Glass Eel is finding strength in vulnerability, and learning to let go of doing everything alone.

Emerging from the margins of South East London’s DIY scene, Glass Eel is the project of Alice, a songwriter whose work drifts between indie folk, grunge and psych, laced with mythology and raw, emotional introspection. Her debut single "The Line" is a quietly devastating piece: spare, tender and deliberate, exploring the slow tug between collapse and resilience.

In conversation, Alice is reflective and open, with a disarming honesty about mental health, self-doubt and the slow work of creative trust. Here, she talks about eel lore, walking the same route to therapy twice a week, and what it means to finally let go of doing everything alone.

For those unfamiliar with your music, can you tell us who you are, where you’re from and about the music you make?

I’m Alice, or Glass Eel to some. I’m from a small town in Sussex, but I’ve been in London for 10 years, nearly all of it spent in South East London. I make a sort of indie folk with a hint of grunge and psych. I write a lot about making sense of life and the folly of living and I’m inspired by mythology and traditional folk music style storytelling and reflections.

The image of the glass eel - translucent, drifting, unseen - is such a striking metaphor. What drew you to that stage of the eel's life cycle, and how does it connect to how you see yourself or your music right now?

I got obsessed with eels a few years ago. I saw a video about them on tiktok and I was curious, so I googled ‘eels’. I then read this book ‘The Book Of Eels’ by Patrik Svensson and just got really preoccupied with eel lore for a while. I found the idea of their second stage of life, a glass eel, really strange and beautiful - these little translucent noodles that drift through huge expanses of ocean being thrown around by the waves. I guess maybe that's the connection - feeling like something small being thrown around a vast universe.

‘The Line’ captures that tension between collapse and endurance so vividly. Was there a particular moment or experience that triggered this song into being?

Not so much a specific moment, more a collection of moments and experiences. My whole life up until this point maybe! I feel it’s a feeling or sensation I can’t really remember ever not having this feeling.

There’s something incredibly vulnerable about the arrangement, spare, restrained, and emotionally raw. How did you and your producers decide what to leave in and what to strip away?

I really wanted to try my best to kind of go against my instincts, which is often to throw as much shit at the wall as possible and see what sticks, usually because I am feeling unsure about what I am making and want to pile a lot of things on top of it to obscure it. As someone who has worked as a studio engineer and producer, and having previously engineered and produced all my own music, it was also really hard for me to let go and trust other people with my vision rather than do everything myself. Luckily I was working with some really talented people I know well - Seth Evans, Margo Broom, and Gabriel Gold. I’ve known Seth, Gabe and Margo for a really long time, I met them all within my first couple of years in London, and I trust them all a lot musically so I just tried to let myself go a bit and follow their lead. I went into the recording process with as open a mind as I could muster, and I’m pleased I did because I’m proud of what we made together.

You mention craving the crash as much as you fear it. How do you sit with that contradiction in your daily life, or even just creatively?

With a feeling of unease. Kind of still constantly crashing, but maybe the crashes are smaller. Still trying to keep getting back up and climbing onto the line and continuing to walk it. Maybe realizing that the line isn’t as far off the ground as you think and it’s not a huge pit of lava you fall into but just a small drop and you can easily step back on track.

The video brings in mythology and mental health, the personal and the symbolic. How did the idea evolve, and how did it feel walking and filming along a route so intertwined with your treatment journey?

I’ve been interested in mythology for a long time. It’s a vessel we can use to help make sense of life. I got very interested in the concept of the hero's journey at the end of last year - the inner and outer adventure of leaving the familiar, facing trials and transformation, and returning home changed with new wisdom. I found it so helpful to think of my life as different stages of this journey.

The song talks about walking along a line, so it felt natural to make a video that followed some kind of walking journey. The struggle with balance is something I’ve felt all my life, and has come up a lot for me during my mental health treatment. My walk there is a journey I walk twice a week, so it made sense to use this walk as the line I would be walking for the video.

We came up with the idea of finding objects, the idea of a glass, and that reminded me of the idea of the search for the holy grail also being used as a metaphor for the search for the self in some psychology and philosophy. The video is loosely following a journey in search of the self.

You co-directed the video with Hannah McLoughlin, who also plays flute on the track. What was it like building this world together, both musically and visually?

It was a lot of fun! I really love working with Hannah, she’s such a talented filmmaker as well as a musician (if you haven’t already you must check out her project Spike!). Being in the band and playing the song obviously meant that she knew the track quite intimately, and I think that is really reflected in the video - the general vibe and style feels like it perfectly reflects the track. Also my close friend Cormac had a lot of creative input, he helped the concept take shape and also really helped us on the day so much. He also stopped me from climbing down a very tall and unsafe ladder into Deptford Creek which I almost certainly would have fallen down.

There’s something intimate yet universal about the imagery in ‘The Line’. Do you think of your songs as self-contained stories, or as fragments in a wider narrative you're building?

I think a bit of both! I think although each song is about something different they all come from within my head so (hopefully).

You’re supporting Sorry Girls at The George Tavern soon. What does it mean to share these songs live for the first time, especially ones so rooted in personal experience?

For the first few shows it felt quite revealing. I hadn’t played my own music for a few years and I felt quite naked. I still have a lot of negative voices in my head about sharing my music and performing, I think a lot of creatives and performers do. But I’ve just decided I really have to try and ignore them, because this music feels authentic to me and that’s more important than whether or not the songs are ‘good enough’ or people like them.

What do you love right now?

When DUDU sings ‘I want the whole world on my plate’

What do you hate right now?

When DUDU DOESN’T sing ‘I want the whole world on my plate’

Name an album you’re still listening to from when you were younger and why it’s still important to you?

Blood On The Tracks by Bob Dylan. I had an unhealthy obsession with Bob Dylan in my teenage years and he will always be one of my biggest songwriting influences. I have to kind of moderate my Bob Dylan intake now due to my extreme obsession when I was younger, but I allow myself to listen to him as a special treat when I have been good.

Glass Eel as a project feels so tightly linked to identity and transformation. As you release this first track into the world, what are you hoping to let go of - and what are you hoping to hold on to?

I would like to let go of creative inhibition, and hold onto the joy of expression and collaborating with your friends.

Photography By: Jody Evans

Start Listening To: Glass Eel