Prewn

ZEBULON LA, 2478 Fletcher Drive, 90039 Los Angeles Directions

Sat 08.08.2026 19:00

USD 22.77

Tickets / Registration

**Prewn**

If Izzy Hagerup’s new album, System, feels immediately uncompromising it’s because it was never really designed for public consumption. Released under her Prewn moniker, Hagerup describes the album as a “private journal made public.” The arresting nine songs on System chronicle a deeply personal journey through the darkness of depression, but one that’s always undercut by moments of humor as well as selfishness and self-reflection–a push-and-pull that feels wholly distinctive.

Following on Prewn’s 2023’s debut album Through The Window–a collection of songs that Pitchfork hailed as a “striking example of Hagerup’s ability to sit with ugliness”– System finds her crawling even deeper into the dense folds of the night. Hagerup alone wrote and recorded the album, mostly in long stretches of bedroom sessions that found her working through the night until she began to hear birdsong. System reckons with a lot of the thoughts that tend to needle in during those small hours: guilt, shame, and self-absorption, as well as the societal pressures that sit at the root of such things.

“This new album comes from a much more self-centered place, the stagnant aftermath of intensity and emotion,” Hagerup says. “I think it came from a period of time that was more numb, hollow, and confused. More disassociated from heartfelt pain, more entrenched in a frustrating and aimless discomfort.”

That discomfort manifests itself in various ways throughout System. Each of the songs were a result of random inspiration, and find Hagerup working out of a desperation to record the pieces before the inspiration slipped through her fingers. “I feel in a constant state of writer’s block but I just put myself in the studio for hours and hours, sometimes in agony and desperation for any muse at all,” she explains. “Every once in a blue moon, a nugget gets thrown my way and I run as far as I can with it.”

The result is a wildly unique album that carries a sense of restlessness and unease in its bones, but also pulls the curtain back on what it takes and what it means to fully explore the self through song. “It seems that misery’s my best friend. I know it’ll come to me again and again...” Hagerup sings on the title track. Written while feeling acutely overwhelmed in a sea of people, the song touches upon everything from the mechanisms of the music industry, to cycles of depression, to the seemingly never- ending battle to escape the clutches of the patriarchy and capitalism. “When I wrote it I was supposed to be present and alive and gracious and happy. But somehow I couldn’t escape my own internal fears and depression that can follow me wherever I go,” she says.

Pulling together a number of the System’s key sentiments, “Dirty Dog” is like an intense fever dream–a song where the listener can never quite find their footing within the glitchy, malaise-like backdrop of its scorched instrumentation. Hagerup says. “I think a large continuity of the songs lies in the amateur quality of them. I’m a sucker for an imperfect recording.” Such sentiments bristle throughout “Dirty Dog,” shaping it into something prickly and unilluminated in a way that feels almost radical.

It’s a repeatedly explored dimension on System, and present again on “Only You,” which is a lighter but no-less labored undertaking. Where much of the album is shaped by the dense weave of atmosphere that ripples just below the surface, the song holds a torch to Hagerup’s voice and feels fascinating and oddly beautiful as it bends into shapes that you can never quite piece together or look away from. “This song is about the experience of falling in love for the first time,” she details. “Being enamored with the feeling and the person, while also being skeptical of the experience. What’s you, what’s me? What’s projection? What’s love vs. attachment? We never really get to the bottom of it in this one.”

From a bedroom floor in the middle of the night, through a tangle of cables and complex emotions, System grew into a document of disassociation. But it arrives undercut with a sense of lightness in comparison to Hagerup’s debut, and doesn’t surrender to the darkness. Instead, System dives into it with a keen and exploring eye, and through the gloom finds constant realizations of the wonder and appreciation of life. It’s a journey that holds a special kind of power, a brave struggle that never asks listeners to look away but instead to follow down the rabbit hole. That it leads to a place of fascination is testament to the sheer force these songs hold: songs of hurt and heart, fear and fun.

Performers

Prewn
Izzy Hagerup has been kicking around the songs that make up Prewn’s debut album for the better part of a decade. It wasn’t until the pandemic hit however that she really had the seclusion needed to complete them. With a chance opportunity to write and record at Kevin McMahon’s (Swans, The Walkmen, Pile) Marcata Studio during lock-downs, she was able to focus without distraction, bringing her ideas to life. As a member of McMahon’s Pelican Movement collective the two already had a positive working relationship, and this was a chance for Hagerup to temporarily remove herself from daily life in Northampton to create without distraction at a difficult time. She’d spend the day writing, working to weave ideas into solid threads, watching the pieces come into place during productive uninterrupted sessions. She describes the immersive time spent in the studio as “life changing,” in large part due to the pure isolation where “creating was the focus and I could really be alone, leading me to find myself more prolific than I ever thought I could be.” The results are staggeringly beautiful and triumphantly visceral. Speaking about the process, Hagerup shared, “these were some of the most rewarding, exciting days in my musical life. I learned that so much of writing a song is just pushing through all the mental blocks and fears and judgements that get in the way.”

Those sessions along with some home-recorded additions (later mixed and mastered by McMahon) came to be Through The Window, Prewn’s debut album, performed entirely by Izzy Hagerup, bringing her songs to life with a distinctive touch. Due out August 25th via Exploding In Sound Records (Pile, Ovlov, Floatie), there’s an immediacy and earnest nature to the solo recordings, at its core it’s an outpouring of unfiltered ideas and emotions. Captured with brilliantly engaging vocal performances, structures that unfold piece by piece, and a sense of unnerving fragility paired with a reckless resolve, the control in Hagerup’s delivery and compositions are astounding.

There’s a heaviness to the writing of Through The Window, built on a disposition that could often be described as bleak, but Hagerup isn’t crippled by the weight, She’s reflecting, exploring emotions from varying perspectives. Lead single “But I Want More” explores her dad’s battle with Parkinson’s disease, something he’s struggled with her entire life, and the increased seclusion from his family resulting from the pandemic. As motor functions come and go with the ailment, the reality of it became increasingly hard to stomach for Hagerup, but there’s a sincerity in her reflections.“To witness his entrapment by his own body on top of such severe isolation during covid,” Hagerup shared, “was just enough to turn a highly detached gal into one with real feeling, enough feeling to even write a song that I really, really mean.”

While the recordings have sat semi-completed, Prewn has grown to become one of Western Massachusetts’ most in-demand bands, the line-up expanding to include Mia Huggs (bass), Calvin Parent (guitar), Karl Helander (drums). With full band recordings set to come in the future, Through The Window is an intimate introduction to the project, capturing a place and time, the songs urgently needing to find their way out. The attention to detail throughout the album is obvious, these are thoughtful songs, nuanced in construction, from the raw and pinched guitars to the stability (and lack of stability) in the rhythms. There’s a sense of warbling character in the music, Prewn’s songs are standing firm but on shaky legs. That’s the magic inherent in Hagerup’s writing, she’s steadfast and holding on, but she’s not immune to slipping in stormy weather.