On “Stop Stereo,” queer identity, creative defiance, and the power of taking up space

There’s a certain kind of song that doesn’t ask for attention—it demands it.

Not through volume alone, but through presence. Through conviction. Through the feeling that what you’re hearing isn’t just a track, but a statement that’s been waiting to be said out loud.

That’s exactly where Whiskey Flower’s “Stop Stereo” lands.

The unapologetic queer duo—made up of Holly Lucille and Julie Neumark—have built their project on lived experience, emotional clarity, and a refusal to shrink themselves into something more digestible. Partners in life and music for nearly two decades, their chemistry isn’t performative—it’s embedded.

With “Stop Stereo,” the first glimpse into their upcoming EP Double Yellow Lines, they channel that lived-in authenticity into something sharper, louder, and more intentional: a desert-punk anthem that pushes back against stereotypes while still leaving space for joy.

Fire, Grit, and Release

“Stop Stereo” doesn’t ease you in.

It arrives with a pulse—gritty, rhythmic, and grounded in something physical. Julie’s stomp-driven energy (literally rooted in her percussive performance style) gives the track a raw, almost primal momentum, while Holly’s melodic bass lines move like a second voice—fluid, expressive, and quietly commanding.

There’s tension here, but it’s controlled.

The songwriting walks a tightrope between confrontation and playfulness. Lyrically, the track calls out the flattening of identity—whether that’s queerness, gender, age, or artistic categorization—without becoming heavy-handed. Instead, it leans into wit, clarity, and a kind of earned confidence.

That balance is what makes the track work.

It’s not just protest—it’s release. Not just resistance—it’s celebration.

And that duality is what elevates “Stop Stereo” beyond a statement track into something that actually moves—emotionally and physically.

Q: “Stop Stereo” is described as a queer anthem for anyone who’s refused to be boxed in. What sparked the message behind this song?

Julie Neumark:
“Stop Stereo” wasn’t born from one moment—it came from a pattern. For a long time, Holly and I tried to stay under the radar, to blend in and let other people define the narrative.

Over time, that silence starts to feel heavier than the risk of speaking up.

The song came out of that tipping point—being tired of not rocking the boat and finally choosing to be heard. It’s about cutting through the noise and claiming your own voice.

Q: The title feels like a direct confrontation with stereotypes. What were you most ready to call out?

Holly Lucille:
It’s layered. Personally, it’s about being reduced to something simpler than we are—our queerness, our age, assumptions about how women are “supposed” to show up.

Julie:
And culturally, especially in the music industry, there’s a tendency to flatten artists into categories because it’s easier to market.

We’re not one thing, one sound, or one story. And we’re done letting other people decide which parts are acceptable.

Q: Your music balances grit, humor, and fire while still feeling empowering. How do you write that way without losing joy?

Julie:
It starts with a strong feeling and not trying to tidy it up too quickly.

Melody usually arrives first—almost fully formed—and from there the lyrics become more collaborative and playful. I don’t feel like I’m forcing a message. It’s more like I’m receiving something that wants to be heard.

The joy comes from trusting that process and letting humor and fire live alongside the grit.

Q: You’ve been partners in life and music for nearly two decades. How does that shape your creative dynamic?

Holly:
We’ve developed a deep musical shorthand. Julie brings in the songs—lyrics and melody—and then I respond through bass and harmony.

The bass is how I push back and underline emotion.

Julie:
Which sometimes sounds like bickering.

Holly:
Harmless bickering.

Julie:
Very musical bickering.

Holly:
Exactly. But that back-and-forth is what shapes the harmony. We trust each other enough to disagree—and the song is always better for it.

Q: Holly, your bass often feels like a second lead voice. How do you approach it as storytelling?

Holly:
I start by really listening—to the lyrics and melody—and then I look for the whitespace.

In “Stop Stereo,” the pre-chorus feels like a countdown, so I built the bassline to support that tension and momentum.

Because we’re often a duo, the bass sometimes takes on a more melodic, storytelling role. It’s about knowing when to support and when to step forward.

Q: Julie, your vocal energy is described as “stomp-master”—very physical and direct. What did you want your voice to do on this track?

Julie:
I wanted it to confront and ignite—but with warmth underneath.

Especially in the bridge, where the song softens, I wanted people to feel supported while stepping into their own voice.

The fire matters, but so does the feeling of not being alone in it.

Q: You worked with producer John Would and drummer Kristen Gleeson-Prata. What did they bring to the sound?

Julie:
John has this rare ability to hear the emotional center of a song immediately and build around it without crowding it.

He helped us trust the rawness of “Stop Stereo” and let it feel big without overproducing it.

Holly:
And KGP brought so much intention to the drums—it wasn’t about flash, it was about feel.

Also… a lot of fun. A lot of “oh hell yes” moments.

Julie:
They brought out a bolder, more confident version of us.

Q: After your previous releases and writing for TV, how did that shape your confidence going into this new era?

Julie:
It gave us proof that our instincts were working.

Writing for screen sharpened our discipline—every lyric had to earn its place.

Going into Double Yellow Lines, we weren’t second-guessing ourselves as much.

Holly:
Yeah, way less hand-wringing. Way more “let’s just do the thing.”

Q: Writing for screen changes how music connects. Did that influence how you approach your own songs now?

Julie:
Definitely. It taught me the power of restraint.

Now we’re more aware of what a song is actually trying to say—and when to leave space.

Holly:
And it reminded us how much we love connection—imagining how a song lands in a specific moment.

Q: “Stop Stereo” feels like both protest and celebration. What do you want people to feel when they hear it live?

Holly:
I want them to feel it physically—like something wakes up in their chest or their spine.

Like they’re allowed to take up space.

Julie:
And I want them to walk away believing they don’t need permission to be who they already are.

That their voice matters. That they’re not wrong for being loud, different, or unapologetic.

If it feels like both a release and a reminder, then it’s doing what we hoped.

More Than a Song

What Whiskey Flower achieves with “Stop Stereo” isn’t just sonic—it’s cultural.

In a landscape that still rewards simplicity and categorization, they lean into complexity. Into contradiction. Into the full spectrum of identity that refuses to be reduced.

And they do it without losing joy.

That might be the most radical part.

Because “Stop Stereo” doesn’t just ask you to resist being boxed in.

It reminds you that you never had to fit in the first place.