It’s late afternoon in Silver Lake when Emily Coupe opens the door to her sunlit apartment, guitar case still open from a morning writing session. The Australian-American indie pop artist greets me barefoot, her long curls piled into a loose bun. She’s preparing for her next solo EP—what she calls her “most honest music yet”—but there’s no ignoring the grief that still lingers in her voice.
Coupe, known for shimmering, soulful tracks like “One to Blame” and “A Better Me,” is navigating what she calls “the weirdest chapter of my life.” Just five months ago, her former bandmate Gwen Thompson—better known to the world now as Gwyn—was found dead—murdered. The details surrounding Gwyn’s death remain under investigation, and the media frenzy has been unrelenting. But to Emily, it’s personal.
Q: It’s been several months since Gwyn’s death. How are you doing, really?
It still doesn’t feel real. I don’t think any of us have really processed it. I keep expecting a new headline to drop saying it was all a hoax. That she’d staged it for a concept album or something. But… she’s gone. And the way it happened—sudden, mysterious, messy—it left this big crater. Not just in music, but in my life.
Q: Let’s talk about Red Wreckage. People know the basics—you, Gwyn, and Jill Cooper were the trio. But what was it like inside the band?
Chaotic, intense, beautiful. Like lightning in a bottle. Gwyn always had this notebook full of half-finished lyrics and no filter whatsoever. Jill was the backbone—the structure, the polish. I was somewhere in the middle, trying to hold the harmony between them. We fought constantly, but when we were on stage, it was magic.
Q: When Gwyn moved to LA, that was kind of the end of Red Wreckage, right?
Yeah. She got it in her head that Los Angeles was the only place to make it, and she was gone in a heartbeat. Didn’t even say goodbye properly, just texted “I’ll fly you both down when it makes sense.” Spoiler: it never made sense and we did follow her out there. It just became clear, for whatever reason I’ll never get to know, the band wasn’t for her anymore. I stayed, Jill left. The end.
Q: Jill filed a lawsuit, claiming Gwyn stole two songs for her Dreamcrusher album. What’s your thoughts on what happened?
I wouldn’t want to turn Gwyn into a court case. Not now. Look, I’m not gonna lie: one of those songs? I recognize my chords. I recognize Jill’s lyrics. But music is messy, especially when you’ve been in a band that writes by jamming, shouting, and crying in the same two-hour window. Jill’s hurting. I get that. But suing a dead woman won’t heal what broke between them. It won’t bring Gwyn back.
Q: Do you think Gwyn was capable of betrayal?
Everyone is, depending on the wound. Gwyn… she wanted love and legacy in equal measure. Sometimes she confused the two. She could be cruel. She could also be brilliant in a way that made you forgive everything. But no, she wasn’t perfect. She had sharp edges under that blue wig but Gwen was my sister. (Reflecting as she looks off) I’ll love you always. RIP.
Q: I have to ask—Jill might’ve had something to do with Gwyn’s death. You knew them both. Do you believe that’s possible?
I hate that this question even exists—but yeah, I’ve thought about it. Not because I believe Jill’s a killer, but because grief makes you search for villains. And with the lawsuit, the history, the betrayal—it’s easy to draw a dark line between them. But here’s what I know: Jill is angry, and she has every reason to be. That lawsuit wasn’t about money. It was about feeling erased. Do I think she wanted Gwyn gone? No. Do I think she wanted her to finally answer for some of the damage she left behind? Probably. But wanting justice isn’t the same as wanting blood. I haven’t spoken to Jill but when I read her posts I see it. She’s broken.
Q: What are you working on now?
I’ve been in the studio. Mostly solo sessions, just me and a piano or a looper. I’m writing a lot about memory. About ghosts. Not literally, but… yeah, maybe a little literally too. I’ve been re-learning how to create without expecting someone else to jump in and finish my sentence. I think people who liked Red Wreckage will recognize the emotional honesty, but this stuff is more stripped down. Less crunch, more soul. It’s scary—but it’s mine.
Q: Will you release any of the old Red Wreckage material?
There’s one song Gwyn and I wrote in a motel bathroom during a storm somewhere near Detroit. It never made it to tape. I think I might record it. Not to capitalize—just to let her voice live a little longer. I owe her that.
Q: Last question. What would you say to Gwyn, if you could talk to her now?
Honestly? “You were never easy. But God, you were electric. I wish you’d let yourself be loved more gently. And I hope wherever you are, you’re still singing.”
