Interview: Jessie Monk on Grief, Myth, and the Making of Mis O’ The Mountains

Jessie Monk’s new album Mis O’ The Mountains is a lush, layered journey through myth, loss, and transformation. We caught up with the Naarm-based artist to dive into the stories, symbols, and sounds behind the record — from orca dreams to reversed vocals, cosmic giggles to collective grief.

This album feels super personal and mythic at the same time—how did the story of Mis first come into your life, and what made you want to tell it through music?
I found the myth by chance, listening to a podcast on grief by This Jungian Life. They were referencing Sharon Blackie’s book If Women Rose Rooted, and the resonance I felt with the myth was deeply moving. I never intended to write an album that followed the arc of that story — I was just writing through my own grieving process. But at some point, I realised I was writing Mis’ story, because I was living it. I had songs for every chapter, because I’d been through every chapter. Discovering the myth gave the music a home — a vast cosmos for the album to exist and be created within.

​The first track, “The Dream,” is such an evocative opener. What was it like turning that surreal, emotional dream into sound?
That would be a great question for Brian Trahan, who produced the track and is largely responsible for its manifestation. The foundation came from an improvisation by Fabiana Striffler (violin) and Paul Santner (piano), based on a motif from “Gold Flowers.” They were improvising around the concept of a soul leaving the body — something free from space and time. Later, when I listened back, one excerpt struck me as having the same essence as a dream I’d had the night before my father’s passing.
In that dream, I was in a room with my brother, with huge windows. The room came loose from the ground, and as we braced ourselves, it began flying through the sky. We knew something significant was coming. Brian added a layer of tape manipulation that perfectly captures that surreal feeling. My favourite part of the track is a reversed tape loop of me reciting “Metamorphosising,” which appears later on the record.
There’s a sense of flying, falling, and transformation throughout the album. Was that intentional?
That’s such a beautiful reflection. I definitely contemplated all of those themes, but I didn’t build the album structurally around them — so it’s special to hear they come through. There’s an interdimensional relationship running through the whole record — between dreams, the waking world, the underworld, the afterlife. And of course, one of the core themes is metamorphosis. So it makes sense that those feelings would show up in the music.
“I Was An Eagle” was inspired by a dream about swimming with orcas. Do you often write from dreams?
I love writing from dream images. I’m drawn to symbols and ideas that offer many refractions. If something comes from a dream, an old poem, or a myth, chances are it’s alive — or dormant — in the collective subconscious. It resonates in obscure ways and touches deeper parts of ourselves.
Take the image of being an orca, or being the sea. It’s non-rational, but everyone will have their own unique experience of it. That gives the song a kind of vastness.
“I Agree” is a real shift — playful, groovy, even a cheeky Irish whistle solo! Was that one fun to record?
It was so much fun. And we needed it! So much of the album is heavy and vulnerable, which is powerful — but “I Agree” was a reprieve. It gave us joy during rehearsals and it’s that kind of moment at gigs too. A chance to connect with the playfulness of music, and the cosmic giggle of it all.

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The “Gold Flowers” video is visually stunning. What was it like seeing that vision come to life?
That shoot was one of those rare, magical creative processes. I honestly can’t tell you how it happened — just the right people, with the right talents and enthusiasm, coming together effortlessly. I love that it’s grounded in the land, like the myth it’s based on, but also dreamlike and abstract.
You used actual voice notes from your dad in “Metamorphosing/Bardo Thodol I.” How did that feel?
It was deeply emotional. As soon as those voice notes went in, it became viscerally moving. For a while, I couldn’t listen to it without crying. I spent months on the fence about whether it was the right way to honour him.
I couldn’t speak at his funeral — it was too much, too soon. But I wanted to create a shrine of sorts, something to honour his life and death. These Bardo Thodol tracks are the sonic equivalent of placing his photo on an altar.
The album gets wild and experimental in parts — tape manipulation, reversed vocals, rich textures. Did that sonic world evolve in the studio, or did you always have that vision?
I did go in with that vision. The emotional and spiritual content demanded it. I’d been listening to albums like False Lankum and Spirit of Eden, and getting into Butoh movement and magical realism in art and literature. The myth itself is obscure, bizarre — mythical. So we had to go there sonically.
That said, many ideas evolved in the studio too. The tape manipulation in “Metamorphosising,” for instance, was a piece of Brian Trahan’s genius that emerged organically.

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You worked with some fantastic musicians on this project. What was the best part of collaborating with them?
It’s pure magic. These musicians are the album. I’m a very collaborative artist — partly out of necessity, but also because I’m so faithful to the idea of creating something with as many refractions as possible. By handing over arrangement to folks like Paul, Fabi, Conor, Max, and Brian, I’m inviting their entire creative cosmos into the story.
What makes this ensemble work is that we all share a love for both beauty and dissonance. If we linger too long in the beautiful, someone will bring in something strange. And if we go too deep into the experimental, someone will return with something heartbreakingly lovely. That balance is what makes it magical.
Now that Mis O’ The Mountains is out in the world, what do you hope listeners take away from it?
It feels like hubris to assume anyone will feel anything at all. But my hope is that this album can be a place where all facets of grief are reflected — a space for people moving through grief to feel seen. And maybe, through the character of Mis, to feel like someone is walking with them, holding up their feet and guiding them, no matter how strange or dark the road may seem.
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Mis O’ The Mountains is out now on all streaming platforms. Dive in, and let yourself be carried — by dreams, myth, and the soaring voice of Jessie Monk.