Shitzulover07’s latest project is 24 tracks long, which already tells you this isn’t a tightly packaged, three-singles-and-done EP release. It sprawls, it jumps, flinging itself between moods, timelines, and versions of self, and instead of smoothing that out, it leans into the chaos.
In this interview she described the record as an accumulation - an amalgamation of the past few years. Some tracks date back two or three years, written between Bathurst, Naarm, and so-called Sydney. This matters, because you can hear and feel the difference. There is a constant shift between extremes - high-energy, bass-heavy club tracks and quieter, more introspective moments that feel like the comedown. Time in Naarm - living with friends, going out, partying definitely feed into those bigger, louder tracks that sound like stumbling out of a club at 3am. Bathurst, on the other hand, gave her space for retrospect and deeper mental meandering. Not necessarily sadness, but some room to actually process things.
Once you realise this, the mood shift between tracks begins to resonate differently. The comedowns aren’t secondary. They carry just as much weight as the bigger, more energetic tracks because without them there is no juxtaposition. You don’t really know the feeling of leaving a dark, sweat, throbbing, pulsating room until you have to be alone with no distractions and no noise.
You can even hear the different stages of her thinking, her confidence, all just sitting next to each other. This is the tension that really holds the project, all 24 tracks, together. This confidence is part of the story too. In this interview, she speaks about how the vision has alway been there, but the self-belief took longer to catch up - that what people often call talent is, for her, more about skill, repetition, and the decision to take yourself seriously. That tension between doubt and certainty sits all through the record, but so does something else - a kind of destiny complex. She talks like someone who has already decided where she’s going, and the rest is just logistics.
This record doesn’t offer itself up easily either. You have to invest to reveal the truth. She talks about double meanings, hidden messages, things that only start to land after a few listens. It’s not passive. You have to spend time with it. Sit in it. Exercise patience, care, and let her reveal herself to you slowly. Tender attentiveness pays in extreme dividends.
I think a lot of this comes from how she works. Her process is instinctive - starting with basslines, building outward, letting the feeling, the beats and sounds lead before the lyrics trickle through. By the time she’s recording vocals, she’s already so deep inside the world of the track the words spill out like they were hiding under the beats all along. It’s why the songs feel less like polished statements and more like environments - humid, late-night, emotionally overclocked. Painful. Regretful. Euphoric.
And then there’s her as a person, Verona, who feels inseparable from the music. The interview moved easily between production chat to full cosmic manifestation. We found ourselves talking about Libra moons, glamour magic, beauty, destiny, the Super Bowl, Coachella, and whether or not higher powers are already blowing us around toward whatever is meant to happen. She didn’t sound ironic saying any of it. That’s what makes it work. There’s a total lack of embarrassment or cringe in the way she imagines her future. It's not arrogance, it's certainty. At one point she all but said she already knows what she’s meant to do, and she’s busy fulfilling it. That energy is all over the record too. Even at its messiest, it sounds like it knows where it’s going.
The sound feels global, despite being produced here in Sydney. It’s deeply online, very niche, but it’s built through real connections and collaborators. Many of those collaborators exist in a very specific online ecosystem - hyperpop-adjacent, trans-femme, SoundCloud-rooted. People she’s built relationships with over years, sometimes without ever meeting in person. Solar Angel is all over the project and feels very central to its pulse, Jade Nicole and Mika Montag sit inside that same late-night, hyper-digital, emotionally maximal universe. These aren’t random features bolted on for reach - they’re part of a real network of artists who have been building each other up across cities, time zones, and platforms for years. The internet isn’t just for distribution here - it’s infrastructure for connection and community. It’s a small world, but a dense one, filled with talent. And instead of choosing between local or global, she’s doing both - building something that exists across Bathurst, Sydney, Naarm, LA, and whatever comes next.
That’s maybe the most compelling thing about the project. It doesn’t feel like someone trying to fit neatly into an existing scene. If anything, it feels like she’s building one around herself - what she jokingly called the “Church of Shitzu”. The scale of the personality matches the scale of the music. The project is excessive, proudly so. Raunchy, sad, proud, messy, controlling, vulnerable, horny, furious. It doesn’t flatten any of those things down into one clean narrative. It stews in the same pot.
She’s building a world where all of it can exist at once - the highs, the crash, the confidence, the doubt and the trust that if you stay in it long enough, it’ll start to make sense.