Emerging Singer-Songwriter Gemma Schito Talks Inspiration and Creative Process for ‘Mask’ + More

Photo Credit: @evagracebubawitney

You moved from Palermo to London at a very young age, a time when most people are still finding their footing. How did that physical shift reshape your inner world, and when did you realise music had become your way of translating that experience?

Moving to London was exciting and scary at the same time. Palermo felt familiar, slower, safe; all my friends were there, my grandparents and family were and still are there. While London felt like everything was happening all at once. It was chaotic, but full of life, and it was new. New house, new language, new school, new people and neighbours. And I was scared, scared I wasn’t going to fit in.

Music came in naturally. It gave me motivation and a way to express things before I fully understood them. When words didn’t come easily, music did.

You’ve described your songwriting as a dialogue between different versions of yourself. When you write, do you feel more like an observer of your emotions or someone actively reliving them in real time?

I am definitely an observer. I’ve always been very observant, almost analytical. When I write, I like to put my feelings in order, one word after another, to rationalise what I’m going through. However, there are exceptions—songs like “Another Stupid Fight” come from a place of pure, raw explosion. In those moments, I’m not just observing; I’m reacting to the toxicity of a situation and claiming my self-respect.

Your new single ‘Mask’ explores the emotional cost of hiding your true self. What first inspired you to write this song, and why did that moment feel important enough to turn into music?

The inspiration for ‘Mask’ actually came from reading The Crucible. In the play, everyone’s so focused on fitting in and avoiding being cast out that they end up hiding who they really are and playing a role. That really stuck with me because I realised it’s not just something that happens in a story; it’s something I was doing too, and something loads of people go through every day.

I had this moment where I realised I wasn’t just being myself anymore; I was constantly adjusting how I spoke and acted depending on who I was around. Moving to the UK made that feeling even stronger, between the language barrier at first and trying to understand how people my age act here, I felt this pressure to blend in, like I had to put on a version of myself that was easier for everyone else to accept.

That’s why I had to turn it into music. I felt like I was becoming a shadow of myself just to fit in, and ‘Mask’ is me calling that out. As teenagers, we’re still figuring out who we are, and it’s okay to sometimes feel like we’re losing ourselves, but forcing the idea that we have to already “fit” into something is kind of unrealistic. The song is basically me saying it’s okay to take the mask off and not have everything figured out yet.

In the lyrics you talk about feeling like you were “playing a role” and even being the “villain in your own symphony.” Was writing ‘Mask’ a way of confronting that feeling and reclaiming your identity?

Yeah, I think writing ‘Mask’ was the first time I properly called myself out on it. The whole idea of “playing a role” wasn’t just something I noticed, it was something I was choosing, even if it didn’t fully feel like a choice at the time.

The “villain in my own symphony” line is probably the most honest part of the song, because it reflects that realisation that I was the one holding myself back. Not in an overly dramatic way, but in the sense that I was limiting myself and then feeling stuck because of it.

Writing it helped me take ownership of that instead of just feeling confused or frustrated. It didn’t suddenly fix everything, but it definitely shifted my perspective, I stopped seeing myself as someone who just goes along with things, and more as someone who can actively decide who they are.

‘Mask’ has already been named a Semi-Finalist in the International Songwriting Competition 2025, one of the world’s most prestigious songwriting contests. How did it feel to see such a personal song receive that level of international recognition?

Being named a semi-finalist in the ISC 2025 was a very encouraging moment for me. More than the result itself, what really moved me was the idea that a song born from a moment of confusion and loneliness could actually communicate with people outside of my own room. For a songwriter, seeing your work recognised on an international level gives you the confidence to keep digging deep and trusting your instincts. It’s a reminder that being honest in your writing is always the right path, regardless of where a competition leads you.

Photo Credit: @r_.ph0tography

There’s a recurring idea in your work of not wanting to become a “shadow in your own song.” What helps you stay grounded and authentic in an industry that often encourages comparison and perfection?

I think for me it’s about constantly checking back in with why I started in the first place. When I’m writing or performing, I try to focus on whether it actually feels real to me rather than whether it sounds “perfect” or like something people expect.

It’s really easy to fall into comparison, especially when you’re surrounded by so many talented people, but I’ve realised that the moment I start chasing that, I lose what makes me different. And that’s usually when things start to feel forced.

Staying grounded comes from keeping things honest, writing about things I’ve actually felt, even if they’re messy or not completely figured out. I’d rather something be real than flawless, because that’s what people actually connect to.

Going back to your previous releases and your growth as an artist, ‘Smile Like She Did’ was sparked by a single photograph of your younger self. When you look at that image now, what do you think she would recognise in the person you’re becoming, and what might surprise her?

She would definitely recognise my determination. Even at three years old, when watching Frozen, I wasn’t just sitting in my living room singing along to the songs for my parents; in my head, I was already on a massive stage performing for thousands and thousands of people. What would surprise her? Probably the fact that we actually made it to London. I always felt we would leave, but seeing it happen in such a big way is something my younger self would find super “cool”.

There is a strong sense of emotional maturity in your writing, particularly for someone your age. Do you ever feel pressure to grow up faster because of your art, or does music give you permission to slow down and process things properly?

I don’t feel pressured by music to grow up, not at all. If anything, I feel that pressure from within myself sometimes. Music is actually my “permission to slow down”. It’s the space where I can finally take a deep breath and think—think about me, my feelings, even simple things like how my day was. With music, I can process everything at my own pace and reflect on life instead of just rushing through it.

‘Another Stupid Fight’ marks a noticeable shift in tone, moving from reflection to resistance. What changed internally for you between writing that song and your earlier work?

It was about boundaries. While my earlier work was more about soul-searching and looking inward, this song was born from a moment of anger, where I needed to say stop. I realised that I had to respect myself and not allow anyone else to dictate my emotional state, my decisions, and my actions. It was the moment I decided I had to break free from a friendship that had become really, really toxic.

Because after all, we are what we surround ourselves with, and I valued myself and my dreams too much to be suppressed by someone who needs to hurt others to feel good about themselves.

You explore themes like boundaries, manipulation and emotional fatigue with striking clarity. How do you decide how much of your personal life to reveal in your music, especially while still protecting yourself?

Writing is my way of being honest with myself first. I don’t really “calculate” how much to reveal; if a feeling is real, it ends up in the lyrics. However, music also acts as a shield. By turning a personal experience into a song, I’m transforming it into something universal, something others can relate to. It’s a way of sharing my truth while keeping the most private parts of my soul safe within the melody.

Attending Sylvia Young Theatre School places you in a highly disciplined and competitive creative environment. How does that structure influence your freedom as a songwriter and performer?

I try not to look too much at what others are doing as “competition.” I focus on my own path. Being at a school like Sylvia Young helps because you are surrounded by talent, but it also teaches you that everyone has their own unique “fingerprint.”

To stay grounded, I go back to the reasons why I started: the need to communicate and the love for music, rather than the desire for perfection, because I know that what really makes each and every one of us special is our differences.

I actually thrive on competition; it pushes me to do better and to always improve myself. If there’s no challenge, I tend to plateau and not push myself enough. At the same time, I’m a “free spirit,” and the discipline of the school actually helps me stay focused on my priorities instead of getting lost in distractions. It’s the perfect balance between my “free mind” and the technical structure I really need to grow.

Photo Credit: @r_.ph0tography

You’ve spoken about music once being your language when words failed, especially after moving to the UK without speaking English. How has your relationship with language evolved now that you are fully fluent, both in life and in lyrics?

It has evolved in a way I never expected. Paradoxically, today I find it much more natural to write in English than in Italian. Because the initial effort to bridge that communication gap was so intense, my brain prioritised English for creative expression. When I sit at the piano, the lyrics just flow in English—it feels like the language of my artistry. Of course, I’m not a native speaker, so I still have those moments of doubt where I consult with my vocal coach or my friends to make sure I’m capturing the exact nuance of a feeling. It’s a constant dialogue between my instincts and the language I’ve adopted, but that struggle is what makes my relationship with lyrics so deep and intentional now.

Your influences range from Adele to Muse and Arctic Monkeys, yet your sound feels very personal. How do you absorb inspiration without losing the emotional fingerprint that makes your music unmistakably yours?

I listen to everything—different styles, different artists. I love the emotional power of Adele’s storytelling and the sonic, raw energy of bands like Muse or Arctic Monkeys. I “steal” the discipline and the vibe, but when I sit down at the piano, I stop thinking with my head and start dreaming with my heart and soul, and I let it take over. I don’t try to sound like them; I try to feel as much as they do.

Photo Credit: @r_.ph0tography

Performing seems to be as important to you as songwriting. What happens to a song once you step on stage and share it with an audience? Does it still belong to you in the same way?

The stage is where a song truly comes to life. Once I start singing, the song doesn’t belong just to me anymore; it becomes a bridge between me and the audience. It’s a shared energy. There’s something magical about seeing someone else find their own meaning in words I wrote in my bedroom. If you feel it—and I mean really feel it—others will feel it too, and in that moment, the song is ours.

At just 14, you already approach music with the discipline of an athlete. What sacrifices have surprised you the most so far, and which ones feel worth it every single time?

The biggest sacrifice is probably time—like a “normal” teenage life. While my peers might be out at parties or sleepovers, I’m often rehearsing, writing, or studying. But it doesn’t feel like such a heavy sacrifice because the reward is so much greater. Every time I finish a song or complete a performance, I know that every hour of hard work was worth it. It’s not a duty; it’s something I’m willing to spend time on.

Looking ahead, your projects feels carefully planned rather than rushed. How intentional are you about pacing your career and protecting your long-term relationship with music?

I am very intentional about it. My relationship with music is something I want to protect and cherish for the long term, so I don’t feel the need to rush everything at once. I’m lucky to have my mum supporting me as my ‘private manager’; she is completely outside the music industry logic, which helps us stay focused on what really matters: the quality of the work and my growth as an artist. We have a plan—releasing songs every couple of months and keeping the momentum—but the priority is always to ensure that I’m happy and that the music remains a pleasure, not just a series of deadlines. In our family, when we commit to something, we give it our soul, and that requires the right pace to keep the fire burning without burning out.

Photo Credit: @r_.ph0tography

Finally, if someone your age is reading this and feeling lost between who they were and who they’re expected to become, what would you want your music, and your story, to quietly remind them of?

I would want to tell them: “Don’t be afraid of change.” Sometimes change is exactly what you need to become the better version of yourself. You don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to be what others expect, because it’s your imperfections that make you who you are, and you should never be ashamed of them. My music is a reminder to listen to that inner voice—the one that doesn’t need a mask. Stay determined, stay loyal to yourself, and always remember that your story is yours to write.

‘Mask’ is available now via all major platforms.

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