Pitchfork: What kind of teenager were you?

Nandi Rose Plunkett: I spent a lot of time alone. I was a late bloomer. I felt like music was this really calming friend. I was 14 when I started writing music, and I think a big reason was that my parents had just separated. I was able to channel a lot of the feelings into writing.

I would often go into my high school auditorium during lunch period and play piano by myself. There was this brief period where 15 people would come in and watch, and I was giving these impromptu concerts. For one or two weeks, everyone was high-fiving me in the hallways—I was suddenly this cool girl, and people were aware that I was a musician. I remember feeling so elated, but it was over just as soon as it began. The novelty wore off after two weeks, and it was back to obscurity, no one talking to me. So very strange.

What were your songs like then?

I was writing ballads about loneliness. My first song was called “Here I Am Again,” and it was like, “Here I am again/Where the air I breathe is thin/Where no one seems to care where I’ve been.” And there was one called “Moon Rising,” which was about being alone on Valentine’s Day. I was just very aware that I didn’t have a romantic partner, and my family was falling apart, and I felt like I was in the center of it trying to hold things together, but I was the lonely island.

Half Waif: “Turn Me Around” (Buy on Bandcamp)

There’s a line on form/a that goes: “Early December in the country, trying to remember what my mother taught me.” What did your mom teach you?

A lot of my memories of childhood have been repressed. So that line means that I can’t remember a lot of what it was like to grow up. I have happy memories of early childhood, but there’s a lot that I’ve separated myself from. So being back in Western Massachusetts writing form/a was this time for me to try to confront some of that, or try to piece some of it together, and meet who I was back then.

You have mentioned that growing up with a mother who is a refugee has influenced you. Do you feel like that plays out in your music in any way?

People sometimes say, “Oh, I can hear the Indian influence,” but that’s not a conscious decision. But something I have been thinking about is the story of homes, and not having a home, or being a waif. I had a really stable childhood up until I was 14. I lived in the same house until I was 18, and then I went to college. So I was in one place for a long time.

But I realized the story of restlessness, and seeking a home, is the story of my family. My grandmother lost her home twice; my family is from Lahore—which is Pakistan now, but was India at the time—and once it became Pakistan, they had to leave because they were Hindu. Then in the 1970s my granny and grandfather, and my mom and her siblings, all had to leave Uganda. They lost their home there. My mother came to the States and met my dad, who was from this sweet family in Connecticut. Finding that home and stability and cohesive family life was really important for my mom. I feel like that story has passed through to me. I count my lucky stars that I’ve had a safe life, and yet there is this piece that feels this longing for home and family.

Did your mother talk about her past a lot growing up?

I was aware of her history, but two years ago she decided to create this two-hour, one-woman show about our family history. It’s really brave. She stares a lot of things in the face. I’ve seen it three times and I just weep every time, and everyone around me is weeping. It’s called A Heroine’s Journey. She’s 66 years old and it was her first time really doing anything like that, and it’s been so inspiring. You don’t ever have to stop pushing yourself or exploring, or trying new projects.