By Kelcey Alonzo and Michael Molenda 

Paul Reed Smith was in another world. He was benevolently agitated and would not stop talking. I was at the 2004 NAMM show, trapped in the curtained-off “staff only” section of the PRS Guitars booth by the tall and quietly charismatic founder of the company. As the Editor in Chief of Guitar Player at the time, I had grown accustomed to publicists, industry peeps, artist-relations managers, and even other guitarists spewing rapid-fire adulation about a player who had shattered their worlds. But it wasn’t a barrage I would have expected from Paul Reed Smith. I was curious about who he was talking about so animatedly, but I was perhaps more relieved to be free from the verbal onslaught.

Until I ran into Carlos Santana.

Santana is a deep thinker who speaks softly, albeit with tranquil enthusiasm and obvious wonder. (He used to carry a tattered dictionary around to absorb a new word and its meanings every day.) He came up to me and started talking about the same person who had so bedeviled Smith. Eerie. It got spookier.

I bumped into Steve Vai along one of the never-ending aisles of booths the Anaheim Convention Center temporarily constructs for the annual Winter NAMM show. Vai had graciously agreed to be the master of ceremonies for the big Guitar Player Redesign Party that night, wrangling a bunch of gala performances that would include himself, Joe Satriani, Steve Lukather (and his son Trevor), Johnny A, Kaki King, George Lynch, Lyle Workman, John Scofield, Jeff “Skunk” Baxter, Joe Bonamassa, and others. 

Who did he want to talk about?

Orianthi Panagaris. 

She didn’t seem like someone who warranted so much exuberant interest. She walked into the party with her mom and Paul Reed Smith, and she was pretty quiet throughout the night. We talked for a while, and she was delightful, but one of the extremely awesome benefits of being a music journalist is that you got to meet hundreds of delightful people. I don’t believe she stepped onstage to jam with anyone. The party ended, and I didn’t hear anything more about her. 

But Orianthi did not disappear into the mists, as has been the unfortunate fate of so many artists with promise. Her determination, commitment to the work, and obvious belief in her career path was making people such as Paul Reed Smith, Carlos Santana, and Steve Vai seem like music-industry prophets. Still, she didn’t exactly have an easy time getting things to happen.

Orianthi’s 2005 debut album, Velvet Journey, was self-recorded and initially self-released. She bet on herself—a ballsy move in the days before everyone on the planet with a laptop and a DAW became their own record companies. She kept pushing forward. By 2006, she had moved to Los Angeles, signed with Geffen Records, and contracted with 19 Entertainment (creators of American Idol) for management. Orianthi’s most public sightings in 2007 were opening for some Steve Vai dates, and an appearance on the second stage of Eric Clapton’s Crossroads Festival. 

Two years later, she blew the roof off the joint. 

At the Grammy Awards in 2009, her explosive shredfest during Carrie Underwood’s performance was utterly ferocious. Even Michael Jackson’s jaw dropped. He contacted her to audition for his This Is It residency at the 02 Arena in London, and pretty much hired her on the spot. Sadly, the breakthrough concerts were not to be, but Orianthi was already in orbit.

You can Google her career ascension from that point onward, but we’ll give you the highlights reel: Massive tours as a headliner or opener for major artists, a 12-million view smash YouTube video for her “Highly Strung” collaboration with Steve Vai, becoming Alice Cooper’s first female band member in 2011, and appearing on just about every guitar magazine cover published in the known universe.

It seemed that nothing could slow her down except a global pandemic. [Pause for nervous giggles here.] But it’s probably not surprising that while COVID caused a bump or two in her artistic plans—as the music and concert industries shuddered to near collapse—Orianthi’s “can-do” attitude fueled creative projects, an interesting pivot or two, and perhaps even, perish the thought, a bit of well-deserved “me time.”

GC: COVID has obviously changed a lot of musicians’ plans. The last time we talked, you were about to do an album, but now it seems you’re in the midst of making another album altogether. How did that come about?

Orianthi: I was making sort of a pop-urban record—and those songs still live—but I was feeling a disconnect about working with computers. I really wanted to get into a room with musicians and make an organic record—especially after being isolated so long during COVID. I happened to go into Sunset Sound Recorders in Hollywood to cut a song for a commercial or something, and I felt a calling to do a record there. I knew that the label and everyone was wanting a rock record from me, instead of a pop album, and I felt the same way. I was talking to my friend Drew Dempsey—he’s the marketing director at Sunset—and he recommended that I work with Jacob Sciba. He told me that Jacob is a great producer who had worked with Gary Clark, Jr., and that he was on the pulse of what’s going on with the boy’s rock scene. He brings in the beats, but it’s pretty authentic sounding. So, I was like, “That’s cool. Let’s do it.”

GC: How did this new working relationship unfold?

Orianthi: It was pretty exciting. Jacob flew in and came over to my condo to hear some stuff. I had sent him a few tracks over email, but I really wanted to get into a room with him and play the GarageBand demos I made. He actually chose those demos over ones that I had co-written with other people. He said, “No. I want to hear you. I like those tracks.” On some of my demos, the songs were only half done, and I’d ask, “Is this any good?” He said, “Yeah, you should finish it.” So, it was sort of like grabbing parts of tracks and finishing them up. 

GC: What was it like when you finally got into Sunset Sound to record?

Orianthi: It was exciting. Jacob worked with the whole band—myself, Glen Sobel on drums, and Justin Andres on bass—to cut the basic tracks together in the same room. It was such a great-sounding, iconic studio with a real vibe. It made me want to step up my game as a guitar player, singer/songwriter, and everything because of the history of the place. You feel the gravity when you walk in. That kind of scared me, but it also comforted me, because it was so inspiring to be there.

I think we ended up with ten or 11 basics in three days. Then, we kept going back every other week to put down keys, vocals, percussion, guitars, and whatnot. Robby Krieger just recorded a solo on one of my tracks last night and I can’t wait to hear it.

GC: Having the guy who played with the Doors putting down tracks on your album is beyond awesome. When you work with someone like that, you must be like, “Wait a minute—my aura has changed.” You get inspired by the environment they bring with them. 

Orianthi: Absolutely. Robby is such an amazing musician. He’s an incredible songwriter, and his guitar playing is just out of this world. He goes for phrases that I would never even think of. I love that, because for me, music has always been about different colors and going way out there. Having Robby on this record means a lot. It’s a true honor. 

GC: Can you give us a little preview of what some of the tracks are sounding like?

Orianthi: I’m so excited about this one—it’s definitely kind of a blues-rock roar. There are still pop elements, of course. It’s not like I’ve gone completely blues rock. But it’s definitely a different vibe than the other records I’ve made.

GC: Any other studio stories to tell?

Orianthi: Well, we did a lot of the tracking in Studio III, which was Prince’s room while he recorded Purple Rain. I actually used Prince’s mic to record my vocals. It’s an incredible microphone. That was real nice, because I had a friendship with Prince since 2007. He called me straight after his Super Bowl performance that year. We jammed once for almost four hours, and he used to call to check in on me two or three times a year. He wanted to produce my first record, but it never happened. 

GC: You seem pretty fearless about following your muse. COVID or not, a lot of artists would not have put a current album project on hold to jump into a new direction.

Orianthi: I was working with Howard Benson again. He produced my Believe album in 2009. The direction was rock-urban-pop—very radio-friendly. Part of it was being inspired by the whole Michael Jackson thing, and how he mixed up guitars with beats. I thought to myself, “Why don’t I do that?” It was a mixture of things I’ve always wanted to do, but, as I said, I found myself wanting to do a band record. I like to keep things open. I love different genres. I think I’ve been versatile enough in my music so far that people don’t think I’ve lost my mind if I switch directions. But if they think I’m crazy, that’s fine. Ultimately, it’s all about the music.

GC: You’re allowed to be crazy.

Orianthi: That’s your job description! I don’t want to make the same record over and over again. 

GC: The album you released during the pandemic, O [Frontiers], almost reminds me of Led Zeppelin. It has a modern sheen, of course, but there are echoes of ’70s rock in there, as well. Was that a conscious production decision?

Orianthi: I wasn’t going for anything, really. I was just going in with Marti Frederiksen—who is a great friend of mine—to make a good record. We wanted to keep it inspired, and it was kind of based on what I was listening to. At the time, I was into U2, Jimi Hendrix and Band of Gypsys, and ’90s bands such as Nine Inch Nails. I was on a different kind of trip musically, and I said, “Let’s not put it in any kind of box.” Marti felt the same way. It was such a fun experience working with dear friends, and I loved Nashville. Chuck Garric—who plays bass with Alice Cooper—lived down the road, and he came in. His wife actually wrote some lyrics with me for “Moonwalker.” Nikki Sixx wrote “Streams of Consciousness” with me. The whole thing was inspired, it was not over-thought, and it was done really fast. We had a ball.

GC: So how did that record start?

Orianthi: I had gone to Nashville on a writing trip, and I met up with Marti and asked if he wanted to write something with me. It was the first time we collaborated, and we wrote “Rescue Me” within the first hour. I got back to Los Angeles, listened to the demos, and I’m going, “Something felt good working with Marti.” He’s such a cool guy. I asked him to produce my album with a text [laughs]. He was with Aerosmith in Las Vegas at the time, but he said he’d love to do it. He got on the phone with my manager and the label, and that was that. I went over there for two weeks, we did another two weeks here, and we got it done.

GC: Could you provide some specific insights on how your songwriting collaboration with Marti worked?

Orianthi: It was like we were two kids making a record. It was fun, and we didn’t overthink anything. I’d come in with an idea—a title, melodies, some guitar—or half the song would be done already, or we’d start from scratch. Marti might have some lyrics or ideas of his own, and we’d start going back and forth. The process for each song was so different.

GC: It must have been disappointing to finish O, and then not be able to promote it, thanks to COVID.

Orianthi: It was insane.I made my record. I was super excited about it, and I was ready to put it out. I was ready to tour. When the pandemic started, I was like, “Oh, is this thing going to go away in a month or two?” And then it was, “Well, if can just get enough toilet paper, we’re good.” Then, most of my friends packed up and got out of Los Angeles. That’s when I knew this was really serious. 

GC: How did you cope?

Orianthi: It was a journey. When the whole thing first hit, I had this crazy rock-and-roll birthday party at the Sunset Marquis Hotel. I decided to throw it, even though I rarely do that kind of stuff. I’m not the most social person when I’m off the road. I like to keep to myself. But I thought, “You know, let’s do this.” I was really happy that I did, because it was the last sort of party situation before the lockdowns. 

Eventually, I got so paranoid that I thought I might die from Pine Sol, rather than COVID. I was literally cleaning everything with Pine Sol. I even got close to washing my vegetables with it [laughs]. You see, I have that kind of personality where I go “all in” with things. Situations get amplified and they escalate fast, so I had this major, paranoid fear of getting COVID. 

Happily, that lifted with time, and I’m very optimistic right now. There has been a big change because of the vaccines. For example, my family is in Australia, and they’re having parties and doing great. I feel there’s positivity, and light at the end of the tunnel—a new normal, perhaps, but we can get there.

GC: True. But I think there are quite a few musicians who were paralyzed by the health debacle and didn’t produce much work at all. Some of their careers may not be able to weather the effects of such inactivity.

Orianthi: Yes.A lot of my friends who are artists didn’t do anything. They gardened or focused on other things rather than making music. But other artists told me, “This has been the most creative period I’ve ever had.” It is really all over the place. 

GC: Whether an artist could keep their creative mojo active or not, the business of music was in freefall.  

Orianthi: I lost a year of touring. That was massive. Luckily, I had saved a bit, but it still impacted me on a big level, because I have people around me that I pay—assistants, techs, and so on. If you’re out on the road, and you make X amount of money, you can keep people employed. When you’re not touring, it is very difficult to even keep everyone on the payroll. I had to tell my staff, “This is not a full-time thing anymore. It’s part-time until I start touring, because I don’t need people on staff 24/7 if I’m not out of the road.” That was difficult as hell, and I feel for so many people. The music industry had already declined immensely when streaming happened.

GC: Our March 2021 cover artist, Doyle Wolfgang von Frankenstein said, “Streaming should be fucking illegal.”

Orianthi: It’s awful. Artists spend so much money to make records, and then it’s all given away. It’s like people stealing from a store. It’s like you bake a cake, and people come into your bakery, they eat it, and they say, “I’m not paying for that.” You can’t just consume something and then not pay for it. Do they have streaming for clothes and food? Yeah. No. Streaming is completely ridiculous. It’s stealing. I hope things change. 

GC: Well, on the upside, it doesn’t appear that COVID tanked your productivity.

Orianthi: Oh, no. I was writing, cooking, making an album, creating guitars for Gibson and PRS, and doing different things [laughs]. 

GC: Cooking?

Orianthi: Cooking is a passion of mine. I’m half Greek, so cooking is in my blood. I love good, healthy food. I was actually planning to do a musical cooking show titled Taste Like Rock and Roll. COVID put that plan on hold. Maybe later…

GC: Let’s talk guitars, then. Before the pandemic, in late 2019, you went to the Gibson Acoustic factory in Bozeman, Montana, to collaborate on a signature model SJ-200. 

Orianthi: Yes. I’m so excited. I had dinner with Cesar Gueikian and his wife. He’s the Brand President of Gibson, and he said the company would love to have me back as an artist. I was with Gibson in 2009, and then I went off to Taylor, Martin, and other brands. I said I was with PRS for electric guitars, of course, so we spoke about acoustics. They brought me into the Gibson Acoustic factory, and the quality of the guitars is insane. They pay attention. CEO JC Curleigh is really turning the company around in a big way, and Robi Johns in Montana is an incredible luthier. 

We went through every model from songwriter types to parlor guitars, and I picked the SJ-200 because of Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash. They were like, “Isn’t that a little big for you?” I said, “Of course it’s big, but it sounds freaking awesome.” The main thing I had an issue with was the neck. I wanted it thinner. 

Later on, I went to Gibson’s Hollywood showroom, and I picked up an ES-345. I said, “Guys, I have an idea. Can you put this ES-345 neck on the SJ-200? That would be great.” So, I think this is the first hybrid electric neck on an acoustic body that Gibson has done. We all went down the rabbit hole together, and they went all out for this guitar. Then, they told me I’m the youngest person to ever have a signature acoustic model—which is crazy. Honestly, it’s surreal. And the guitar is epic. The LR Baggs pickup was custom voiced for me, and it captures the full tone of the body tone, but it also cuts through with some compression in the midrange when you’re playing leads.

GC: How many prototypes did you go through before you signed off on your signature model to put it into production?

Orianthi: I probably spent a couple of days in the factory in Montana. After that, we went back and forth a couple of times. But when they sent the guitar to me, it was almost perfect. I asked for another change to the action, but aside from that, it was pretty much what I wanted.

GC: Well, that beauty has been quite a hit.

Orianthi: It sold out online. They’re currently on backorder. I am truly overwhelmed. It’s an honor to work with the Gibson family to bring my dream acoustic guitar to life—as well as to get all of these messages from so many people who bought the guitar and who are in love with it. It has brought people joy—as much joy as I got creating it with Gibson.

GC: Is there anything new going on with your electric signature models with PRS?

Orianthi: Yes. I just approved some things about three or four days ago for a new model. I think people are going to be thrilled with it, and I can’t wait to announce it properly. It’s a beautiful-looking guitar. Paul always makes these works of art.

GC: Let’s step away from the pandemic and your current projects for a spell. Would you mind sharing what it was like growing up in Adelaide, Australia?

Orianthi: It’s a small town, but there are so many different pubs, and so many places to play. 

GC: Was it challenging finding support for your music career?

Orianthi: Not at all. My family is very musical. My father is a guitar player, and he was the one who got me into playing. I’d play the Greek dances with him when I was a kid—christenings, weddings, and all that kind of stuff. I’m very grateful to my dad.

GC: We’re talking bouzoukis here, right?

Orianthi: Yeah. And I have to tell you, bouzouki players are louder than guitar players, and they have far bigger egos [laughs]. 

But, back to the support system, my mother is a big music fan. She is also a writer for the publisher Mills & Boon. I got some really fine creative-writing training from my mom, so I was inspired to write lyrics when I was pretty young. My sister is a painter and an art teacher. My family is very creative, and they are very encouraging of me being creative. I feel very blessed to have that because a lot of families are not that way. It’s “get a real job,” you know? They never said that to me—even after I quit school when I was 15.

GC: What was your early musical training like?

Orianthi: I played piano when I was three years old, picked up guitar when I was six, and studied classical music and theory when I was ten. Then, I saw Carlos Santana, and I didn’t want to play classical anymore. In fact, I was suffering migraines, because my teacher was horrible. I told my dad, “This is giving me headaches.” But, aside from that, it felt like school to me—you know what I mean? I didn’t feel there was much freedom in studying classical, and, to me, the guitar represented freedom. Obviously, classical training—learning scales and modes and all that—is necessary, but then you have to let it go and just feel it. That’s what the blues taught me when I got into it. I think to not know everything can be better sometimes, because you have to feel it out. Otherwise, you become one of those players who just play the same scales and stuff all the time.

GC: What was up with that teacher?

Orianthi: He was an asshole [laughs]. I’m not going to put it nicely, because he was the reason I quit for a while. I worked so hard, right? And he goes, “I have to tell you that you failed your exam.” I was ten years old, and I burst into tears. He goes, “I’m only joking. You passed.” I’m like, “Dude, you made me cry.” I got home and told my parents, “I never want to pick up that frickin’ guitar again.” When you’re a teacher, you’re there to inspire and try to keep someone motivated. If you can’t do that, you should do something different. 

GC: Did you find motivation or inspiration by listening to albums or singles?

Orianthi: Thank goodness my dad had a great record collection. He put on Band of Gypsys, and that changed my life. Then, I saw the video Live at the El Mocambo with Stevie Ray Vaughan, and I heard Carlos Santana’s Sacred Fire: Live in South America. Even when I was on the road with Alice Cooper, I’d still pull up YouTube videos of those live performances to warm up. They would inspire me, because all of them were on fire. They went out there and literally put everything into their performances. It’s like they played every show as if the world was going to end tomorrow. 

GC: Carlos Santana’s influence on you is, of course, well documented.

Orianthi: Carlos Santana is the reason I play electric guitar. Hearing “Europa” was a turning point. That song is one of my most favorite tunes ever because of the melody and Carlos’ tone—which is like another voice. That song really impacted me in a major way.

GC: Steve Vai has been on “Team Orianthi” for a while, as well.

Orianthi: Steve is so awesome. He’s like a brother to me, or an uncle. I’ve known him since I was 14 years old. We’ve been buddies a long-ass time. When I did the instrumental “Highly Strung” with him, it was done in an afternoon. The guitars you hear are the ones we cut that afternoon, when we were writing the song at his house. They’re the demo guitars. We tried to redo the parts “for real,” but they sounded weird. You know, you can spend a fortune in the studio trying to get everything perfect, but if the vibe isn’t there, it’s not there. Different producers will often come in and say, “Oh yeah, we can redo that part and make it sound better,” But, at the end of the day, maybe the song has to live the way it was originally recorded because it feels so good that way.

GC: It must be amazing to be in a position to see so many great guitarists up close and actually perform with them. How do those situations inform your own growth as a player? 

Orianthi: I’ll watch another player, and say, “I want to do that!” So, the goals are always changing. At the moment, I want to become a better country guitarist, so I’m working to get better at chicken pickin’. I’m always trying to improve on different things. When I hear something in my head—a melody or a run or whatever—I want to be able to execute it on a guitar right now. I want that immediate connection between my mind and my hands. 

GC: You turned so many heads when you performed on the Grammys with Carrie Underwood in 2009. Famously, one of those admirers was Michael Jackson, who was putting together the This Is It concerts. How did he reach out to you?

Orianthi: Michael—or his musical director, Michael Beardon—messaged me on Myspace. At the time, I was working with Diane Warren in the studio. I’m like, “Oh, my god. Michael Jackson wants to talk to me tonight. I don’t know if this guy’s crazy or if it’s real.” My manager said, “I don’t know if it’s real.” 

But, that night, I got a call from Michael Bearden asking me to learn “Dirty Diana,” “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” and “Beat It,” to play for him and Michael in the morning. He said, “You’re what we’re looking for.” So, I learned the songs, and I walked in there. I’ve never been that nervous before. It’s freaking Michael Jackson! And he hired me on the spot. 

He said, “It’s so nice to meet you. Thank you for coming and playing ‘Beat It,’ because I want to hear it really loud. Can you play the solo while walking around?” 

I’m like, “I haven’t done that.” 

He goes, “Well, can you practice doing it?” 

I said, “Sure.”

So, now I’m walking around my condo with my Pomeranian following me and obsessively playing all these Michael Jackson songs while running all over the place without looking at my guitar neck. I’m sure my neighbors thought, “Oh, my god. This frickin’ Michael Jackson freak. It’s so loud!” It was crazy. I’m not going to lie—the most surreal few months in my life were working with Michael.

GC: What impact did he have on you as, as a musician?

Orianthi: He had a huge impact on me. Michael really taught me to be a better performer. He was so precise with everything—his dance moves, the music, and everything else. He kind of prepared me to work with Alice Cooper, because the whole show was orchestrated. We rehearsed extensively with Michael, and I rehearsed extensively with Alice Cooper. It’s a real show. It’s not just about the music—it’s visuals, too. 

I learned from the best people, and I truly feel those experiences helped me to be better, to want to be better, and to have that kind of work ethic. Michael and Alice were great people to guide me, and I’ll never forget that they believed in me to be a part of something that was just incredible. I mean, This Is It was going to be the best show on earth, and Michael gave his all—even in rehearsal. Alice Cooper—every night, he gave 150 percent, as well. 

GC: To be a musician on the level of those superstars—and yourself, of course—must take a toll, both physically and emotionally. It’s a massive, 24/7 commitment to the pursuit of excellence, right?

Orianthi: Oh, yeah. I never stop working. This industry is the craziest. I don’t wish it upon anybody. It’s good to have a great therapist on hand, as well as good friends you can rely on. You can get emotionally beaten up very easily in this industry. I tell people to focus on the positives—even if there is just one thing going for you—because then you attract more great things. I’ve learned that because I used to get really down with all the highs and lows. It’s like there’s no in-between with this industry. It goes from zero to 100 and back. Either everything is going for you, or there’s nothing going for you. Plus, my being a female guitar player was not an easy thing in the beginning. 

GC: How were you able to push through the low points?

Orianthi: Keeping a positive mindset and a strong work ethic was key for me. I don’t sleep very much because my brain doesn’t stop. It just comes down to hard work. Every day. I feel blessed that I get to do what I love for a living, and I take nothing for granted. And, in fact, music itself has been the best therapy. It has helped me throughout my life. You listen to a song, you relate to it, and it makes you feel like you’re not alone. Once I started to learn how to write a song—putting my emotions and everything in there—I hoped someone else might hear it who had gone through the same thing, so they wouldn’t feel alone, either. That’s a beautiful thing. Music brings everyone together—as opposed to dividing people. I feel like when you take this on as a career, you’re at service to people. That’s the job you’re taking on.

GC: It’s unfortunate that not all musicians fully understand the “service to others” part of their careers?

Orianthi: When I was a young guitarist in Adelaide, I meet this guitar player—who I won’t name—and he was an asshole to me. He made me cry. Years later, he had heard that I told this story, and he came by my dressing room at a festival we were both playing. He said, “I just wanted to congratulate you on your success. I am sorry when he met me a long time ago that I wasn’t the nicest. I was going through some stuff back then.” And I said, “Dude, you weren’t nice at all. I would have quit if I hadn’t had a strong will to continue holding this frickin’ guitar!” 

Now, we are totally cool, but it was just funny how you do not know what other people are going through. Everyone has a different battle they’re fighting every day. And I say this to everyone—it doesn’t matter if someone is the biggest star in the world, or if they are working as a janitor, you treat everyone the same. You treat them with respect. Even if people come at me aggressively, or if they’re assholes, I still treat them nice. You know, there’s no need to act any other way. I always look at things from that standpoint—that we’re all damaged in different ways. We’re all going through different stuff, and especially after this whole pandemic, it is important to be kind. Be kind to everybody. Don’t be a dick.

GC: With bands going back on the road after months of inactivity, do you have any post-COVID tour-survival tips?

Orianthi: I can’t stress enough that you have to eat well, get enough sleep, and work out. The first time I went on the road with Alice Cooper, for example, I wasn’t eating great, and I was drinking a ton at night. I would wake up around 3 pm—just before soundcheck—downing Quest protein bars full of freakin’ sugar, along with Diet Cokes and coffee. After the show, I partied with the guys and drank vodka. I mean, the whole thing was terrible. I was a mess. I was getting sick a lot. When I’d get home, I literally didn’t want to get out of bed for a week. 

Now, I pay attention to my health. I make sure that, before I go on the road, I have a list of things. Everyone knows what I need, and it’s not extravagant by any means. It’s just like trail mix, fruits, vegetables, green powders, and making time to work out. If I have to skip two or three interviews, I’ll do that, instead of doing the interviews, feeling like crap, and not being able to perform next day. You have to put everything in balance and treat your body well. There’s no set anything for everyone, so you have to know what makes you feel your best. That’s the bottom line. And mine is that I love five cups of coffee every morning [laughs].

GC: When young fans meet you, and tell you they want to follow in your footsteps, what sort of advice do you give them?

Orianthi: For young artists wanting to get into the industry, I would say, “Never let anyone tell you what to do.” That’s the main thing. Number one. You are who you are. You’re an individual, and with representation and the different people who will come in and out of your life in the industry, make sure you find people who believe in you and really have your back. You want people who don’t try to change your vision. If you have managers, agents, producers, and a record company, their enthusiasm should surpass your own enthusiasm to give you that extra kick. They should be the right mirror and tell you the truth. Find those people, because they’re the ones you need to better yourself as an artist—to push you to be better. 

It’s important that they don’t tell you, “You’re great, you’re great.” You never want to stop improving. I have made that mistake, where the people around are like, “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. It’s fine.” No. I want people telling me, “I think you could sing that better. I think you could play that better.” I think that having great minds around you helps you learn. I work with people who are incredible at what they do. I don’t know half the shit they do. And I’m like, “Can you tell me what’s going on here?” The most valuable thing you can have is a team you can trust. 

Also—never stop learning. Have an open heart. Have an open mind. But I always say this, as well: “Keep one ear open and the other ear closed.” That’s because you have to have your own thoughts, too. Everyone can fill your head with different things, and you can lose your mind over it all. This industry is full of people who feel like they can put outfits on you or have a strong opinion about who you should be. You have to know who you are.

GC: What about your immediate future? Did you develop any kind of post-COVID strategy? 

Orianthi: Just that I want to continue to make the best records I can, and be a better writer, a better artist, and a better guitar player until the day I die—or until I can’t play anymore. I never feel that I’m good enough. I never feel content. I’m always trying to better myself on every level. It’s not like a low self-esteem thing—it’s just that I want to constantly improve. There are so many things I want to accomplish in the future, and, every day, I feel like I’ve just begun.

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