A Conversation with Avery Cochrane on her “Weapons of Iridescence Tour”
For Avery Cochrane, pop music is a balancing act between becoming untouchable and allowing herself to feel everything. On her Weapons of Iridescence tour, the singer-songwriter brought that tension to the stage through theatrical costume changes, bubble guns, and emotionally candid songwriting. Beneath the spectacle, however, is an artist whose greatest strength may be her willingness to let people see her as she is: imperfect, funny, vulnerable, and still figuring things out.
After three weeks on the road, Cochrane is settling back into life in Seattle, readjusting to the routines and responsibilities that touring temporarily puts on pause. The road offered an escape from everyday life, allowing her to step away from whatever awaited her at home and immerse herself in the small world she shared with her crew. Returning home, she found herself reflecting on that feeling: while she no longer wanted to use touring to evade her responsibilities, she still missed the freedom of being in her own little bubble.
The Weapons of Iridescence tour name originated in a lyric from her title track, drawing on a childhood fascination with a color she struggled to explain.
“When I was a kid, I would always say my favorite color was iridescent, and people would be like, ‘That's not a color. That’s a vibe.’”
For Cochrane, iridescence represents something intangible: a force that cannot quite be described or physically grasped. And in the context of her music, it becomes a weapon against those who have hurt her, a way of transforming pain into something powerful. Onstage, the concept takes literal form through bubble guns and sparkly costume changes, creating an elevated version of herself that feels almost otherworldly.
Cochrane’s live show packs the kind of theatrical detail and pop spectacle that might suggest a much larger production. From carefully considered costumes to playful props and layered stage moments, every element contributes to a world that feels bigger than the stage itself. Yet, for all the drama and fun of the performance, the show never feels disconnected from the person behind it. “I have a great team, and a lot of my friends helped me kind of create and direct this,” she explained, emphasizing the collaboration behind a production that remains distinctly her own.
That same sense of authenticity carries into her songwriting. “A lot of my lyrics are just straight copy paste from my diary,” she explained. When journaling, she’ll underline lines that might eventually be used in her songwriting. Her sense of humor finds its way into the writing, too, alongside the more difficult feelings she’s willing to expose.
“It’s a matter of relying so much on being honest and true to myself, and just willing to expose my deepest, darkest thoughts to the world, through my songs.”
As her audience grows, that openness has taken on a new dimension. Her music reached additional listeners through Off Campus, where “Shape Shifting on a Saturday Night” appeared in a scene that gave the song a meaning different from its original inspiration.
Cochrane wrote the track about feeling like an outsider at her college’s party school. In the show’s context, it became the soundtrack to a joyful moment between two characters getting back together.
“Once I release it, it’s not mine anymore. It’s everybody’s,” she said. Rather than feeling protective of her songs, she welcomes the possibility that listeners will find their own stories within them.
That exchange became especially tangible on tour. In Chicago, Cochrane recognized a longtime supporter who had arrived early with her girlfriend. Seeing the fan sing every word from the front row, particularly during the vulnerable song “Oh, Mercy,” was a reminder of how deeply a personal experience can resonate with someone else.
In Detroit, a 15-year-old fan attended with his younger sibling and father. The father initially considered spending Cochrane’s set at the bar next door, but stayed after hearing her begin to perform. He later told her how great he thought the show was and how much his son talked about her music.
For an artist still learning to believe in the impact of her work, these moments are meaningful. Cochrane admits that imposter syndrome sometimes makes her question whether people genuinely connect with her music.
Some of the songs she’s most excited for listeners to hear on her upcoming album are “Upstairs Downstairs,” an ambitious, operatic dance-pop track, and “Telephone Wires,” a quieter song of self-acceptance following what she describes as the album’s villain arc. The latter explores the uncomfortable realization that, despite trying to become emotionally untouchable, she still wants love. Its central sentiment is simple: “I hate to say I'm wanting you, but, of course, I do.”
For Cochrane, accepting that contradiction is part of remaining true to herself. She hopes that as her career evolves, she never loses her ability to connect with people through brutal honesty, humor, and the universal experiences that make us human.
See more photos from her October show at Bowery Ballroom, NYC here.
