Born in Tokyo, shaped by New York, Byron Bay, and now calling Melbourne—Naarm home, Elle Shimada has cultivated a unique identity as a violinist, producer, and vocalist who effortlessly fuses Tokyo’s futuristic sound with the raw energy of Naarm's underground music scene and the intimacy of jazz and experimental electronic. Her sound defies categorisation, blending intricate detail with raw emotion to create something entirely her own.
Elle’s creative journey is deeply tied to her sense of home, a theme she explores in her celebrated album Home ≠ Location. For her, home is not just a place but a feeling—a blend of community, connection, and shared experience. This ethos permeates her work, from curating welcoming live performances that blend music with cultural elements to championing safe spaces for marginalised communities.
A staple in Melbourne’s thriving underground scene, Elle has built a devoted following through her innovative approach and collaborations with both local and international artists. Whether performing on stage at SXSW or WOMAD, working with dancers and multidisciplinary artists, or crafting cinematic soundscapes inspired by heartbreak and rebirth, Elle continues to expand the boundaries of creativity, not just contributing to the evolution of music but reshaping it on her own terms.
After spending time in Tokyo, New York, and touring through Asia, has Melbourne’s creative and cultural energy made it feel like home for you?
Tokyo is the city that made me. But Naarm is where little Eru (嶋田会希) birthed the artist Elle Shimada.
I’m obsessed with the concept of home—I even made a whole album about it called Home ≠ Location.
Home is a feeling. It’s people, smells, memories (past and in-creation). Home is music, and the spaces where I get to share it with others. Writing of the album allowed me an opportunity to remember, create and carry that sense of home wherever I go, which I am so grateful for.
The creative community in this city truly makes me feel at home.
What part of Japanese culture do you feel most connected to, and how does that manifest in your music or performances?
My hyper-obsession with small details—those things that seem insignificant but make art and life beautiful—is a very Japanese trait of mine. I spend hours as a big nerd in the studio.
That meticulous nerdiness shapes everything I do—my performance, writing, vocals, violin, and cultural curiosity in my art.
I also love how Japanese people host our guests, making them feel cared for and respected. Everyone who visit Japan enjoys it so I try to reflect that in my events by creating a welcoming space—sometimes mixing live music gigs with movie nights, food, or even $5 massages.
I just want people, especially migrant, multicultural and queer communities who don’t always get that feeling of safety out in the world on the daily, to come to my shows and feel warm and at home.
You’ve built a devoted following in Melbourne’s underground scene. How has being part of that community shaped your growth as an artist?
Our city is so fucking creative. It’s wild honestly. There’s a constantly growing communities of insanely talented people pushing boundaries. It’s about time we stop sleeping on local artists, crews, and space-makers, and start nurturing the incredible cultures we have right here.
For club music, big love to Kast Agency, Tribqu, and Dutty. They make beautiful dance floors that feel so connective and tasteful.
For live music, I’m inspired by so many local legends: Miss Kaninna, Gut Health, Agung Mango, Khya, Hiatus Kaiyote, Silent Jay, Mandarin Dreams, Glass Beams, Kaiit, Kee’ahn— list goes on…
In Sydney, there’s Pookie, who I just dropped Pussy Power Politics with, and other amazing artists like Setwun and Manfredo Lament.
I’ve been blessed to tour across Asia, the UK, and the US, but every time I come back to Naarm, I’m reminded how special this place really is.
From jazz to house and experimental electronic, your music transcends genres. What aspects of the future of music excite you the most, and how do you see these innovations shaping the evolution of your sound?
We’re living in such an exciting time—music is constantly evolving, and the internet makes it possible to discover sounds I’d never have access to otherwise. I’m hugely inspired by Tokyo subcultures, ADM (localized Asian Dance Music), and sounds from London, NY, Detroit, and LA.
It’s wild how TikTok has opened doors to discovering a 16-year-old Bangladeshi rapper or what’s cooking in a studio in a remote Brazilian village. The possibilities for inspiration are endless—even more than my big, curious mind can handle.
That interconnectedness can also be overwhelming for my neuro-spicy brain. Right now, my music is deeply personal, shaped by heartbreak during my Saturn return. It’s a raw dive into the messy, chaotic, and comically emotional process of grief, death of the old, and rebirth.
It’s direct and straight from my heart to your ears. It’s scary to be this vulnerable, but I know it’ll resonate, and I’m so excited to share it this year.
You’ve collaborated with many artists across disciplines. What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned about yourself through these collaborations?
I recently worked with Wackie Ju, a fashion designer and visionary artist. We brought together so many collaborators across disciplines to create something special.
It’s humbling, exciting, and expansive to be a student of my collaborators. Our skills may differ, but we’re all working toward the same goal: creating beautiful art.
Collaboration with dancers is always fun. I worked with Chantal Bala, an incredible ballroom performer, on the choreography for Pussy Power Politics with Pookie. I’ve also been building a show with Māori artist Bella Waru for a few years—it’s such a powerful, energetic collaboration.
What always surprises me? How "expansion: is just a few actions away. Message your artist crush, practice, make stuff—and suddenly, you’re doing it!
It’s scary at first, but I’m addicted to the thrill of trying new things that challenge me. When you let go of the idea that being a beginner or failing is bad, you open yourself up to so much growth—and I’m grateful for that.
Do you remember the first piece of music you performed in front of an audience? How did it go?
It was during my Evelyn Hotel residency in 2018, where we launched the first Elle Shimada Collective project.
We performed for four weeks in a row, each with different themes and art forms—all on a zero-dollar budget. It was ambitious and chaotic, but watching the community grow and seeing connections form each week was magic.
That’s when I knew this is what I’m meant to do.
What are you listening to at the moment?
So much! Flying Lotus, Arca, Sophie, Eartheater, FKA Twigs, Sevdaliza, Rosalía. I’ve made tons of playlists for different moods on my Spotify page for different moods if you’re curious.
Go-to karaoke track?
Early 2000s J-pop only. 椎名林檎 (Sheena Ringo) entire catalog!
What’s your ultimate comfort food after a gig?
I’m the girl who invites friends over for kick-ons and cooks elaborate Japanese food at 5 a.m. But if I’m eating out, Supper Inn or Lanzhou Beef Noodle is my go-to.
How do you want the next generation of artists to remember or draw inspiration from your work?
I just want people to know I gave it a hot fucking go.
Whether it becomes a legacy or just a story about a weird, arty migrant girl, I’m still figuring that part out.
I hope my music inspires the next generation to stay loyal to their creative visions—no matter how weird, commercially unviable, or unpopular they seem. There’s so much power in self-loyalty as an artist. For me, good music and artistic authenticity come from that.
Things might not work out the way you think, but they do work out in magical ways when we tap in.
Keep going.
