Ny Oh: A quiet voice repeating the same thing over a long period of time is far more powerful than loud voices that run out of steam

The UK-born, New Zealand-raised, musician who toured with Harry Styles on why playing to three people in a forest is more meaningful than playing to a crowd of thousands.

Growing up in New Zealand, you’re raised with nature in a way that it isn’t separate from who you are. You fight for it as if it is yourself, because it is yourself, and because you can’t thrive unless the environment around you is thriving. 

Moving to America hasn’t challenged that viewpoint of mine, but it is challenging to live in an environment where that’s not the common understanding. Especially in California, where if it’s not a fire, it’s a flood. I’m always wanting to do more for the world, and I’ve been struggling with whether what I’m doing as an artist is enough or valuable enough to the environment and to nature and to the world around me.

I had a moment driving around here, in New Zealand, last week where I was just like, no, actually art is a medium, a bottomless medium, in which to bring people back to it. Whether you make very loud art or whether you make sensitive art. For me, when my nervous system is calm and when I feel safe, then I have the space to look up at the trees or look outside my window and feel grateful, and that informs everything that I make. 

The stories that last tend to be the people who told them over a lifetime. 

It’s definitely challenging living in America at the moment and I’m balancing between having moments of feeling really inspired and moments of feeling really broken by everything that’s happening.

We’re making so much money off extorting natural resources. I think for a lot of people it’s hard to speak loudly for the environment when they know they bank with certain people or invest in certain things. They don’t want to feel disingenuous. I had a little bit of money to invest recently and I was like, how am I going to do this, and is there even a way to ethically invest my money in funds that aren’t funding oil or deforestation, and there are, it just takes a bit of research. 

Loud voices run out of steam. A quiet voice repeating the same thing over a long period of time is far more powerful, and the stories that last tend to be the people who told them over a lifetime. They weren’t always in the massive public eye within their lifetimes, they were just living beautiful lives. I think we’ve got to be careful who we look up to. I’m looking for some new people to look up to at the moment. I think we all are.

New Zealand is small. We’re five million people. Things change here politically quite quickly. I feel empowered by the democracy here because my vote actually matters. I was born in England and lived in London for ten years and voted there and it felt disheartening sometimes. Here it feels different. I hope we continue to focus on protecting the environment not just because tourism is big and we want people to come and see a beautiful place, but because it’s the health of everyone.

Supporting Māori voices here, and Indigenous voices everywhere, is so important because their whole history understands the lineage of how they came to be literally from the earth, and their oral histories go all the way back. When I’m struggling I’ll go and find an Indigenous history book to read and it steadies me. The spirits of their ancestors are still here. If you’ve been to New Zealand you can feel the land speaking to you. It’s still buzzing. It hasn’t been dug up and replanted and manicured in the same way as a lot of the world.

My favourite place is called the Te Waikoropupū Springs. It’s a river coming out of a cave at the bottom of a huge mountain, and it’s just the most reverent place in the world for me. It’s also the quietest place. I have to remember that, especially in a time when releasing music can feel like throwing something into the void. If it can bring a little sense of peace and calm to just a couple of people I’m happy.

I live up in LA’s Topanga Canyon now and it’s beautiful and I’ve made a point of meeting my neighbours and the people who were drawn to the same place. I wasn’t raised reliant on a phone so I find it easier to find community outside of it, but I imagine it’s harder for younger generations who were raised with it in a way that’s within them. I’m trying to find an authentic way of pointing people in the right direction through my art and with my voice on the internet. I don’t know if I’m successfully doing that yet, but I’m trying.

Being unhoused was the lightest I’ve ever felt.

The music industry feels complicated right now. From when I started to where it is now, it’s very different. Living in LA, you get told to keep making the TikToks and to go viral. I don’t know. I know what I’m not seeking; I don’t need to be known. I would love to make my music in a sustainable way, sustainable meaning I’m able to live and eat and maybe help others through my living, without compromising the way I like to live, which is pretty offline.

I was busking for a long time and living on the street for a long time, and it was never about money. Being unhoused was the lightest I’ve ever felt. I had nothing to hide from people. You could physically see where I was at. My interactions were genuine and truthful. People were curious and that takes you to a deeper place in conversation faster. I felt carried by everyone. I was free to move between groups and classes and spaces without being fixed in one. I think about that a lot. I wonder when I’ll get rid of everything again and just go.

When I was in Harry Styles’ band I went from a few thousand followers to a lot very quickly, and navigating that was intense. A lot of my past was brought up because I hadn’t gone back and deleted anything. For a long time I stepped away from the internet completely. I didn’t even have a phone. I feel for people with huge platforms because they’re walking a line between that being their income and speaking up for what they believe in. I’ll always speak up for nature and for minorities and for things that aren’t going well. If people have a problem with that, that’s their problem.

I’ve had some of the best conversations of my life by asking people what they meant by a post or a story share and sitting down in real life and talking about it. The common ground is right there. It’s not black and white.

Recently I went to a small festival here and just walked into the forest and asked a few people lying in hammocks if they wanted to hear a song. I ended up playing to three people. It felt amazing. It felt like the most connected I’ve felt to my music and to other people in a long time. I think bringing things back into the real world is important.

At the end of the day I’ll keep making music. I’ll keep sharing it. I’ll keep going back to the quiet places that remind me who I am. If my songs can bring someone a little sense of calm and help them look up at the trees and feel grateful, then that’s enough for me.

This conversation took place in January 2026 and has been edited for clarity and flow. 

Ny Oh’s debut album, WILDWOOD – a 12-track odyssey of self-love seen through many lenses – is out now.