Hazy Guitar Constellations and Philosophical Echoes in Conversation –

Dominyka Mauliute moves through music with the quiet confidence of someone who’s already rewritten her own script. From becoming the first woman to graduate from her region’s academic jazz guitar department to sculpting self-produced indie pop that drifts somewhere between cosmic introspection and lo-fi intimacy, she’s refused to be boxed in by tradition. In this interview, she speaks candidly about shedding perfectionism, finding liberation in imperfection, and letting philosophy creep into her lyrics. We talk Mazzy Star tribute shows that reshaped her voice, songs born in airport security queues, and the thrill of building an EP entirely on her own terms. If you’re drawn to artists who treat music as both diary and existential inquiry, this one will stay with you.

You’ve moved from being the first woman to graduate from your region’s academic jazz guitar department to crafting hazy indie pop on your own terms. When did you first feel that pull towards a sound that wasn’t polished in the traditional jazz sense?

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve listened to various genres of music: alternative, psychedelic, rock, country, as well as jazz. I remember that as a kid I used to sing Beatles, Everly Brothers, Marilyn Monroe songs at home every day and put on mini concerts for my family, dreaming that one day I’d be up on a big stage singing to thousands of people.

When I was 12, I started creating my first songs. Though they weren’t that good, I was always trying new sounds and new genres, and I kept improving. I remember that the first original track I released was an instrumental called “Teorema.” The title was inspired by Pier Paolo Pasolini’s film of the same name. I felt so proud to have finally put something out at the age of 16 that was actually good. It was at that moment that I realized I should share my craft by releasing more original music, and I’ve been on that wagon ever since.

As I finally grew more confident in my singing—which I think coincided with becoming a singer in a Mazzy Star tribute—I started creating vocal songs. My first one was “Changes.” There’s actually a fun story: I created it without expecting to release it. You know those videos on YouTube where someone tries to make a song in the style of a certain artist in an hour, sets a timer, and films the whole process? That’s basically what I expected “Changes” to be. I just decided to have fun with a new song and try to write something in the style of Mazzy Star. Then it slowly built into something more, which is the version you hear now.

I think being a jazz student has shaped the way I experience music. It’s given me a wider lens—I don’t just hear a song as a whole anymore, I notice the tiny details: the space between phrases, the tension in a chord, the subtle shifts in rhythm. That training didn’t box me in, it actually gave me more freedom: now I can create simple music as well as more sophisticated whenever I want—it’s completely my choice. I am also grateful to be the first woman to graduate from my city’s academic jazz guitar department, and I hope to be an inspiration to other girls as well.

You’re producing your upcoming EP yourself, shaping everything from the songwriting to the sonic atmosphere. What part of wearing all these hats feels the most electric for you at the moment?

Usually, a song comes to me suddenly, almost fully formed, with all its parts already there. The part I love most about recording my own songs is the unpredictability of how they’ll actually sound once they’re recorded. In my mind, they often feel very different from what they become in reality. You can never really know what genre a song will take on until it’s finished.

I already have songs that lean into alternative, indie, punk, electronic, and psychedelic styles. I don’t like staying in one style for too long — I’m drawn to diversity. Even though most of my favorite music comes from the 1960s, I intentionally try not to stay there creatively. I want to make music that feels modern and interesting — something that doesn’t belong to just one genre, but blends several into its own unique sound.

Another thing I love about doing everything myself is the freedom of spontaneous creativity. There’s no “right” sound or correct song structure, and there are no bandmates playing on the tracks, so there’s no pressure or obligation to meet anyone else’s expectations. In the end, you’re creating to satisfy yourself — not to appeal to others.

As someone who studies philosophy at Vilnius University, how often do your academic thoughts wander into your lyrics, and do you ever catch yourself writing songs that feel like philosophical questions in disguise?

I’ve noticed that over time my lyrics have changed both semantically and syntactically. It’s become much easier for me to write rhyming lyrics while still preserving depth of meaning, something I found very difficult a few years ago.

Now I’m drawn to writing more oblique lyrics, branching into unknown territories. It happens almost subconsciously. I might start writing a song about love, thinking it’s about something romantic, and then it slowly transforms into something broader and more spiritual — sometimes even into a kind of love for the universe itself. I think my lyric-writing process is heavily inspired by Cocteau Twins. If you know their story, they never officially released many of their lyrics, and fans have often had to guess what words are actually being sung. You can’t always clearly hear the phrases, because it feels like they’re singing in a kind of poetic, dreamlike language that isn’t entirely literal or easily decipherable. Sometimes the emotion of the sound carries more weight than the exact words themselves.

I don’t think it’s just my philosophy studies that have allowed me to grow in this way. Moving from one city to another has also expanded my perspective — new friends, different environments, unfamiliar experiences. I feel like I’ve changed a lot as a person, and that transformation has definitely shaped the way I write music. Most importantly, I have gained confidence to try out new things, in this case – singing.

I love traveling. I seem to get most of my energy from exploring new cities. A fun fact is that my song “Robert” came to me in its entirety while I was standing at security check on my way to London. I suddenly heard it in my head — the melody and the lyrics were already there. Of course, after I returned from the trip, I refined the lyrics and adjusted the chords slightly, but in that moment, the song already existed. I guess I was just so excited and energetically charged that the song couldn’t help but come to me in a rush. This often happens after any outgoing experience — for example, after a joyful evening with friends, I’ll suddenly start hearing a new song in my head while I’m on my way home.

I guess I’m the kind of person who loves transforming meaningful experiences into something physical, in my case – songs.

You’ve spoken about loosening the grip of perfectionism after years of jazz training. What have been the biggest surprises in letting things be a bit more imperfect, raw, or instinctive?

I’m such a big-picture person, so obsessing over tiny details has always been irritating for me — which makes perfectionism even more exhausting. I think one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is how much more you can actually create when you allow yourself to let things go and leave space for the unexpected.

When I think about it, I always go back to my first songs and how afraid I was to release them. I had this idea that a “real” song had to be recorded in a professional studio with a world-renowned producer, and that the vocals had to be done by a full-time, professionally trained singer. That kind of society-imposed perfectionism really delayed me from releasing my own music. I was simply scared that I wasn’t good enough.

I remember how long it took me to release my first original track, “Teorema.” The song was fully finished in about three months, but it took me almost one year to actually put it out. I kept thinking it had to be better and better, so I just kept polishing it. And honestly? I don’t even think it sounds that different from the first demo. I could have used that time to create more music instead.

Over the years, I’ve realized that absolute perfection doesn’t exist. Even artists like Alex Turner have spoken about how sometimes the vocals on a home-recorded demo have a magic that disappears when you try to re-record them in a professional studio. Sometimes the first take just has a feeling you can’t recreate.

The biggest surprise for me has been how natural and easy creating songs has started to feel. I no longer obsess over tiny, meaningless tweaks — like adjusting a guitar tone for hours. If I like how something sounds, that’s enough. I go with it instead of asking whether I could make it “better.” And the less perfection I chase, the more I create. If I had kept sitting on every song for years, I probably would have released only five songs by the time I turned 30.

Your Mazzy Star tribute concerts are on the horizon, and you’ve cited the influence of Mazzy Star and Hope Sandoval. What elements of their work have seeped into your new creative direction, especially as you step further into dreamier territory?

Being a singer in our Mazzy Star tribute has honestly been life-changing for me. It shaped my vocals in a way no formal training ever could. I first discovered Mazzy Star when I was 13, and I remember singing their songs alone in my room, dreaming that one day I’d perform them on stage with a band. I still have those old demo recordings of myself singing their songs back then — and believe me, they’re terrible. But over the years my voice has grown so much. Now, being able to sing their music live and even resemble Hope Sandoval’s voice at times feels incredibly special. I’m truly grateful for that opportunity.

I also feel a deep emotional connection to tribute bands in general, because music entered my life through one. When I was eight years old, I saw a Beatles tribute show, and that experience completely changed me. Hearing those songs live sparked something instant and powerful — I knew I wanted to play music too. It was the reason I started music school in the first place. So whenever I perform in this tribute, I sometimes think, what if someone in the audience feels that same spark because of me?The idea that I could ignite that kind of passion in someone else is incredibly touching to me.

What I love most about Mazzy Star and Hope Sandoval’s work is the dreamlike atmosphere and the lyrical depth. Yes, many of their songs are melancholic, but they don’t feel limited to personal sadness. They feel universal — almost cosmic. My favorite Mazzy Star track is “So Tonight That I Might See.” I love the way the words flow and rhyme. Even when the lyrics seem abstract or elusive, you can still feel exactly what they mean. To me, it feels almost apocalyptic in its beauty — like something poetic and timeless, reminiscent of T. S. Eliot.

I’m drawn to introspective music — songs about the self, the universe, what matters and what doesn’t. Those influences naturally seep into my own writing. In songs like “Changes” or “Dorothy,” you can definitely hear that dreamy atmosphere reflected in my own way.

When you’re preparing for live shows, how do you balance the atmospheric, almost weightless quality of your recordings with the more grounded energy of being on stage?

Just like The Doors, I believe that improvisation and never playing a track the same way twice is the key to performing live. Just as you can’t truly recreate a live recording in a studio track, you also can’t recreate a studio recording on stage. They’re two completely different experiences, and I love that.

Some parts of my songs get a different treatment live. For example, certain vocal lines might be taken over by the guitar, and I love including extended drum solos or spoken poetry that don’t even exist in the recorded versions. Those moments make the performance feel alive and unrepeatable. That’s what excites me about playing live — the unpredictability and the sense that anything can happen in that space.

It’s also very interesting to move on stage. I’ve noticed that every movement you make creates a different effect on the audience. Even something very subtle can completely shift the energy in the room. Sometimes you can simply stand still with your eyes closed, and the audience still feels mesmerized by the power of the song and the vocal delivery. Other times, a small gesture or a step forward can intensify the connection. I find that fascinating — how physical presence and music interact, and how even silence or stillness can be incredibly powerful on stage.

You’re moving into a phase where your vocals, guitar work, and production choices all sit in conversation with each other. How do you keep each element feeling authentic rather than competing for space?

I think I learned a lot about this philosophy during my jazz studies. We had band training lessons where we would gather in a circle with our teacher and each band member while soloing would play the simplest possible phrases for a few bars. It wasn’t about showing off — it was about listening.

That’s where I really understood the concept of a “soundscape” and how important it is when playing in a band. Every musician has to leave space for the others. You can’t just fill every moment with multiple notes or loud drum fills to prove how skilled you are. When you’re playing together, everyone is equal. The music only works if there’s balance and awareness. Our teacher used to quote Miles Davis and say “it’s not the notes you play – it’s the notes you don’t play”.

I carry that same mindset into my own songs. I don’t let any instrument stand out more than it needs to. Each element should shine only as much as the song asks it to. The focus isn’t on the individual parts — it’s on the overall atmosphere and emotional impact.

With touring plans forming around your new material, what kind of emotional world do you want audiences to step into when they come to see you perform these songs live?

I want them to step into something mysterious and immersive. I absolutely love the 1960s era, so I’d love for my audience to feel free and joyful when they come to see me live. Ideally, my concerts would feel like a full celebration of existence — filled with as many lights as possible, strobe effects, boho clothes, and that sense of freedom and openness that defined that time.

At the same time, I want it to feel personal. I’m genuinely grateful for the people who come to listen to my music, and I’m always happy to meet them after the show. I love talking with people, hearing their stories, and connecting beyond the stage. For me, it’s not just about performing — it’s about creating a shared experience that lingers even after the lights go down.

–

Stream Dominyka Mauliute’s latest releases on Spotify. 

Interview by Amelia Vandergast