The Mermaid by Gwendolen Osmond: A Folk Tale That Stays With You
Let’s get one thing straight—The Mermaid isn’t your typical folk album. Released in 2015 under the UK-based label Was Ist Das?, this record is like a quiet conversation you didn’t know you needed. Gwen Osmond, who produced the whole thing herself, seems to have poured every ounce of her soul into these tracks. And when John Tatlock steps in for recording and mixing duties, it all feels so intimate, like they’re whispering secrets just for you.
Now, I gotta talk about two tracks that really stuck with me because, honestly, how do you forget something that makes your chest ache?
First up, “While You Were Sleeping.” It’s hauntingly simple, but there’s this weight behind it—a kind of sadness that sneaks up on you. The melody lingers, soft but unrelenting, while Osmond’s voice wraps around lyrics that feel personal, almost too raw to share. It’s not flashy or overdone; instead, it’s achingly real. You can picture someone lying awake at night, staring at shadows on the wall, thinking about what could’ve been. Damn, it hits hard.
Then there’s “Drown You,” which flips the script entirely. Where “While You Were Sleeping” feels fragile, this track has teeth. There’s an urgency here, like Osmond is daring you to keep listening even as she pulls you deeper into her world. The rhythm builds slowly, pulling tension tighter until you’re holding your breath without realizing it. By the time the chorus crashes over you, it’s like being swept out to sea—you don’t fight it, you just let go.
What gets me most about The Mermaid is how it refuses to fit neatly into any box. Sure, it’s filed under Folk, World, & Country, but those labels don’t fully capture its magic. Osmond blends English folk traditions with French-inspired moments (just check out “Dans La Foret” or “Je Le Cherchais Partout”), creating something both familiar and strange. It’s like hearing stories from another time, yet somehow they still resonate today.
And maybe that’s why this album sticks. It doesn’t try too hard to impress—it lets the music speak for itself. Listening to it feels less like entertainment and more like stumbling across someone’s diary. Messy, beautiful, honest.
Here’s the kicker though: after my first listen, I couldn’t decide if I loved it or hated it. But now? Now I think I love it because it made me feel uncomfortable. Isn’t that what great art should do? So yeah, give The Mermaid a spin—but don’t say I didn’t warn you. This one might haunt you long after the last note fades.
