Transitory experiences and the nuance of transformation lie at the heart of Bria Salmena‘s music, stories of intense emotions filtered through volatile catharses which threaten to subsume you at every turn. But as confrontational as her work can be, she also focuses on personal resilience and aspects of independent agency, internal focal points that allow her to retain her creative vision while treading through turbulent and, oftentimes, unfriendly social strata.
From her work as part of Canadian band FRIGS to her time spent accompanying Orville Peck on tour, Salmena has developed a unique musical perspective, one founded upon the strength and tenacity of her considerable vocal talents and the unfiltered innovation that wanders through her often-anthemic compositions. With a few EPs already under her belt, her reckoning with the inequities and curiosities of the world around her have aided in the creation of her debut solo album, Big Dog, a whirlwind of raw emotional expression and intimate revelation. It’s an album of tension and release, of openhearted inclusivity and caustic accusations, and a hell of a way for her to stand her ground in the face of so much terribleness that confronts each step we take in our lives.
From songs written to her younger self, to the surreal nature of everyday occurrences, the album finds extraordinary things hidden within ordinary moments. With help from co-producer Meg Remy (of U.S. Girls) and a particularly memorable collaboration with alt rock legend Lee Ranaldo, Big Dog is the avenue through which Salmena makes sense of the world — or makes a valiant effort to — and discovers that her voice is an important part of the struggle and forward momentum that carries us all forward to a place of hope and resolution.
She has been kind enough to pull back the curtain a bit on how Big Dog was shaped and guides us through the album. Read below as she takes us through it, one track at a time, and reveals the stories and experiences that fueled its creation.
- “Drastic”
“Drastic” is about a memory that became a monument of loneliness. That doesn’t mean it’s inherently sad. We wanted to try and imagine what lingering in a memory sounded like, one that almost felt like a dream. The vocals float around while the drums, guitars, and synths maintain a pulse. It all ends abruptly, like most dreams do.
- “Backs of Birds”
Potentially the most surreal song to me on the record. Nothing about it feels familiar to anything we’ve ever tried before. There’s a playfulness to the lyrics and their delivery. The chorus opens with a question, a reflection that ultimately leads to more questions. My favorite part is the bridge, a bit of ear candy that mirrors an inner dialogue. I have to shout out to my friend Juju from New Zealand. She wrote me a letter describing how she could see the ‘backs of birds’ from her new apartment. That line lingered
- “Closer to You”
This song was Duncan and I’s awakening into what we wanted this record to sound like. It reminds me of an alarm clock because it woke us up. The lyrics feel I’m planting a flag down somewhere and claiming a time and space for myself. Initially, we thought this was gonna be the lead single.
- “Hammer”
When I first wrote “Hammer” I thought I was writing a love song to someone else. And just like everything else in the world, that love changed. This song resonates differently now, the lyrics became words of encouragement to myself. I was inspired by Sun Kill Moon chord progressions for this one. Beyond that, Duncan transformed the production into a song I’m not sure I’ve ever heard before.
- “Radisson”
This song is a movie. Lyrically taken from personal experience, but in order to confront that experience I had to imagine the story was some sort of old Hollywood romance film. The song came together extremely quickly while demoing, we maintained as much of the demo as we could on this one.
- “Twilight”
We were initially going to call the album Kitty Cat Butterfly. When we were recording “Twilight”, I received a text from my three-year-old niece’s mom with a photo of her that said, “Audrey wanted her face painted like a Kitty Cat Butterfly.” For whatever reason it made me extremely emotional, and I was convinced that’s what the record should be called. I was later talked out of it, but that’s why at the beginning of “Twilight” you can hear my niece and nephew repeating the phrase.”
- “On the Line”
The day I recorded vocals for the final demo of “On The Line”, was the same day my whole world collapsed in on me. Not to be overly dramatic, but it was truly one of the most insane experiences I’ve ever had to go through, and singing these lyrics felt like a cruel joke given the circumstances. We decided to keep that vocal take buried underneath the new vocals we tracked with co-producer Meg Remy. So if you care, you’re hearing the actual sound of my heartbreak.
- “Stretch the Struggle”
It’s funny that this song became the lead single because it felt like the last piece of the puzzle. It was arguably the one that took the longest to write — we just couldn’t crack it. Now I love everything about it. I love the drums, the vocals, and the arpeggiated synth, it feels bigger than I could have ever imagined.
- “Rags”
I wrote this song for my fifteen-year-old self.
- “See’er”
The best part about this song is that it features the legendary Lee Ronaldo. I remember when we were in the studio and we received his stems and how excited we all got. I really wanted this song to feel like a world we hadn’t explored sonically before, and Lee just completely transported the track somewhere I had no idea it could go.
- “Peanut”
I wrote this song when I had just moved into a new apartment in LA. My roommate forgot to pay the electricity bill so the power was shut off for a day or so. I remember sitting in the dark and this song just kind of came out. Initially recorded to an acoustic guitar, it felt too rigid to me. While we were in the studio Duncan and I were improvising with him on piano in the live room and me singing as a guide in the booth. That guide vocal and piano track became the take, making this arguably one of the only live off-the-floor songs on the record.
- “Water Memory”
This is the oldest song on the record, I think I wrote it in December of 2020. It’s sad but confronting and felt like the best way to end Big Dog. We wanted the end of the song to feel like a new beginning, so Duncan worked his magic and transformed it into a cliffhanger. I also love hearing Jaime Rae McCuaig’s vocals on this song, she makes it for me.
Big Dog is out now via Sub Pop/Royal Mountain. You can order the album here. Follow her on Facebook, X, and Instagram.
