The Cross Sea’s new self‑titled album is a striking debut from a project built on instinct, collaboration, and emotional release.
By Katie Stewart
Anna Mērnieks-Duffield’s ethereal yet assertive vocals personify storytelling, exemplifying every corner of the human experience.
A collaboration with friends Kevin McMahon and Daniel Liss, the album balances elements in an unobvious and exciting way. It’s musically tantalising, yet reflective and moving, mournful, yet anticipatory. No stone is left unturned in this perfect storm of creative collaboration.
McMahon understood exactly what needed to be done to advocate Anna’s vision, breaking away from expectations and his own feelings of monotony to let loose and create music with no restrictions – just instinct and freedom.
Born from scraps and fragments that felt out of place for Anna’s band Ace of Wands, but too personal and pressing not to breathe to life, this album is a melding of minds and personal experiences, pulling on the niche strengths of everyone involved in its production. The way in which it was produced – a spontaneous but organic passion project of close friends’ making – matches its overall sound: unpredictable, soothing, cathartic, accepting, sad, reflective, and empowering.
The first track – The Me that Waits for Me at Marcata – is an immediate showcase of the artist’s seemingly fundamental-to-their-makeup talents. There’s a resolute sense of calm, a surrendering of emotion, of time passing by, and the loss and purge of that abstract concept. Beginning with a gentle, raw, Sinead O’Connor’s Troy-esque unwavering vocals and acoustic instrumental, the track has this undeniable power to move and soothe listeners. Later, this uniquely blends with a refreshing, heartfelt, and punchy percussive orchestra of electronic drums and bass.
The second track Just Like Adrianne has a medieval, archaic heart. It moves forward in a tentative manner, like walking through deep water towards some unknown light. There’s this methodical, purposeful drive that builds through its first half, peaks with a melancholic yet sweet, accepting chorus, then continues its gothic trajectory. There’s an organic sense of nature, groundedness – a beating heart, a growing child, a connection to one’s own body despite doubts, fears, or unknowns. The song flips between light and darkness, its tone beautifully voiced by each collaborator’s unique musical talents.
The final track on the record, The Midwest, leans more into the folk genre, with layered harmonies, utilising voices as instruments, and a plucky, upbeat banjo keeping time. It completes the album in a satisfying, hopeful way, and reminds us of what made the album work so perfectly – collaboration, community, and creativity. Dark and regretful lyrics should be painful and aching, but, as folk often does, they’re delivered with an optimism that floats with an earned – not effortless – weightlessness.
Made by artists totally in tune with their musical bones, The Cross Sea’s self-titled album is a love letter to the power of music – a wistful, rhythmic listen which can both take you on a journey and stop you in your tracks.
The Cross Sea is out now, and you can listen to it below.
