cloud collecting #28: Alanna Crouch ☁️
on loving what you do, recording everything + music as a priority
I am happy to share an interview with 18-year-old British pianist Alanna Crouch. Her album the painting via Canadian neo-classical label Enjou made me pause upon the first listen. Alanna's dedication to her craft, developed from such a young age, is truly touching. I’m sure you’ll find inspiration in both her words and music.
Alanna Crouch is an 18-year-old British pianist and composer of neoclassical, electronic and soundscape music. Her work draws inspiration from visual art, particularly painting, and focuses on transforming imagery and memory into immersive piano compositions. Her album, “the painting”, responds to Edvard Munch’s emotional series The Sick Child, using repetition, tone variation, and texture to mirror the artist’s lifelong grief and revision. Alanna is a passionate storyteller and hopes to write for film and games in the future—bringing her love of visual soundscapes to even wider audiences. When she’s not composing, she’s usually writing stories or improvising at the piano—with Claude, her ever-present cat and creative helper.
1. What you've accomplished by the age of 18 is truly impressive, especially considering all the distractions in today's world. I'd love to hear how you developed a sense of discipline in honing your craft and any advice you might have for someone just starting out?
Thank you! Honestly, I think a lot of my discipline comes from the fact that I genuinely love what I do. When you’re passionate about something, it doesn’t always feel like work—especially when you’re in that creative flow. I've been surrounded by music since I was little —my parents always had a piano in the house, and I was already trying to play cartoon theme songs by ear when I was 3! So for me, music has always felt like this natural part of life, not something I have to do, but something I get to do.
That being said, I don’t think discipline has to mean strict routines or pressure. For me, it’s more about creating space in my day where music is a priority—time to improvise, write, record, or even just sit and listen. A lot of my music starts as spontaneous improvisations, which I record in Cubase and then later transcribe in Sibelius. I’ve learned how important it is to capture ideas when they come and to not worry too much about whether they’re “good” or not.
For anyone just starting out, my biggest advice is: don’t be afraid to explore lots of different types of music, and don’t wait to feel “ready” before you start sharing what you make. The more you create, the more you’ll grow, and each new piece will teach you something. Record everything—especially your improvisations—and don’t throw anything away. You never know what might turn into something beautiful later. And if you can, reach out to others in the industry or in the creative community. There’s so much to learn from each other, and I’ve found that people are often really willing to help.
Also, try not to stress about building an audience too quickly. Music is timeless—it will find its people in the right moment. Just keep creating, stay open, and enjoy the journey.
2. Could you share a favorite song you've written and describe the creation process, along with any behind-the-scenes details?
It’s difficult to pick just one favorite because each piece captures a different mood or moment for me, but I feel especially connected to “repeating events,” which is the first track on my album the painting. The entire album was inspired by Edvard Munch’s different versions of his painting The Sick Child. I was fascinated by how he returned to that same image over and over again across more than 40 years of his life. It felt like he was trying to process something through repetition, almost like reliving a memory to understand it more deeply.
When I was composing “repeating events,” I approached it like I was scoring that memory—trying to reflect how events, especially traumatic ones, can echo and evolve in our minds. I began by improvising while looking directly at the painting. I kept it in front of me while recording and noticed something new each time I looked at it: the expression on the girl’s face, the connection between her and her aunt through their hands, the way the room was bathed in stillness.
I used repeated patterns to mirror the visual repetition in Munch’s work and also to express the emotional weight of grief looping over and over. It was important to me that the music didn’t just describe the image, but lived inside it—like it was breathing with the painting. After I recorded the initial idea in Cubase, I transcribed and lightly structured it in Sibelius, making sure not to lose that improvised, raw feeling.
Throughout the project, I learned how much the sound of a piano and even the mixing of a track can affect its emotional impact. I experimented with different touch, textures, and even switched pianos depending on the tone I wanted. That was a big part of the journey for me—developing new skills to help bring the story to life.
3. How do you connect to childlike wonder in your creativity?
That’s such a lovely question. I think childlike wonder is something that’s always stayed with me, and honestly, I don’t think I’d be able to write the kind of music I do without it. For me, creating music is all about imagination—like stepping into a different world where anything is possible. That feeling of wonder, curiosity, and openness is what drives everything I do.
A lot of my inspiration comes from visual art, especially paintings. I’ll often look at a painting and imagine what the music behind it would sound like if it were a scene in a film or if the painting came to life. That process feels very similar to how I used to play as a child—making up stories, imagining new worlds, and just following whatever idea felt exciting in the moment. It’s never about following rules or being too polished at first—it’s about exploring and letting the music lead me somewhere new.
I also think having space to create freely has helped me stay connected to that childlike mindset. When I was little, I’d make up little pieces for my family or write songs for my sister to dance to around the living room. There was no pressure, just joy. I try to hold onto that feeling, even now. Of course, I take my work seriously, but I try not to lose that sense of fun and discovery.
Even things like composing with my cat Claude nearby help me stay grounded and playful—he’s like my little studio buddy and biggest fan! And when I put on my headphones and start playing, the outside world just disappears. It’s like time doesn’t exist, and I’m completely immersed in the moment. That’s when I feel most connected to that magical, childlike energy.
In a way, I think that sense of wonder is what allows me to express emotions so honestly through music. When you approach creativity with openness and imagination, you tap into something really magical. That’s what I hope listeners feel when they hear my music—like they’re being taken on a journey or seeing the world through a slightly different lens.
The best online place to find Alanna is through her Instagram, her latest release via Bandcamp and wherever you stream music.
some marine eyes news:
My new EP, quiet circle is out in full on Bandcamp and streaming. I am grateful for all the support surrounding this release and have to send my gratitude to zensounds with Stephan Kunze for including me in his recent best of ambient column for May. Highly recommend subscribing to his newsletter if you have yet to.
i love claude ...
Beautifully written interview, lovely music. 🫶🏻