Hi, I’m Daisy Hearts—a French singer, writer and stage performer based in Vienna.

Specialising in chanson française and jazz, I create original shows that bring together music, storytelling and theatrical performance. I have performed at some of Vienna’s most distinctive cultural venues and events, including Wiener Rathaus, the Leopold Museum and Kultursommer Wien.

My original show, Hymne an Édith Piaf, was written by me and co-produced with accordionist Zina Bloch. Following our first four performances, we are now preparing to bring the show to the stage another four times. Das Vindobona has also invited me to create two new productions: an original jazz show and a Christmas show.

But becoming a singer wasn’t a straightforward journey. In fact, for many years, it was the dream I was most afraid to pursue.

This is my story.

I was born in France to two English parents who had fallen in love with the French way of life. I grew up in a charming little village just south of Paris.

I always loved singing, and as a child I dreamed of becoming a famous singer. I had a little blue CD player in my room and would spend hours performing in front of the mirror as though I were in a music video, trying to copy every detail of the singers’ voices. Neither of my parents was particularly musical, but they supported my singing anyway.

Then puberty came along and took all that confidence away. Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be any point in singing. I wasn’t good enough. I would never make a career out of it. No one would want to hear me—and if I did sing, I was obviously only doing it for attention.

So I stopped dreaming and chose a path with “real” prospects.

I made it all the way to a Master’s degree in political science—with very good grades, I might add—hoping to change the world through the UN or something equally ambitious. Becoming a singer was such an impossible fantasy that I barely allowed myself to entertain it.

On the few occasions when I did sing in front of people, I was terrified. Afterwards, I would pick apart every false note, strange movement and forgotten word, finding fresh evidence for my deep-seated belief that I simply wasn’t good enough.

By the end of my studies, I was depressed and burnt out. I still wanted to change the world, but I began to wonder whether I might do it on a smaller, more human scale by helping people individually.

I trained as a hypnotherapist—a field that had always fascinated me—and loved it. Because I could work online, I decided to move to Vienna with my partner at the time.

Things were looking up. I was living in a city I loved, with a person I loved, doing work I loved. What more could a girl ask for?

And yet, I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that there was something more for me out there.

In August 2023, I qualified as a hypnotherapist. By then, the relationship that had brought me to Vienna had ended, but I had fallen so completely in love with the city that I decided to stay.

I loved helping people discover the potential within themselves and free themselves from the fears and anxieties that had kept them small. Eventually, I began applying some of that work to my own fears, too.

Two months later, my mother passed away after a long battle with cancer.

My world crumbled. But as tragedies sometimes do, it woke me up. Death suddenly felt tangible. My mother had died with plenty of unfinished dreams still in her pocket, and I realised that I could die with mine, too.

I needed to take more risks.

I thought back to my childhood. Yes, I had dreamed of making a living through singing—but the reason I wanted that was simply because I loved to sing.

Was that not a good enough reason to try?

With the help of self-hypnosis, I began confronting my fear of performing. I went to a concert hosted by Danny Chicago and got up to sing a song with him. After hearing me, he offered to show me the ropes of the Viennese music scene.

I began singing at jam sessions in jazz bars such as Drakon and Frau Mayer. But every time I performed, I froze with fear and picked myself apart afterwards. The occasional jam session simply wasn’t giving me enough opportunities to become comfortable onstage.

Then, one day, while walking home along Mariahilfer Straße, I had an idea.

There are lots of people on this street, I thought. I could sing to them.

It would be an excellent experiment in exposure therapy. It was terrifying, certainly—but plenty of people did it, and they didn’t appear to die of embarrassment on the spot. Some of them even seemed to enjoy it.

So it was decided.

I bought a terrible little karaoke speaker with a tiny plastic microphone, made a YouTube playlist of songs I knew and set off. I nearly turned around three times, but thanks to my hypnotherapy training, I managed to set everything up with relative composure and start singing.

Surprise! I didn’t die.

Most people didn’t care at all. And the people who did stop actually seemed to enjoy my singing.

Some of them even gave me money.

My playlist was made up mainly of the pop singers who had played on that little blue CD player when I was a child—Rihanna, Adele and Amy Winehouse. At the end, however, I had included a few songs by Édith Piaf. I had always loved singing them and trying to imitate the extraordinary character of her voice.

Apparently, it had paid off.

After one Piaf song, a small crowd gathered in front of me. By the second, it had grown. By the third, it was quite large—and the applause was intoxicating. People congratulated me. They gave me actual banknotes instead of coins.

It was decided: I would return to the streets to sing Piaf, just as she had once begun.

Many magical invitations followed—to appear on the radio and television, to sing at parties and to perform at venues throughout Vienna.

I also met Zina Bloch, who became my dear friend, accordionist and musical collaborator. Together, we began performing in and around Vienna. My life felt like a film: full of unexpected encounters and magical stories that I don’t have space to include here (but may write about one day).

Eventually, I wrote my first original show, Hymne an Édith Piaf, which Zina and I co-produced. What began with a frightening afternoon and a tiny plastic microphone had grown into a complete theatrical production.

And the story is still unfolding. Alongside further performances of Hymne an Édith Piaf, I am now creating an original jazz show and a Christmas production for Das Vindobona.

Today, I can say without hesitation that I am a singer. I write and produce my own shows, perform on some of Vienna’s most beautiful stages, and make my living doing what I love most in the world.

The little blue CD player is long gone, but the feeling remains: the joy of disappearing into a song, telling its story and sharing it with anyone willing to listen.

Only now, I’m no longer singing to my reflection in the mirror.

I’m singing to you.

And the magic never stops!

(You can find all my forthcoming performances on the Upcoming Events page.)