Pop music is a complicated beast. The Music Industrial Complex churns out interchangeable singers of sugary fluff—blank slates of someone else's creation. And then there is British singer Ellie Goulding. Unlike many of her peers, Goulding is not manufactured—she's of no one's making but her own. But the melodies she writes are accessible, incomparably catchy, and driven by hooks that go down as easily as a glass of Sancerre. "It's an art," Goulding, 28, says of her profession. "Making a pop song is a beautiful art." Her new album, Delirium, in particular, is unapologetically pop. "It's happier and more uplifting—more dance-worthy."

Goulding's path to singer wasn't exactly an obvious one. Before she was invited to play at the White House, before she performed at the wedding of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, before she recorded "Love Me Like You Do" for the soundtrack of Fifty Shades of Grey, before she won British Female Solo Artist at the Brit Awards, Goulding was a kid from Hereford, England, trying to lose her accent and navigate the world without a father.

"I just assumed all men were assholes," says Goulding, whose father left her family when she was five years old. "Also, my stepdad was horrible. So yeah, I had a weird view of men. I think it's probably why I fight." Goulding takes out her phone and plays a video made that morning—she's in her hotel gym, kicking the bejesus out of a punching bag.

"Having a dad as a kid makes you feel protected," she says. "But I don't need someone to protect me. I think it's made me a harder person." Not to mention a self-reliant one. Goulding says she became a feminist the day her father walked out. "A lot of women don't have the freedom to be able to wear what they want and do what they want," she says. "I also think being a musician and being surrounded by males in the music industry—it really toughens you up to not put up with any bullshit."

The grit that has propelled Goulding in her career hasn't hardened her music. In fact, if her songs have any dark undercurrents, they're about universal issues, not personal ones. "Since I was young, I've thought about the planet," says Goulding, who has been a vegetarian for two years. "If you really study my lyrics, there are a few subliminal things.... There are so many things I want to change: homelessness, [animal] poaching. I want to find ways of making people more compassionate. The reason I want to be a bigger artist is so that I can change things."

But just when she senses she might be getting grandiose, Goulding brings herself back down to earth. "I drink; I get hungover; I eat a lot of chocolate," she says. "But I also work out. I think I'm quite balanced." Underscoring her point, Goulding takes out her iPhone again and swipes to a picture of herself onstage. Hair flying, jumping so the soles of her Dr. Martens face the crowd, Goulding, who goes to the gym at least five days a week, is performing an athletic feat as much as a musical one.

Goulding is hard on herself but says she's not a perfectionist. As for those workouts, she says, "I could be so much fitter," but she just finished a brief hiatus from workouts; she loves boxing classes but has never sparred in a ring. "I haven't encountered many boxers—I bet you as soon as I go down to a public boxing ring, I would just be like..." her voice trails off, indicating her respect for the real competitors. But her own type of toughness is no less genuine.

"If I had known [when I started singing] what I know now, I would have told myself to wait and build my craft and get stronger and get better at writing songs, get better at singing. I just wasn't as confident as I could have been," says Goulding, scolding herself for having the anxiety and impatience of any young woman, especially any young woman poised on the brink of fame. "I would have told myself that it's going to be fine."