Introducing: Eli Carvajal

From New York to London to Tokyo—and now back again—Eli Carvajal makes music that feels like a conversation at golden hour. With his signature blend of DIY alt-folk and heart-on-sleeve lyricism, Eli’s songs are tender dispatches from a life lived in motion—intimate, observational, and charged with feeling.

Now returning to London after two and a half years teaching and creating in Tokyo, Eli is ready to share his fifth album, a culmination of quiet revelations and cross-continental connection. Following the release of his latest single Stretch Marks, we caught up with the songwriter to talk about homesickness, honesty, and the art of noticing.

“Stretch Marks” is such a striking title—what inspired that track, and how does it reflect where you are emotionally or creatively right now?

My songs are true stories. The title was inspired by my own stretch marks that run in horizontal lines across my back. I'm always looking for something I haven't written about before, combinations of words I haven't used. The phrase is intimate and everyday, a tension I enjoy. I wrote Stretch Marks at my parents' house in West London during a ten-day solo isolation in August 2021, watching the Tokyo Olympics on TV. One month before, writing songs about a relationship had caused its end. Two years later, I recorded the song live in my bedroom in Higashikitazawa, Tokyo, overlooking Mount Fuji. You can hear the summer cicadas singing in the background. A song is a river of many sources - some known, some not. I spend a lot of time adrift. When I'm writing, my unconscious self reaches out and takes my hand. I hold a song gently as it makes its own shape. Every syllable finds its place in the balance. I write quickly. When a song is finished, I'm drifting again until the next one comes. Stretch Marks says what it needs to in few words. I wish I could chat like that. The song has a naivety I mourn. I'm still making sense of it. I'm a long way from the person who wrote this song, but songs stay true.

After spending two and a half years in Tokyo, how has the city shaped your songwriting or perspective as an artist?

Living shapes you, whether you move to Tokyo or stay in the bath. Having said that, I’m glad Tokyo pulled the plug. As an artist, surprise is inspiring. I look deeply into detail and Tokyo is full of it. Across language barriers, simple shared vocabulary can become profound. I taught English, singing and songwriting in various schools around Tokyo. Meeting so many young people, hearing their dreams expressed in original songs and English assignments, I came back to the UK more aware of my privilege and position. Never assume you know. Stay open. In my songs, I try to leave space for the unknown.

Your music is described as ‘connection songs’—what does that mean to you, and how do you hope listeners feel when they hear your work?

In my early twenties, I hoped my music would bring listeners together. Now, I know that listeners’ feelings are not under my control. Still I write connection songs. There is no such thing as empty space: everything is leaning on something. In one song, over a few minutes, I let many people, places and experiences sit together. Listeners make their own connections.

You’ve collaborated with such a wide range of artists, from Nadin Amizah to Tomfoolery and King Charles—what did you take away from those experiences?

Audiences see what they want in you, no matter what you're trying to show. Let go. Be brave and be you. How can I honour what people see in me - as well as the 'me' only I can see?

Disclaimer: Nadin sang with me at my previous album launch in Tokyo, but we didn’t tour together. I wish! She is a generational artist.

As a DIY artist and producer, how do you balance the technical side of creating music with the emotional openness that defines your writing?

Thank you! Emotional openness sounds good to me. I want to capture who and where I am at that moment, so I record alone in my bedroom with the windows open. The recording process is magic, but I have to work quickly. I allow myself three takes max. First takes preferred. Keep mistakes and noises in. Anything to keep my analytical mind in the dust. This is the second or third version of Stretch Marks I’ve recorded. The previous versions were missing something. I decided to scrap what I had made and start over, recording my voice and guitar at the same time. I put a capo way up my guitar neck and sang the song in a whole new key. One take wonder! I have to credit my friend Dom Shaw for mixing, too. He really brought the song together.