

RB: Yeah, I’m quite passionately a solo writer. I don’t co-write very much, though I’ve tried to get better at it. When you live in a city where co-writing is the norm, you end up in sessions that can feel like… well, sometimes you can tell right away whether you’ll click with someone, kind of like a bad date. But out of politeness, you sit through it and go through the motions. I’ve had some good sessions, but overall, I’m quite staunchly solo. I also feel like my solo journey, the development of my own voice and expression, is the story I want to tell.

MD: Yeah, I get that. So, you write songs, produce, and play multiple instruments - do you have a favourite instrument, and why?

RB: Oh, definitely the piano, any day of the week.

MD: Because it’s been with you since you were so young?

RB: Yeah. I saw this clip of Sigrid talking about it recently, and it really resonated with me - it was the first time I’d ever heard anyone put it into words. There’s something about an upright piano that creates a very private space. You’re just looking at the instrument, the world disappears behind you, and you’re fully immersed. It’s such a resonant, melancholic, expressive instrument with a huge sound. Facing an upright piano feels intimate, but also expansive. I’ve always connected with pianos in that way. I play guitar, but I don’t feel drawn to it the same way.

MD: Did you have lessons, or did you learn by ear? Or a bit of both

RB: A mixture. I started teaching myself when I was six or seven because there was a piano in the house. I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy, but I could figure things out. Around 14, my grandmother offered to pay for lessons, so I had a year or two of formal instruction. That was helpful - I used to just hold down the sustain pedal the whole time! But essentially, I learned by ear. I probably would have liked more lessons, though.

MD: I really want to delve into your latest album, There Is No Ship. What are the key themes in this body of work?

RB: When I was writing it, I felt like I was processing a big change - moving away from my homeland. The album reflects that shift. I also started thinking more seriously about my heritage, which I hadn’t really considered before. In England, we’re surrounded by history all the time, so it’s easy to take it for granted. But here in the U.S., people are really conscious of their roots. Every American seems to be “Italian” or “Irish” or something, even if it’s generations back.

That perspective made me reflect on my own Irish roots - the culture and stories my mother passed down, and the influence of my grandparents, who were immigrants. The album is a combination of reacting to change and embracing that part of myself. Living here, I often feel like an alien, different from everyone else. That difference can be seen as a superpower, and people appreciate it, but it also makes you aware that this isn’t home, that I don’t fully resonate with the city. So yeah, those ideas of identity, belonging, and difference are central themes.

MD: Your Irish heritage is really prevalent throughout. How did the tracks on the album take shape? What was your songwriting process?

RB: I drove out to this area called San Bernadino. In LA you can drive a couple of hours and you're in the desert or a lush mountain region with trees and lakes which is where I'd head. People go there to ski in the winter, but I just rented cabins and stayed for four or five days at a time, switched off, and wrote every day. It’s very forested, so you’re immersed in nature. That’s how the album began - I made about four trips like that and got all the songs out of those sessions.

MD: Sounds like it just fell out naturally…

RB: Yeah, it really did. It was strange, like switching a tap on. Some songs took a bit of wrestling, but others just came effortlessly. It was a really lovely way to write.

MD: Nice. Can you share the meaning behind the title, There Is No Ship, for those not in the know?RB: Sure. I’m not a huge fantasy fan but I do appreciate worlds full of magic and story. I’ve always loved The Lord of the Rings books and films. There’s a line from an elven character who gives up her immortality to stay in one place with someone she loves: “There is no ship that can bear me hence.”

I love the idea behind that line - that even if you leave, some places or choices are so tied to you that you can’t be taken away from them. Even though I don’t live in England anymore, part of me will always belong there. It’s about understanding where you’re from and feeling that sense of self when you go back. It’s hard to explain, but to me, it makes perfect sense.

MD: It does make sense. If There Is No Ship were a soundtrack to a film, what would it be? And it can’t be The Lord of the Rings - that’s too easy!

RB: Fair.

MD: Let’s do a film or a series.

RB: Oh gosh…

MD: It’s a thinker.

RB: I don’t know. What do you think?

MD: Have you ever watched Juno?

RB: Yeah!

MD: I could really see some of the jig tracks fitting in Juno. It kind of made me think back to that film.

RB: That’s funny you say that, because I had to do this thing for a magazine where I chose four films for the album, and Juno was one of them.

MD: No way! [laughs]. The track You Never Looked Back really made me think of the songwriter Barry Louis Polisar, who wrote a lot of the songs featured in Juno. It gave me all those visuals.

RB: Yeah, 100% influenced. It’s actually the reason I called my song Doodles  because of Juno. There’s that moment where she tells her dad she's pregnant, and he says, “Well, that’s one doodle that can’t be undid.” I always loved that line. I thought it was such a funny, light way to refer to something as serious as an accidental pregnancy. That kind of attitude, handling something life-altering with humour, really inspired the song. So it’s very funny that you mentioned Juno!

MD: I love that I got that! And that was actually my next question. Doodles is my favourite track on the album. It just makes you want to dance - I enjoy the way you bring humour and reflection together in it. I was going to ask you to talk me through the track, but you’ve kind of already done that.

AB: Yeah, that’s it. I’ve always loved handling life-altering situations with a light touch. It feels innately Irish to do that. I also love songs that sound really upbeat, but when you listen to the lyrics, you realise they’re a little darker. I’ve always enjoyed playing with that contrast.

With Doodles, I wanted to write a song that would feel at home in a pub or a bar, something that referenced that kind of atmosphere. I actually found a note on my phone - just a list of regrets, things I wish I could undo. I thought it would be funny to turn that into a song, a way of making peace with those moments. And all of them are true!

Some people say “no regrets,” but I don’t really believe that. I think regret is fine. Of course you learn from it, but there are definitely things I’d genuinely take back.

MD: Yeah, I hear you on that. I love the juxtaposition of happy melodies with darker lyrics. One of my favourites is Copacabana by Barry Manilow. It’s the cheeriest song, but the lyrics are heartbreaking -  it’s about this ex-dancer called Lola. Honestly, you listen closely and it’s one of the saddest songs ever.

AB: I don’t think I’ve ever paid much attention to it.

MD: Oh, it’s so sad. One of the lyrics goes:She sits there so refinedAnd drinks herself half-blindShe lost her youth and she lost her TonyNow she’s lost her mind.

… Poor Lola.

RB: I love that. I love that kind of song!

MD: In Come Away, you observe the passage of time and how it’s affected you. I’m 34 myself, and I definitely feel the pressures of owning a house and having kids. So it’s refreshing to hear you reflect on and challenge those social norms. Have I got that right - is that what’s coming through in that song?

RB: Yeah, that’s a big part of it. I feel that quite strongly. Nothing about my life is “normal” - I’m not married, I don’t have kids, and I can’t really see a world where I’ll own a house unless I have family money. There are expectations society puts on us, and I’ve always resisted them. I don’t like the idea that I have to do something considered valuable by those standards in order to matter.

That was part of why I left London. In our twenties, none of it really mattered - we were just young and having fun. But as we hit our late twenties, people started chasing security: leaving London, buying houses, settling down. I was always like, why does it have to be that way? But I get it - some people genuinely want those things.

Now that I’m nearly 34, I notice some friends who did all the “normal” things (got married, bought a house) realising it hasn’t filled the gap they thought it would. It doesn’t always bring the happiness people expect. Everyone has their own path, of course, but I do resist cultural norms, especially for women. The expectations on us are so much heavier, tied to our bodies and our timelines. I feel that very strongly.

MD: Definitely. Like you say, it’s each to their own, and if that’s not the path you choose, that’s okay. Normalising and vocalising feels really important, especially for women. So, what would you say is one of the greatest things you’ve learned since being in your 30s, looking back on your 20s?

RB: I love that question. I’m fine with being 33. Of course, I’d love to be young forever, but living in a city so obsessed with aging has made me more self-conscious about my body than I’d like. That said, I feel so much less worried now. I’ve never been a big worrier, but these days I can catch myself, step back, and gain perspective. It’s not that I care less - it’s more that what people think about me just doesn’t matter as much anymore.

I mean, if I’d cared too much about other people’s expectations, I wouldn’t even be here doing what I do. But there’s definitely a sense of release that comes with your 30s. I remember feeling unattractive in my early 20s, and now when I look back at photos, I think, wow, you were gorgeous. It’s a reminder to try to be present and love yourself now.

MD: Honestly, I feel the same. I’ve always been a worrier, but I definitely worry less now, and it feels amazing. And yes, looking back at photos, I think, why didn’t I enjoy that moment more? Now I know myself so much better - what I want, what I don’t want - and there’s real power in that. I actually really like my 30-year-old brain. Turning 29 to 30 was so much scarier than actually being in my 30s. The reality wasn’t what I thought it would be, and I think a lot of women feel that pressure about turning 30.

RB: Yeah, I agree. It’s a really nice space to be in.

MD: Let’s talk about the track You Never Look Back. Can you share your thoughts on modern dating and how it shaped the song?

RB: [Smiles] Well, when I moved out here, I’d never really been on dating apps. My attitude has always been a little… skeptical. I feel like if someone’s right, I’ll meet them in real life. But I noticed all my friends - and my sister - were using the apps, so I thought I should at least understand the experience. I was a bit terrified and repulsed by the whole idea; it seemed reductive and strange. But I tried it, and it ended up inspiring the song.

One moment really stuck with me: I went on a date with this guy, it was fine, nothing serious, and we didn’t text afterward. A few days later, I went to a local wine bar with my sister and saw him sitting there alone with a full pint. He downed it in one, walked out past us, and didn’t acknowledge me at all. It was so bizarre. Situations like that happen to so many people - you get ghosted or ignored, and it’s strange and impersonal.

What really inspired the song, though, was this idea that in dating, and life in general, people often overlook opportunities. You see someone and immediately decide whether they fit a certain box, but sometimes the most interesting connections are with people on the outskirts - not the brightest stars in the room, but the ones quietly observing. Maybe they become your next best friend, or introduce you to something new, or help you in unexpected ways. That sense of missed opportunities, of connections that could have been, is what You Never Look Back is really about.

MD: I have to say, congratulations - you’ve now got over a million monthly listeners!

RB: Aww thank you. I’m sure it will go down again [laughs]

MD: Does this change anything for you compared to when you just started and your numbers were so much lower?

RB: It does. What’s really great is that it lifts a certain weight. I’ve never put too much stock in numbers, because they fluctuate. I have friends who make massive posts about hitting a million followers, and a few months later, the numbers might drop - so you have to take it with a pinch of salt.

RB: It does. What’s really great is that it lifts a certain weight. I’ve never put too much stock in numbers, because they fluctuate. I have friends who make massive posts about hitting a million followers, and a few months later, the numbers might drop - so you have to take it with a pinch of salt. .

At the same time, there’s relief in achieving something that the industry recognises. Often, people in music need numbers to validate worth. It’s a weird conflict, and it’s part of why I opened up support slots on my tour to artists who might not have big numbers. I wanted to give them a direct channel to reach audiences, because sometimes talent gets overlooked if the metrics aren’t there.

That said, having numbers is great in other ways too. Recently, I was at a dinner where someone asked what I do. I said I’m a songwriter, and they asked if I make money from it. Moments like that are exhausting. Having numbers helps prevent those kinds of conversations - people take you more seriously and aren’t as dismissive.

MD: I think it’s amazing that you’ve opened up the support slots.

RB: Oh, thank you.

MD: I want to talk about your upcoming tour in the UK this October. How are you feeling about it?

RB: I’m excited. I haven’t played in the UK since things started growing for me. Last time I was there, I’d have been happy to get ten people in a room! Now, after a packed-out US tour, I’m really looking forward to being on home turf. My family couldn’t make some of the earlier shows, and they’ve been so supportive. I can’t wait for them to be in a room where everyone’s singing my songs - seeing that connection feels incredible.

MD: Is there a song you’re most looking forward to performing?

RB: Irish Eyes. It’s always the last song, and you can see people waiting for it, then everyone sings along. But sometimes there are smaller surprises, songs you don’t expect, where you’ll spot someone in the crowd singing every word.

MD: That’s the moment of connection, isn’t it? You write these songs in isolation in a cabin, and now you’re sharing them with so many people.

RB: Exactly. And Doodles is fun to sing, too - I get everyone to join in. It’s had more of a moment now, so more people know it than before.

MD: What do you ask for in your rider?

RB: Oh, riders… they actually come out of your payment, so you have to be careful.

MD: Do they? I didn’t know that, cheeky! So, water and some chewing gum then?

RB: [Laughs] Literally. Ideally, sometimes you get a catering budget, maybe a bottle of champagne and some pizza after the show, which would be perfect. But realistically, I just have herbal tea and water.

MD: Is there anything coming up that we should know about?

RB: It’s worth mentioning there’s a deluxe edition of the album coming out in December, and I’ve got a single releasing as well. A while ago, I did a random little cover of Starman because my publishers had just acquired Bowie’s catalog and were hosting a Bowie night. They asked if I wanted to do a cover, so I put it together. Now it’s going to be on a TV series called Invasion, so I’m releasing that cover on my birthday - October 17.

After that, there’s the deluxe edition, and then I’ll probably find another cabin and start writing the third album.

MD: That all sounds amazing. I end every interview with what’s your favourite F word? It can be any word.

RB: Oh, okay. Could it not be a swear word?

MD: It can be, but it doesn’t have to be…

RB: Oh gosh… it has to be “fuck,” yeah. There’s nothing better than that word sometimes - fuck’s sake - it’s so expressive.

UK & IRE TOUR DATES: 

Oct 27th - Glasgow, Stereo*

Oct 29th - Sunderland, Fire Station*

Oct 30th - Manchester, New Century Hall*

Oct 31st - Bristol, Beacon*

Nov 1st - London O2 Shepherd's Bush Empire*

Nov 3rd - London, Omeara 

Nov 4th - Dublin, Bellobar*

* Supporting Tide Lines