A Quick Chat with Abby Wallace

Built upon introspective verses and opposed by reprieving choruses, ‘Atlantic Blue’ well and truly embodies a deep dive underwater. How does your relationship with the ocean and with Tasmania influence the song, and your writing more broadly?
In Atlantic Blue, the ocean functions as a plot device; a container for me and for the song itself. You can really see that in the music video. I’m very inspired by the natural landscape here in Lutruwita/Tasmania. There’s a dark, emotional quality to much of the island’s environment that I think does inform the music I’m making. The “Tasmanian Gothic” of it all. It feels right to let the songs respond to their context. We also just have such a rich arts and literary culture in this state. I am constantly drawing from that.

The verses of ‘Atlantic Blue’ wrestle with intimacy, self-perception, and a yearning that almost contradicts itself. As someone who came back to music after nearly 8 years, how do you think that these themes reflect your ever-evolving identity as an artist?
Yes, I spent a very long time disconnected from this part of myself. Which feels insane now, because songwriting is at the core of everything. It is my tether to the world. I have spent my whole adult life mothering two beautiful kids, only recently carving out the space for an identity outside of that role, so I am very much still figuring it all out. The project is in its infancy. I do know that all of the songs are, in some way, exploring my perception of self, my perception of others, my relationship to intimacy (romantic and otherwise). A lot of the work feels like a conversation with myself. I’m learning that it’s okay to not have all the answers.

You describe your music as straddling genres; blending folk intimacy with lush indie-pop production. How do you go about blending these styles and sounds with such intricate, intimate lyricism?
For me, the actual songwriting stage feels classic and folk-esque. My goal is always to keep the idea malleable. I’m thinking about honesty, tension, release. Production is where genre really comes into it. I’ve always had a very clear sense of what my ‘sound’ is not, but I’ve been less firmly married to an idea of exactly what it is. I’ve been waiting really, for it to be in some way shaped by collaboration. I want the final yay or nay, but I don’t want to be the only one holding the vision. The fullness of Atlantic Blue’s production was really influenced by John Castle. Meeting him has marked a big shift in my creative process. I’m not alone with the songs anymore. It’s a beautiful thing.

There’s a certain Dawson’s Creek-esque, 90s softness to ‘Atlantic Blue’. What is it about that era’s sound that resonates with you, and how do influences from artists like Tori Amos and Samia shape your songwriting?
I think that the 90s was just such an exciting time of innovation for female artists. Lauryn Hill, Tori Amos, K.D Lang, PJ Harvey, Shania Twain—the list goes on (and on and on). I was born in the mid-90s, so there is an element of nostalgia without feeling too removed from it all. Samia is a great contemporary example of an artist that is holding a lot of that energy in her work. Her writing is astute, intricate, assured, cerebral, funny, lived in—all at once. I’m so inspired by that. The songs are deeply intelligent without ever rendering themselves inaccessible. I think comparisons between her and artists like Fiona Apple are warranted.

‘Atlantic Blue’ came together remarkably quickly – written just days before recording, and tracked in a single instinctive session with John Castle. How do you think that spontaneity shaped the emotional texture and vulnerability of the final track, especially since it was one of your first collaborative studio experiences?
Honestly, I think I hadn’t sat with the song long enough to form a judgement. It was what it was, and that allowed us to react to it in a way that felt very true. This was the first day John and I really worked together and I’d only ever been in a studio twice before, so I had no concept of the song’s completeness—I just knew that it felt interesting and important. When I eventually came around to the idea of “finishing” it, we sat and we listened and we changed nothing. Sometimes it’s better to leave well enough alone. I think the clarity and the vulnerability may have been lost had I tried to sing it again.