Zoe Allaire Reynolds, known on stage and Spotify as Kississippi, is the exemplification of the Philly music scene: house–show roots, run–ins with shitty guys, and, of course, a collaboration with Jake Ewald of Slaughter Beach, Dog here and there.
Zoe and I Zoom in from our respective childhood homes; mine in Philly and hers in Oreland, Pa. Despite finally having a moment to relax after her West Coast tour, Zoe is sporting her iconic abstract eyeliner look. She played four shows in Seattle, Portland, Ore., San Francisco, and Los Angeles with talker but had trouble deciding which crowd was her favorite.
When I ask Zoe how she came up with her stage name, she laughs. “It’s actually from an episode of Parks and Recreation. … I was a nanny [when I first started music], and I would watch it while the kids were sleeping,” she says. “It’s that song that’s like, ‘Zoe and Kate sitting in a tree, K–I–S–S–I–S–S–I–P–P–I.’”
As Zoe approaches the tenth anniversary of her first EP, she reflects on her earliest memories of music. “When I was sixteen or seventeen, I started hanging out with this band that went to Cheltenham High School, and I joined them,” she says. “It was like eleven people, and it was this silly little indie–folk–punk type of situation.”
Zoe raves about the Philly DIY–house–show circuit of the mid–2010s we all regret missing out on. “My mom was very chill about me going into the city and going to house shows,” she says. She tells stories of North Philly basements, nights at First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia, and seemingly AI–generated midwest emo band names.
At eighteen, Zoe left Oreland to live in a punk house with friends from high school. “We went straight into having wild house shows and parties,” she says. “It didn’t really last long. … I couldn’t keep up with it, but it was fun while it lasted!” When she moved to Philly, Zoe was studying graphic design and illustration at the Community College of Philadelphia but ultimately chose to leave to focus on her music.
Zoe is excited for the day she can return to school—and to house shows. “As I’ve gotten older, I’ve kind of fallen out of touch with the house–show circuit,” Zoe says. “I really miss it, but I know it’s still there and that people are still going hard for it.” Ten years ago, Zoe could be found playing shows with Brendan Lukens and Jake Ewald at their West Philly rowhome nicknamed “Michael Jordan.” In 2014, Jake offered to help Zoe produce and release her first EP. “I feel like I would’ve had a harder time [in the music industry] if it weren’t for people like Jake and Bren,” she says.
When I shift in my seat, Zoe pauses to ask if my tie–dye T–shirt with cursive lettering is Caroline Rose merch—it was. “Oh my god, I was just writing with Caroline, like, two weeks ago,” she says. The pair toured together after the release of Zoe’s 2018 album Sunset Blush, aptly named after a Franzia favorite.
Zoe emphasizes the importance of leaning on other women and queer people in the music industry. “Make those your go–to people to write with, record with, and to tour with … there’s so much love that can be found in that,” she says. “I feel like I’ve met so many [...] queer people through this band that I’ve, like, borderline fallen in love with.”
On July 26, Zoe released her EP Damned if I do it for you. She co–wrote the EP with Sarah Tudzin and Maddie Ross—two of her favorite queer women to lean on. “It felt like I was opening up my diary to these people,” she says. Zoe’s favorite song from the EP is “Bird Song” because it felt the most cathartic. “I shed many tears [while] recording that song, and it was so good for me. … it felt like it needed to happen,” she says.
“One hand on the mirror, will you let me in / Tell me that you love, like it’s genuine.” In “Bird Song,” Zoe confronts her fears of being a difficult person to love. Her pain bleeds out with the sounds of Maddie and Sarah’s dogs barking quietly in the background.
When I ask about queer love (or heartbreak) songs being misinterpreted by straight listeners, Zoe doesn’t seem to care. “If people hear one of my gay little songs, and they’re like ‘Oh, this is about me and my man,’ I’m cool with that,” she says. “There’s no shame there.”
However, Zoe promises that her most heart–wrenching songs are about past relationships with men. In her opinion, “Big Dipper,” the ninth track on her 2021 album Mood Ring, is the saddest song she has written. Zoe wrote the song while she was engaged. “I moved out of Philly and lived with this person for a year,” she says. “We got engaged really fast, and then it ended really fast.”
After sending the chord progression to her producer, Zoe wrote “Big Dipper” the next day. “I was staying with my manager in Seattle at the time, and I went out on his balcony with a cup of coffee and wrote the whole song in an hour,” she says. “It just spilled out of me.”
Zoe is most proud of the song because of how many listeners identify with its rawness, finding solace in her words amid their divorces and life–altering breakups: “You say baby, please / But I know it ain’t easy to love me / So I’ll just let you be.”
On a less serious note, I probed Zoe on a cryptic tweet from 2022. It reads, “i can’t believe i just got called a bitch by conor oberst online.” “I feel like I didn’t entirely not earn it,” she says. The Bright Eyes frontman berated Zoe via X, the platform formerly known as Twitter, after she accused him of sporting a pair of 2007 Etnies. “It’s really funny, though, because I actually grew up on Conor Oberst’s music,” she says. “Maybe I shouldn’t be roasting people I look up to.”
While Zoe doesn’t plan to live in Philly forever, she knows our humble city will always be her home. No matter where she ends up, Zoe will continue to write songs (some sweet, some heart–wrenching), find new creatives to work with, and make her music idols Sheryl Crow and Liz Phair proud.
Kississippi is performing at the Ukie Club on Franklin Street on Oct. 19.
