The video for “Million Dollar Doll,” a single from Britta Phillips’ 2016 Luck or Magic—the first solo album from the amazingly prolific artist—is bright, strange, and mildly apocalyptic. Directed by Ravelin’s own Alec Coiro and set in a half-CGI world, Phillips is two women, both watching and confronting (and joining forces with) a sauntering cyborg creature that’s keen to stalk her, drive her around, and create colorful pyrotechnics from her own palm. One of the “Brittas” later acquires this skill herself, using telekinesis to lift cars and debris. Multiple cyborg babes, some in trench coats, then proceed to dance, to the tune of both the song and presumably, the End of Days. The lyrics—about following someone closely, tenderly, and maybe creepily—feel suited.

Phillips got her start as the singing voice of Jem in 1984, then playing in bands like The Belltower, Luna, and Dean & Britta, her project with her husband, Dean Wareham of Galaxie 500. She’s got a voice that’s rich and angelic, sturdy and liltless—yet it took prodding for her to release her own work. With the encouragement of producer Scott Hardkiss—who passed away during the album’s recording—Luck or Magic is comprised of half-covers, half-originals, all endearingly dreamy. The result is unabashedly personal—the album’s title is drawn from Phillips’ diary, and her version of The Cars’ “Drive” is testament to the power and strength of her own voice.

We spoke with Phillips and Coiro about the album, and the ominous cyber-future as depicted in “Million Dollar Doll.”

Britta, can you describe for me the timeline that led you to living in Brooklyn, to Jem, to Belltower, and beyond?
Back in ’81, I was living with my grandparents and attending beauty school. This was their plan to get me away from my delinquent friends in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, after having dropped out of high school and being up to absolutely no good. But I got bored, quit beauty school, and took over my dad’s cheap apartment in South Slope Brooklyn, which came with his grand piano.

My dad, Peter, was a jazz musician, but he was doing session work at the time. He helped me make a demo of songs I’d written and gave it to the people who were looking for the singing voice of Jem. I was thrilled to get the job. I began taking acting lessons in ’86 and got an agent who sent me out on an audition for Satisfaction, and I got the part of the stoner guitarist, Billie. I was definitely having a lucky run.

I met my future ex-husband at the wrap party for the movie. His band was playing. He was young and talented, so I invited him to NYC to meet my manager. One thing led to another: I quit acting, joined his band, The Belltower, married him, and we moved to London. I was lucky there, too: played lots of shows, got good press, and recorded a handful of EPs before signing a big deal with East/West Records.

Then, things went bad. In ’96, the band broke up, and I ended up back in Pennsylvania, broke, and living with my grandmother and my mom. Those were the dark years—until I got the call to audition for Luna in 2000.

You’ve said before you’re not a “front-person.” What did the experience of being a “front-person,” of putting out your own work, teach you? On the songs that are originals, did you feel free to be lyrically confessional and personal?
It has actually been one of the most profound experiences in my life. It was a lot of work, a lot of decisions to make, and a lot of responsibility, but it was great. I finally feel like an adult. This was my baby. It taught me a lot of things that are hard to put into words, but I’d say the main thing is that it doesn’t have to be perfect. That seems obvious, since nothing can be perfect. There is always that vision of perfection, which is part of the spark of creativity–but it can also harm creativity and production. It’s vital to be able to let it go and finish, so you can put it out into the world at a certain point.

I did try to be lyrically personal, but I included fantasy. My inner life and imagination is just as personal and confessional, even though it veers from my real-life narrative. That’s a big part of what music has been for me in my life. It’s a way to explore parts of myself that don’t live in the real world, but feel just as real.

I read that the album’s title came from your own diary, and your own experience of first getting involved with Dean. Can you tell me about this?
Several years ago, I had written down a few lines from my diary, which became the beginning of the song, “Luck or Magic,” originally titled, “Just Shut Up & Listen.” I was falling in love and feeling very vulnerable, so I’d be kind of badass in my diary. I was putting a spell on myself, so that I’d be more than okay, whatever the outcome. You know: “bring on the pain if that’s what life has to offer.” Very dramatic, but that’s how it felt. It was huge and all-consuming and I wanted to own it, not run from it.

When I finished the album and was searching for a title, I opened the diary again—I hadn’t for a few years—and landed on a page where I was talking about Dean and music and luck and magic, all of them being entwined in my experience, and I got a little shiver because the lyrics “by luck or by magic” hadn’t been part of what I’d mined from my diary before. It just seemed uncanny and perfect that it should be the title and theme.

It’s deeply sad Scott Hardkiss passed away during the recording of the album. How did the process change—did you still feel guided by him, by the encouragement he’d given you?
Yes. Yes. Yes. It is still shocking this actually happened. So, the process just stopped, of course. We drove across the country to move to L.A. the following week. I couldn’t think about working on it, so we got busy with the Mistress America soundtrack. Scott had been so helpful with that, as well, suggesting the ’80s synth software that I used for it, which was perfect. Scott was so supportive and so excited and I still felt that when I started working on it again.

When you’re covering other songs, do you find yourself relating to them thematically, or do they allow you to embody new feelings? Your version of “Drive” makes me want to cry.
I was never a fan of the song and balked when Scott suggested I cover it, but I trusted him and recorded a piano track and sang to that. I didn’t have any idea I was going to be singing “to” anyone until I started—and then I was singing to someone I love and was very worried about. And then some lines felt like I was singing to a different person from my past who I’d become fed up with—lingering anger, even though I thought I’d totally forgotten them. Funny how music and singing can do that.

“Million Dollar Doll” is one of your originals. Why did you select this song to be the next video?
Britta: I always wanted to do a video for this song, but I asked Alec to choose the song he wanted to work on.
Alec Coiro: I was obviously really psyched when Britta reached out about doing the video. I’d love to be able to say that this song jumped out at me but, really, it was super hard to choose, because all the songs on the album are extremely compelling. I finally settled on “Million Dollar Doll” because on an album of covers, it’s the one where Britta is sort of covering herself, and I love the subtlety and cleverness of that. That cover-of-yourself aspect is why I thought it would cool to have Britta play both parts in the video.

Alec, how did you and Britta meet? Did the two of you come up with the concept together?
Britta: This is totally Alec! I just brought my jacket.
Alec: I’ve known Britta for pretty much the entire century. Britta put a lot of trust in me with the video, which she sort of had to since I was shooting the whole thing in my kitchen. It’s funny she brings up that jacket. I loved that jacket. I thought it was perfect. So perfect that I totally spaced out that it was green and was never going to key out right. I wound up spending a lot of time rotoscoping it. I got really familiar with its every contour.

The song seems like it might be about commitment—or something like it. The video is its own story, and it feels slightly apocalyptic.
Britta: The song IS about commitment! It’s about sticking with someone like glue, because they are your person in life. I’m paraphrasing Frances Ha here—an earlier version of this song is on the soundtrack. But there is also some madness and mania in it, a mix of devotion and dysfunction, and not being able to ask for what you want.

I love different takes and stories of my songs. I love the idea of being a sad and badass robot. And I love the noir meets apocalyptic world in the video. I have a couple of apocalyptic songs that I didn’t finish for my album, but it feels like the right time now.
Alec: Yeah, it is pretty apocalyptic, isn’t it? When I set out putting a concept together, the “Billie Jean” video was my main inspiration, but I guess the looming apocalypse wound up sneaking its way into our subconscious. I’m sure everyone can relate to this. If I baked a cake right now, it would be some type of apocalypse cake. Beyond that, I always like when videos hit the sweet spot of touching on what the song’s about without being too literal about it. So I took the notion of madness and mania that Britta talks about, and tried to give it a little touch of menace, cyber menace.