An Interview with Minneapolis Artist Andra Suchy on New Album “Battle Cat”

Interview Contributed to by Krista Vilinskis of Elephants and Flowers Media. 

Battle Cat is available on streaming platforms NOW!

Andra Suchy‘s combination of talent and humility resonates through every note she sings on her latest album, “Battle Cat”. Andra’s music reflects the journey of a woman who has experienced profound loss, rebuilt from the ground up, and emerged triumphant like a phoenix rising from the ashes—a symbol proudly tattooed on her arm. Battle Cat showcases why Andra Suchy is a powerhouse in the music industry, offering a profound exploration of human emotions that few artists are willing to share so openly. Rooted in Folk music with touches of Country and Americana, Andra’s unique blend of styles is poised to take the industry by storm once again. Her music embodies the strength of a powerhouse and the beauty of a delicate flower, a combination that few can achieve.

Andra Suchy Interview:

The title Battle Cat feels fierce, tender, and a little playful all at once. What does that name say about who you are in this chapter of your life?

The title Battle Cat was inspired by my 15-year-old cat, Iris. She wrestles with the younger cats in the most freely balls-out, loud, joyfully fierce, and funny way. Then I remembered that He-Man also has a Battle Cat character, which further cemented the name—I used to watch that cartoon after school. I feel reclamation, if that tracks.

The other cool thing about Iris is that she’s reinventing herself every day, even more so as she ages, and it’s truly inspiring. She’s practically a mountain goat at this point. She used to be more of a woolly rhino.

This album carries the weight of loss but never collapses under it. What did songwriting give you during the moments when rebuilding felt impossible?

I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. I wasn’t thinking of an album either—at least not really. More like, that would be nice someday, maybe, far in the future, if at all.

I was healing a wound that needed me not to need anyone—at least at first. I needed to be able to do everything myself: play the instruments, record the demos, make them however I wanted them to sound. I learned how to use the mobile recording gear my brother lent me from when he had a unit in the back of his truck during week-long shifts in the oil patch in North Dakota. He got me going and then set me loose.

I made these little demos, and they just kept piling up until eventually I had to consider going further.

The phoenix tattoo on your arm feels like a living metaphor throughout the record. How does that image connect to the emotional arc of Battle Cat?

I got that tattoo after my divorce, right around the time I was doing all of this. I needed things that were just for me. I felt like I had given a lot of myself to something that not only failed and disintegrated, but left me far worse off in many ways.

It was a bold gesture for myself. I didn’t want to recognize myself in many respects—I wasn’t very happy with that person.

There’s a striking balance here—strength without hardness, vulnerability without fragility. How do you protect that emotional honesty in the studio?

First of all, thank you—I’m glad that comes across as intended.

A huge reason for that balance is Jeremy Ylvisaker’s production. I trusted him completely. When he wanted to use demo tracks I hadn’t intended to keep, or preserve things for authenticity where I might’ve over-picked at my own parts—or worse, accidentally made them too slick or sterile—I had to remind myself why I trusted him in the first place.

Sometimes that meant shutting my own mouth. And I’m incredibly grateful I did.

“Born To It” sounds like a declaration rather than a confession. What truth were you finally ready to claim when you wrote that song?

That song pretty much spewed out in one sitting.

At my core, my nature is optimistic, and I’m no longer willing to force that nature to fit someone else’s against my better judgment. You don’t make yourself—or anyone else—happy that way. You lose integrity and self-respect.

I knew what I was made to do, and it wasn’t just what others wanted from me. I’m not altering my course because I think it will keep someone or something close to me. That’s just not how it works.

Basically, it’s me saying: You do you. I’m going to do me. It’s slightly judgmental—but only toward myself. A nod to how far I’d bent over backward trying to please. That never works.

“Broken” is devastating in its restraint. How do you know when a song needs to whisper instead of roar?

I really love this question.

There was no fixing. No reaching the recipient of that message. The damage was already done. Writing the song meant recounting things I could barely admit—just barely.

So there was no roaring available to me. To articulate any of it honestly, it could only be just barely audible.

Your sound lives at the crossroads of Folk, Country, Americana, Rock, and Soul. When you’re creating, do genres matter—or do they only appear once the music leaves your hands?

Genres don’t matter to me when I’m creating. They show up later, once the music leaves my hands and other people need language for it.

I have a distaste for boxes, corners, limitations. I could spend endless time trying—and failing—to decide where I belong. Genre language changes as fast as technology.

While I’m writing, I try to stay inside the work and not get external. I’ve spent my life playing in very different kinds of bands, so those influences are just part of my vocabulary. I don’t sit down intending to fit anywhere. That doesn’t feel true to me.

Co-producing Battle Cat with Jeremy Ylvisaker—what did that partnership allow you to hear or risk that you couldn’t have reached alone?

I know how incredibly fortunate I am. Jeremy and I go way back—our dads are best friends and old folkies—so there’s shared history there. He’s a wizard.

I trusted his aesthetic and trusted him with mine. I felt safe letting him hear my demos in their most raw, unformed, stream-of-consciousness state. That’s hard. At first, anyway. Then it’s like getting used to being naked around someone—you just keep doing it and eventually get over yourself.

We fell into a rhythm of meeting weekly, more or less, over years. Taking steps back, seeing the bigger picture, then getting back inside it again. Tiny steps that added up.

He helped keep everything authentic. You don’t want to limit yourself with your own bias, and you don’t want to taint someone else’s vision either. That’s why trusting your producer’s aesthetic matters.

You’ve shared stages with legendary artists and played iconic venues, yet this album feels deeply personal. Does performing these songs require a different kind of courage?

It absolutely does.

I have to keep my own bias out of it—doubt has no place here. It helps that the live band is a dream group of players. They’ve become family. I couldn’t have curated this—it’s the universe doing what it does, and somehow it landed better than anything I would’ve planned.

Authenticity is the common denominator on bigger stages. True artists are celebrated and critiqued for deeply personal work. If that’s the work you’re doing, vulnerability actually makes you more accessible.

Doubt comes with the territory—but authenticity carries you through.

Your live shows are described as both intimate and electrifying. What do you prioritize when you step onstage now?

The band is finally growing into a real thing. Early on, we hadn’t really played the album live, so we were still learning the songs and each other in real time.

Now that we’ve spent time rehearsing and performing, there’s confidence—in the material and in each other. That’s when you can relax and truly be present with the audience.

That intimacy is the electricity. That’s where the magic happens.

After nearly two decades of releasing music, does Battle Cat feel more like a return to your core—or the start of something entirely new?

It’s both.

The more we let go of trying to control outcomes, people, or the universe—and focus on being the best version of ourselves five minutes at a time—the more open we are to what unfolds.

I’m constantly evolving based on what comes. It’s all new. I know less all the time.

I don’t want to hinder myself anymore. I’m the hardest person for me to please. I’m the person I struggle to forgive. I can’t lose time to things I can’t control.

If someone hears your music for the first time through Battle Cat, what do you hope they carry with them when the final note fades?

This may sound strange, but I love it when I make someone cry. That’s the highest honor for me.

If someone trusts me with their vulnerability, that’s a responsibility. A partnership. A relationship. I don’t take that lightly. I won’t phone it in. I vow to be present every time.

Another compliment I treasure is when someone says the music feels familiar and nostalgic, yet new—that it puts words to something they felt but hadn’t articulated yet.

Those are humbling honors.

Website and Social Media Links:
Website: https://andrasuchy.com
Linktree: https://linktr.ee/andrasuchy
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/andrasuchy/
Threads: https://www.threads.net/@andrasuchy
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Suchymonster/