El Perro del Mar on Metamorphosis, Motherhood, and Aging Fearlessly
Deeply rooted in introspection and authenticity, Sarah Assbring’s sonic journey as El Perro del Mar channels melancholia as a space for healing and contemplation. The Gothenburg native’s latest release, Big Anonymous, profoundly explores bringing secrets into light – “the things that often go unsaid” – requiring us, the listeners, to confront our vulnerabilities and acknowledge the touching beauty of human frailties.
KP: I hate to start on such a predictable or monotonous note, but I find the story of how you got your name to be so incredibly fascinating and also very touching in this elemental way. Would you mind sharing with our readers how the name El Perro del Mar came to be?
EPdM: It goes way back now, but it’s still very important to me. At a point in my mid-20’s I went through a deep existential crisis and I sort of took refuge to a Spanish island. I found myself sitting by the beach when a stray dog came up to me and just sat down right next to me. I was so struck by that moment and by the dog’s presence, like it was seeing right through me. Even though it was a stray dog, it had a special dignity to it. It kept coming back to me during my stay and I started calling it “el perro del mar.” When later, having returned back home and slowly starting to feel better, I got back to writing music again, but it was a different kind of music than I’d done before. The moment with the dog stayed with me as one of great importance and seemed like the best name to call my music after.
KP: You’ve said that your most recent release, Big Anonymous, is all about conversations – “saying things that were never said, to talk about secrets, and bring secrets into light... That’s why it had to be so dark – it was the only way to reach that cathartic place.” I often find that there are artists that seek the darkness to reveal light and those who avoid darkness to hope to stay in the light, but I’m sure one could argue that true light is only ever found through darkness. How do you find the strength or vulnerability to enter those places?
EPdM: Yes, the conversations that never take place when possible are the ones that will haunt you, I think. That’s also what the album’s about – asking yourself about your life and, if it’s lived right, to try to make sure that you don’t leave this earth with matters undone or unsaid. For me, I just knew that I had to go to the dark places to find some answers, some peace. I’d been going around with a grief that wouldn’t leave me, but when turning them into songs – wishes of communication into lyrics – it did something to me. So perhaps the music gave me strength and also the possibility to really go to those places. Music has a strange power, no?
KP: So often it does. I am not a mother, but I find it so fascinating how becoming one can truly be so alchemical. In what ways did coming into that role transform you, both as a human and as an artist?
EPdM: Initially it changed me a lot, but like with living, it’s an ongoing work that you need to do. Reminding yourself of who you are, accepting change, following the person that you put into this world on his/her steps as they live and grow… it’s a powerful thing that’s not always easy. But that’s the thing – becoming a parent seems to give you a double sized heart – it’s painful but it’s also completely amazing. So I try to be open to the dualities, both as a human and an artist.
KP: So much of your work is cinematic, both in sound and in visuals, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw that you would love to score a film. What are some of your favorite films? Are there any that you turn to in particular when in need of creativity or inspiration?
EPdM: I can’t stop thinking about Jonathan Glazer’s Zone of Interest. It struck me completely and in so many ways. I love his work, but this one was on another level. His openness to pushing boundaries inspires me greatly. I also love that he works with the composer Mica Levi who’s similar to him in always trying to go beyond the expected.
KP: You’ve spoken of your early love for Annie Lennox and Kate Bush, being in awe of their ability to shift back and forth between personalities while singing, almost as a form of acting. How much of that do you feel fits into your practice? Do you find El Perro del Mar to be an alter ego or alias, or simply a further exploration of yourself?
EPdM: A lot actually, and especially so on Big Anonymous. I found myself going in and out of different characters almost as if in a seance. It was very healing, actually. I think of El Perro del Mar as a means to explore and heighten myself, my thoughts, and visions.
“I only work out of lust and need and if that’s not there, then it doesn’t work for me. I think my being this way career-wise has perhaps complicated things for me at times, but there’s just no other way.”
KP: Your work has spanned so many different styles and sounds through the years, so unpredictable in a great way. I find that many artists shy away from this, or at least are intimidated by the response of their fans and audience. How do you create so freely, seemingly unbound by criticism or critique? What advice would you lend women who wish to do the same?
EPdM: Perhaps I’m daft, but there’s no other way for me really. I only work out of lust and need and if that’s not there, then it doesn’t work for me. I think my being this way career-wise has perhaps complicated things for me at times, but there’s just no other way. I rely on that the core of my music that goes back to that moment on the beach – that it can be heard in the music regardless of how it sounds.
KP: You’ve said that you “love making music, but not at any price,” which is a principle that I find so admirable, especially within today’s current culture. Have you ever felt external pressures to create for an audience versus yourself? How do you steer clear of that constraint?
EPdM: It goes back to the previous question, right? It’s all about lust and need so when that’s not there, I feel it immediately. Luckily I’ve made sure not to put myself in situations where I don’t have control over my work. It just wouldn’t work for anyone and I know it.
KP: Alongside making music, you have modelled as well. Is there anything that you have learned about yourself through that experience? Has anything about it informed your musical practice at all?
EPdM: It’s a strange thing – I started doing modeling past my forties and I’m thankful for that. I would never have handled it when I was younger. The constant body awareness is awful and very dangerous for me as a recovering anorexic. But being a mother and having lived, you’re more likely to keep your mind in check, so I’ve found it quite fun most of the times. I’m not sure if it’s informed my musical practice really, rather than it being fun to be a part of another world.
KP: You’ve spoken of the importance for role models that are different at any age, something that I feel we lack much of, especially in Western culture. What has age taught you? What strengths have you found?
EPdM: I agree. It’s so bizarre how being a woman who’s lived and letting it show seems to be the most scary thing right now.
I can’t tell you how much I loathe it. It goes so deep and naturally I struggle with it, too, but I try to be brutal about it, in similar ways like with my album – the opposite of being alive is being dead, right? So living marks you, it’s the result of being alive, and it’s as it should be. If living wouldn’t mark you, you’d be dead, and that’s just obscene. I try to remind myself of that, but it’s a constant job. At least now, I stopped buying all these worthless age defying products, and that feels like a win.
KP: What do you feel makes a provocative woman?
EPdM: A naturally aging woman.
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Photography: Hedvig Jenning
