Sean Nicholas Savage is in the mood to feel everything.

The shape-shifting playwright, pop auteur, and emotional alchemist returns with Insane 4 U—a dramatic, bittersweet single that dances on the edge of despair and desire. It’s the final taste before the release of The Knowing, his upcoming album and one of his most evocative works to date. Recorded between the basement of his childhood home in Edmonton and a late-summer stretch in London, The Knowing glows with the haunted glamour of sophisti-pop and the raw intimacy of a whispered confession.

Across its cryptic ballads and soft-lit duets, Savage channels heartbreak, memory, and melodic precision with the elegance of a doomed romantic and the precision of a poet. He’s not chasing genre—he’s chasing feeling. And as ever, his songs blur the line between performance and vulnerability, realism and fantasy. With The Knowing on the horizon and a world tour incoming, Wecaught up with Sean Nicholas Savage to talk about secrets, softness, and what it means to go deep while still staying pop.

There’s something beautifully disarming about “Insane 4 U” — a pop track soaked in drama, but laced with a quiet, aching vulnerability. How do you navigate turning something that personal into something so openly performative?

I find it's easier to be performative when there's a personal truth you want to share—when there's something personal at stake. “Insane 4 U” is mostly dramatic pop, but there's just a sprinkle of something very real in there. I love that combo. I think all the pop power really elevates the story.

This new record blends the intimate and experimental — you recorded it partly in your childhood basement in Edmonton and finished it in London. How did those two environments shape the emotional tone and sonic textures of The Knowing?

Those two places have shaped who I am so much, it’s hard to separate them. I guess I went back to go forward—harvesting tomorrow in the fertile soils of yesterday. There’s a kind of emotional archaeology to it.

The Knowing leans into sophisti-pop, soft balladry, and even a whispered Iggy Pop cover. What pulled you back toward pop forms after your more theatrical, stripped-back recent work?

I think I have a little hair gel, a little makeup—but I’m not sophisticated. I don’t even love that word. I’m not driven by genre. I’m totally obsessed with dynamics, and poetry, and realistic singing. It’s process and composition I’m into. So if a song wants to wear a pop suit? Great. It’s about what serves the feeling best.

You’ve said the lyrics on The Knowing are almost cryptic at first, especially on the title track, which emerged like a poem through repetition. Do you often write that way—letting meaning surface over time?

Yeah, I think that’s really powerful. Repetition can feel like ritual—like casting a spell or uncovering something slowly. Meaning doesn’t always need to be immediate. Sometimes it wants to reveal itself in layers.

You’ve worked with some fascinating collaborators on this record—Marci, Better Person, David Numwami. How do you know when a song needs someone else in it with you?

I think it’s powerful to sing alone, and pure as well. But I’m really grateful we have a few guest artists on this record. The collaboration with Marci is the biggest sort of duet I’ve ever done outside a play, so in a way, that was super informed by my theater adventures. Sometimes a song just tells you it needs another voice to feel complete.

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