Some performances happen in clubs, some in studios. This one happened at the edge of the world, and it changed how I understand my own voice.
Recording at Lake Sevan wasn’t planned. I was in Armenia when I saw this spot that just demanded music. The lake stretches beyond what your eyes can take in, surrounded by mountains that make you feel both small and infinite at the same time.
The acoustics here are unlike anything I’ve experienced. Your voice doesn’t echo – it expands. The sound travels across the water and comes back transformed, like the landscape is collaborating with you. No studio can replicate what happens when you sing to a lake that’s been here for thousands of years.
Setting up was simple. Just me, my voice, and a camera to capture whatever happened. No rehearsal, no setlist. I started singing and let the environment guide which songs wanted to be heard. Some tracks that feel heavy in enclosed spaces became weightless here.
The wind became part of the performance. Instead of fighting it, I learned to work with it – singing during the quiet moments, letting the natural sounds fill the spaces between lyrics. The lake taught me about timing in ways no metronome ever could.
What strikes me watching the footage back is how different my voice sounds. More open, less guarded. There’s something about performing for water and sky that strips away pretense. You can’t hide behind production or stage lights – just you and the elements.
The cold was intense, but it sharpened everything. Each breath felt intentional, each note more precious. The contrast between the harsh environment and the warmth of music created this tension that you can hear in every song.
This session reminded me why I started making music in the first place. Not for streams or views, but for moments like this. When sound becomes prayer. When landscape becomes audience.
Watch the full session
Some songs are meant for mountains.
— Indie pop artist, musician Anastasia Ledovskaya