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Veronica D’Souza built her reputation with empowerment. As founder of CARCEL, the Danish fashion brand that employed incarcerated women in Peru and Thailand from 2016 to 2021, she created living wage opportunities within broken prison systems. Her work with Ruby Cup brought menstrual health products to women in East Africa. When the pandemic forced CARCEL’s closure, D’Souza turned to music production, teaching herself through YouTube tutorials.
Her latest single “Canary Song,” released July 24th, channels the same boundary-pushing ethos that drove her entrepreneurial work. Produced by D’Souza and mixed by Jorge Elbrecht (Sky Ferreira, Caroline Polachek), the track reframes vulnerability as feminist strength. “Canary Song,” released July 24th, represents both artistic evolution and thematic consistency. The track channels the same boundary-pushing ethos that drove her entrepreneurial work, but translates social activism into sonic form. D’Souza produced the song herself, with Elbrecht handling the mix, a collaboration that mirrors her previous approach of building partnerships while maintaining creative control.
The canary metaphor operates on multiple levels: the traditional warning signal, the caged bird used for others’ protection, and ultimately, the creature that chooses flight despite fear. It’s a framework that applies equally to her own career trajectory and the broader themes of female agency that have consistently driven her work across industries.
Currently serving as an advisor and board member for The Soulfuls and The Danish Design Council, D’Souza maintains connections to her previous sector while establishing herself in music. Her approach suggests less a career pivot than an expansion of medium, using sound instead of fabric, beats instead of business models, to address the same fundamental questions about power, care, and systemic change.
The timing feels deliberate. As conversations around conscious capitalism and purpose-driven business face increased scrutiny, D’Souza’s move toward art offers a different model for impact, one that prioritises emotional connection over scalable solutions, personal transformation over institutional reform.
Your new single “Canary Song” just dropped, and it’s already being described as a rallying cry and a bold feminist anthem. What sparked the creation of this track, and what message do you hope listeners take away from it?
Thank you so much for having me and caring about the song. The first line that came to me was “Put down your guns, lift up your arms.” The word “arms” has a double meaning—violence or embrace. And right now, we’re watching the world choose violence, again and again. I’m hoping for something else. A soft revolution. One where power isn’t about control, but about care. Where feminine kindness is seen as strength—not something to grow out of, but something to grow into.
You’ve mentioned that “Canary Song” was born from “shredding roles, expectations, and systems that no longer serve” you and celebrating the unnoticed strength women carry. How does the song capture that journey from feeling vulnerable to realising your power, and why was it important for you to frame vulnerability as a source of feminist strength?
The song taps into that feeling of free fall—the moment when you start to see that a lot of what you’ve been holding onto—roles, expectations, rules—aren’t actually yours. They’re just social constructs. And when that starts to fall apart, it’s a bit of a free fall. But it’s also kind of liberating and beautiful. Framing vulnerability as a feminine superpower felt natural—because it is. It’s a kind of strength that doesn’t conquer—but connects. We need more of that. That’s what I wanted Canary Song to feel like.
The title “Canary Song” itself evokes the canary in a coal mine, a warning signal, but also a symbol of survival and hope. What does the “canary” represent to you in this song, and why did you choose that metaphor to convey the track’s themes of change and resilience?
The canary has always been used—caged, carried into danger, sacrificed to protect others. In Canary Song, she takes flight. She’s a bit scared, but she moves anyway. To me, the canary is about shifting from survival to agency. From holding it all together to letting it out—singing your own song, choosing your own rhythm.
Right now, we’re witnessing a global rollback of rights—women, trans people, basic human rights being stripped in real time and livestreamed like it’s normal. Writing is how I process, and this song carries both hope and a calling. I’m dreaming of a different world order—one where we value care, nature, and collectivity above profit, dominance, and control. It’s a song about liberation—personal and political.
You famously reached out to renowned producer/mixer Jorge Elbrecht (known for his work with Sky Ferreira and Caroline Polachek) to collaborate on your upcoming album. What made you seek Jorge’s input for your project, and how did his involvement influence the sound of “Canary Song” and your music overall?
I feel really lucky to be working with Jorge. We’d worked together on a song, and I loved the mix he sent back—so we decided to make the whole album together. Producing music is something I started learning later in life, just after COVID. I was deep in YouTube tutorials every night for about a year—really starting from scratch.
Jorge has been incredible. He’s been teaching me new things without ever taking anything away from the sound I’m building and he’s been cheering me on to do things myself. That kind of support, when you’re still finding your own feet, is rare—and it’s meant a lot. In addition to making the songs sound amazing when I get them back from him, he’s supported me to grow fully into producing on my own. I’m super grateful for that.
After years in fashion entrepreneurship, you had to close your pioneering label CARCEL during the pandemic – a turning point that pushed you to teach yourself music production. How was the transition from being a social entrepreneur to an alt-pop musician? Did the entrepreneurial drive and resourcefulness you honed at CARCEL help shape the way you create music now?
Definitely. Fashion, music, entrepreneurship—they’ve all been ways for me to tell stories. I’ve always loved building things from scratch, and that mindset really helped me when I started learning how to produce. Being an entrepreneur teaches you to be okay with being a beginner. You try, you fail, you figure it out. And fashion helped me practice within visual languages.
The values that led me to start CARCEL—care, justice, dignity, creativity, beauty—those are still the values guiding me now. I think we all carry different ways of expressing what we believe in, and I hope I keep adding to mine as life unfolds. Staying close to that beginner energy keeps things humbling, exciting, and playful. At the core, I’m just a curious child who loves to dream things up and make them come alive.
Before music, you founded CARCEL (2016–2021), a Danish fashion brand that employed incarcerated women in Peru and Thailand to make sustainable clothing, and co-founded Ruby Cup to provide menstrual health products in East Africa. How have those hands-on experiences with empowering women and driving social change influenced the stories you tell and the perspective you bring to your songwriting?
I believe we carry each other’s stories—and they shape who we become. I’ve had the privilege to work alongside some of the most courageous women I’ve ever met. Most women in prison are there for poverty-related crimes—things that wouldn’t be crimes if basic needs were met. Injustice is inequality in disguise. For six years, we built living wage systems and created space for craft, trust, and shared purpose—trying to do something better inside broken systems. With Ruby Cup, we focused on menstrual health as a basic human right. Because when girls don’t have access to something as essential as period products, it doesn’t just affect their health—it can derail their entire future.
Trying to create change within unjust systems is complex, because you have to move within multilayers of unfairness and there is no perfect fix. But what I found worked was trust, human connection, and building as a collective. I carry that with me—in how I see the world and in the music I write. I don’t believe a song can change the world, but I do believe emotional connection can. Art, culture, and music help us feel into each other’s lives, and that kind of resonance is needed to imagine something better. And based on what I’ve seen women build from almost nothing, I’d say I remain hopeful for humanity. I believe in that power.
You’ve described this phase of your life as a “creative rebirth” from founding companies to producing your own music. With “Canary Song” now out in the world, what’s next for you creatively? Are there more releases, live performances, or projects on the horizon you’re excited about?
I’m working on a few different things, but finishing my album is what’s holding the most space in me right now. I can’t wait to share it. Alongside the music, I’m building visual worlds for the songs and slowly starting to plan some live shows too. I’m also working on other creative projects, but they can stay under the radar for now. I guess I just hope I get to be born over and over again in this wicked thing called life. That’s at least what makes me come alive.
Thank you for asking such thoughtful questions—and for caring about the stories behind the music.
D’Souza’s album remains in production, with live performances planned for later this year. Her Instagram account documents the visual concepts she’s developing alongside the music. Whether her approach to building community through sound proves as effective as her previous ventures in fashion and health remains to be seen, but the methodology—careful, collaborative, values-driven—remains consistent across mediums.
