Sea Monsters.

There was a winter, some years ago, that left an imprint on my heart. Part of it was negative – loneliness and a feeling of being lost – but some of it was positively beautiful. I remember mornings waking up in a small flat after sleeping on a musician’s floor. I remember running away, pretending not to see signs. I remember long talks about music as the clocks ticked and alcohol was poured. I remember feeling nothing, and then everything, at once.

A lot of songs accompanied me, that winter. A lot of those were by Scandinavian bands; some of those were from Sweden, one of them was called Audrey.


Fast forward to four years later, almost to the day. I couldn’t be further away from how I felt back then, even if I tried, but something subsists. A little pang when I hear cello and voices intertwined, echoes of a past long gone and maybe the remote possibility that it will come back to haunt me, like sea monsters do.

Mire Kay is the new project of Emelie Molin and Victoria Skoglund; it’s what you get when you make sadness grow like a plant in a corner, sometimes forgotten to be taken care of, until one day its leaves come bulging out with a new glow. It’s what you get when you pull and pinch strings and marry them to Laura Veirs‘ obsession with the sea; when, with your headphones full of Björk‘s voice, you dream of mythology while dipping your fingers into a cold stream’s clear water.

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