Handing the mic to Nocea for a breakdown of their debut album!
The first time I discovered Greek mythology was at eight, when my childhood crush gave me a big book of abbreviated myths for my birthday. I was instantly hooked. Fast forward a decade, and we translated Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Latin class, cementing my love for Greek and Roman mythology.
Working on my first EP, “lungs and liver”, which I released in January, reignited my interest in story-based writing. On that project, all the songs were based on fairytales. And “wretched and worshipped” was supposed to be its slightly older, more refined sister. So I started researching, reading Ovid once again two years after I’d graduated. When I started compiling songs and writing new ones for this project, the plan was to end up with six songs at most. Since I already had two and a couple of ideas, it shouldn’t be too hard, I figured. I ended up in a sort of writing frenzy, which led to the album we have today, nine songs and an intro.
When I look back on the past couple of months, the constant writing and re-writing, the stress of perfectionism hanging over me, an interesting kind of calm fills me. It’s done now. I’m happy (I think). Looking forward, on the other hand, is nerve-wracking. What if no one listens to these songs I’ve poured my heart and mind into? What if they do and decide they hate it? I try to remind myself: I can always get famous after I’ve died and they discover my CDs in an abandoned attic.
That being said, here’s a breakdown of my debut album, “wretched and worshipped”, out this Friday.
I. Aphrodite
I wrote the cute little intro poem about a girl I was in love with who, at the time, felt incomparable to me. However, I am superstitious and wouldn’t go so far as to compare the famously vengeful goddess of love and beauty to her, so I did the next best thing. She might not live up to Aphrodite, but she doesn’t have to — she only competes with the remainder of humanity. It’s bittersweet to me now; we never dated, and she isn’t in my life anymore. Nonetheless, I believe that things that hurt you can still shape you for the better, and she’s what I can think of when the Impostor syndrome creeps up to make me question if I truly am bisexual.
II. Prometheus
Prometheus was one of those songs I just couldn’t seem to get right. We were already in the midst of recording when I decided to rework it. I knew it had potential, but I was just so bored with it! Half of it ended up in my “abandoned” folder; the remainder got a fresh coat of paint and a beat I could already picture when composing the lyrics.
The key theme of injustice and Prometheus as a representative of it is easily attributed to Madeline Miller’s “Circe”. He so willingly accepted punishment for an action he wholeheartedly believed in, giving humans fire.
I read that book exactly when I needed it. In many ways, it sharpened beliefs and struggles I was already dealing with in my everyday life and, of course, my songwriting. Akin to many of my fellow Gen Z-ers, I’ve been overexposed to the brutality happening around the world. Constant coverage on social media, paired with a feeling of helplessness at the lack of action by our elected representatives, leads to art about titans who were punished for doing what they think is right, I suppose? The bridge is where it really comes to a head, my everlasting hope for humanity breaking down in the face of reality. It ends as it began: Praying to Gods I don’t know if I believe in, loving a world I’m not sure deserves it.
III. Eurydice
While I’m aware of the tragedy surrounding Orpheus and Eurydice, in a way, this song feels like a break from the horrid real world. Orpheus looks back as he does, Eurydice uses the closing verse to forgive Orpheus. Originally, I thought this was one of those rare works that was simply about the story, and not the person telling it. Now I’m not sure that’s possible. Forgiveness and morality weave their way through each line, a retelling where what’s right and what’s wrong is supposedly clear-cut. It’s never been that obvious to me, though, to distinguish between the light and dark greys, the almost-bads and the over-the-lines. Sometimes I worry I’m too soft, too forgiving, too hopeful. It’s no wonder this specific story has such a hook on me, I suppose.
I also want to give credit where credit is due; a huge portion of what inspired me to write about these two is “Hadestown” by Anaïs Mitchell. The 1727 translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses, published by Sir Samuel Garth, more than shaped the storyline, and only one of the voices on the recording is mine. As Orpheus, we have the wonderful Lukas Linger, who truly sings as if he himself caused his lover to return to the Underworld.
IV. Aristos Achaion
“Aristos” was written primarily in London, while I was rereading Madeline Miller’s “The Song of Achilles”. Interestingly enough, I had quite a different perspective on it at 19 than I did three years prior. No longer did it seem like the ideal, soul-bending, eternal love I so dearly wanted as a younger teen. One analogy I’ve found myself making is that of the leftist woman with a Republican boyfriend. Constant promises of “he’s not like that”, self-assurances that he only acts the way he does because he feels he has to, the weight of morality he doesn’t feel a need to carry.
Scarily, I was also reminded of myself. More precisely, that part of my belief system that strives to understand rather than condemn, to forgive rather than forsake. The line between allowing people to make mistakes and letting them walk all over oneself is thin and blurry. Especially at the time of writing this song, it was something I struggled with, and even today, I often find myself questioning if I’ve drawn it clearly enough.
V. Menelaus
When one thinks of Homer’s “Iliad”, what comes to mind first? The Trojan horse? Paris and Helen’s eternal love that they thought was worth sacrificing so much? I think of Menelaus, unifying the Greek kingdoms in light of Helen’s betrayal. Of countless kings and fighters sworn to stand by Sparta. Of how selfish it seems to me to so willingly fight a war over one woman, however beautiful she may be. This song developed out of my trying to take the high road, choosing to withdraw in the face of rejection rather than fighting for something lost long before the idea of battle crossed my mind.
Unlike the majority of this album, I was doubtful of the sound of Menelaus until the very last second. I thought the funky old instruments, the clavi and accordion especially, were cool, but they seemed too different from the rest of the project. Four weeks before the deadline I had set myself, I half-considered completely cutting this song. Then we added some drums and background vocals, and suddenly I saw the vision. Now it feels unique in a way that doesn’t separate it from the rest of the album.
VI. Pyramus
It’s strange, sometimes I need months to make a song what I’d like it to be, but “Pyramus” really wanted to be easy. There were only twenty minutes between the first line I wrote and the final draft. According to my producer, the rest of the process was just as straightforward. I think it’s partly due to the nature of the song: It’s only around two minutes, and the drop is predetermined by the signature change. The imagery is embedded in the original story, white flowers stained red with blood, the wall separating them.
A little fun fact I love about the myth of Pyramus and Thisbe is that it inspired both “Romeo and Juliet” as well as “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. There’s something so wonderful about the idea that one of the most influential writers of all time and I can read something with hundreds of years between us and feel compelled to transform it into something those of our time can experience. It’s a great example of what I love about writing based on stories.
VII. Medusa
If “Pyramus” shows how quickly something can come into fruition, “medusa” is the exact opposite. I knew I had to get it right, this figure that means so much to so many. Research helped narrow down where I wanted the story to go, but it also diffused it. In the end, the brutality of real life is what helped me finish.
To me, this song is a stream of desires and frustrations with a system that wants guilty men to be free and innocent women to be hysterical. A common interpretation of Athena cursing Medusa after she was raped is that the goddess actually wanted to give Medusa tools to protect herself from further violation. While writing this song, I kept thinking back to how I would feel if I could turn men to stone for hurting me or threatening my safety. I realised that maybe this wasn’t what I would want. I don’t want stone-cold (ha) punishment, I want to make them softer, sweeter, kinder – more feminine. It’s a utopic thought, which the repeating statement at the end echoes.
VIII. Narcissus
Chronologically, the second song I wrote for this album, and one that’s owed to my high school Latin teacher. Since there were only two of us in the class and the other guy consistently didn’t show, it was basically a bi-weekly translation hangout — and the only reason I even entered the school building on Tuesdays. Narcissus and Echo fascinated me because their story seemed so misunderstood. Narcissus and the derivatives of his name speak of selfishness, carelessness, and a lack of consideration for others. In the myth, however, Narcissus is cursed to fall for his own reflection due to his unwillingness to indulge the courtship of others. Even at 16, I thought this quite unreasonable, whatever his argumentation. One should be allowed not to engage in romantic endeavours, even if said rejection stems from pride or a superiority complex. I’d rather think myself too good for someone than allow a fantasy of their potential to cloud my judgment of what’s best for me.
At the time of writing this song, I had felt quite selfish for wanting a relationship, and yet not humouring others’ advances. I must not have wanted it enough to lower my standards. The character of Echo, who can only mimic what others can say and who Narcissus also pushes back, takes on an important role in the second verse. Listening to my own intuition and honouring what I knew was right for me is something I’ve only gotten better at in the past few years. Especially when there are other voices around, sometimes one has to listen resolutely to one’s own.
IX. Hades
“Hades” will always be special to me. The last time I ever performed at school was at graduation, and I played an abbreviated version of this. Looking back, it feels like one of those moments where you can feel a whole room’s opinion of you shift. I didn’t have the closest connection to my peers, and I was so looking forward to never again seeing the majority of them. With this song, I got to belt out all my heartache, all the desperation and grief I felt looking back on the worst years of my life, in front of the people who caused it.
I’ve previously spoken about perceived misinterpretations of the myths I worked with, and Hades is one I feel quite strongly about. In Christian-centric pop culture, he is often equated with the figure of the Devil, someone who tortures and punishes. The actual mythical tradition portrays him differently: an enforcer of the boundaries of life and death. When my mental illness had taken over my life, I wrote this song from the perspective of someone sending a desperate plea to a graceful god. The speaker wonders if the afterlife might be kinder or if the god who has seen all human souls might have some advice. “Hades” is one of the few songs I wrote at that time in my life that, in my own humble opinion, still holds up today. The entire melody was recorded in one take; we chose not to rerecord any bit of it, funnily enough, even the line I got wrong.
X. Ichor
“Ichor” is the only song whose title doesn’t refer to a person. The name instead describes the golden blood of the Greek gods, a direct indicator of immortality. Only those who can afford to lose it bleed heavenly. Mortality and morality are the key themes of this album at large, as I’ve described previously. I don’t think I ever wanted to live forever; I even wrote a song at fifteen with this exact statement as its title. But getting older and moving closer to the realm of “grown up” made me fear missing out on things simply due to a lack of time. There is so much beauty in this world, and I will never be able to experience the vast majority of it. Reading “Circe”, a book with immortality as one of its key themes, really sharpened my previous outlook. I realised that, in fact, I did not wish to be godly, I did not wish to live eternally. Once you actually consider the ramifications, it becomes quite obvious that eternity seems quite lonely. You lose sight of what’s important when you have too much of everything else. And I quite like humanity.
I think this sentiment sums up the entire project quite well; it’s a love letter and an appeal to humankind. Reworking stories that have shaped who we are made me feel closer to those who came before me and those who will follow after. Two thousand years later, and we’re still worried we’ve done the wrong thing, that we are the wrong version of us. I hope you might find reassurance in the same familiarity I’ve felt since childhood.
“Wretched and worshipped” is out Friday, 21 November 2025, wherever you stream your music.