With her new single “Crying at Erewhon,” acclaimed folk artist Anna May takes one of the most devastating moments of her life and transforms it into something bright, witty, and undeniably catchy. Equal parts breakup anthem, cultural satire, and love letter to Los Angeles absurdity, the song marks a bold new chapter for the singer-songwriter while retaining the emotional depth that has defined her work. Ahead of the release, we spoke with Anna about heartbreak, humor, reinvention, and why sometimes the best place to cry is in the wellness aisle. The song will be officially released by a label later this summer.
Q: “Crying at Erewhon” is such a perfect collision of sincerity and satire. At what point did you realize heartbreak could live inside a luxury wellness aisle?
Anna May: Thanks! I truly didn’t believe that it could, because Erewhon is the epitome of perfection and is really no place for heartbreak. The revelation happened the moment he texted me after many weeks of promises and flirting: “It’s Los Angeles, darling… I am under no obligation to spend any time with you. Safe travels home.”
It took a moment to appreciate the utter dichotomy and hilarity of what was happening in real time—being dumped at Erewhon. The title is funny, but it’s actually very real. I was crying into gourmet garlic noodles and strawberry probiotic skin smoothies, trying to make sense of it all.
There was something brutally sincere about bawling my eyes out in the Venice Erewhon on a bright September day. It felt completely off-brand for Erewhon—and therefore perfect for a song.
Q: The song takes a breakup moment and turns it into something bright, catchy, and funny. Why do you think pain often makes the sharpest pop songs?
Anna May: I don’t know how that alchemy happens, but this is really the first pop song I’ve written. I’ve primarily been a folk artist until now. After I wrote it, it immediately felt relevant and alive—like something Sabrina Carpenter or Kacey Musgraves could sing.
After a string of painful breakups, I knew I wanted to make something upbeat. I didn’t want another devastating ballad. This song came from being completely disillusioned by love and dating. It felt like a way to reclaim the narrative.
Breakups create immediate, visceral emotions. They’re easy to bottle. You can either fall down a dark rabbit hole or arrive at a sarcastic, “I don’t give a fuck” place. I chose the latter.
Q: Erewhon has become symbolic of aspirational Los Angeles culture. Were you writing about a person, a city, or the absurdity of both?
Anna May: Honestly, all of it.
I genuinely love Erewhon. I’m a longtime yogi, organic eater, and wellness enthusiast, so writing a song about an organic grocery store may have been my destiny.
But there is something knowingly absurd about Los Angeles. The city often feels perpetually pristine and aspirational. Coming from New England, where everything is gray and subdued, I sometimes wonder: Do people here ever get tired?
The music was meant to feel sun-drenched and glistening, inspired by California pop from artists like The Mamas & the Papas, The Carpenters, and The Beach Boys. I wanted that bright musical palette to contrast with the very real experience of having my heart broken in a gourmet grocery store.
Q: You originally imagined the song through the golden glow of classic California pop before wanting it to sound brand new. How do you balance nostalgia with reinvention?
Anna May: That’s one of the biggest challenges artists face right now. Everything has been done and redone.
I love the music that inspired me, but I never want to create something that feels like costume folk or pure imitation. We live in a modern world, and it’s an artist’s responsibility to reflect their own time.
I want my work to nod toward the artists who came before me while still sounding like something that belongs right now. That’s the balance I care most deeply about.
Q: There’s a line between bitterness and wit, and this track dances right on it. How do you know when sarcasm becomes healing rather than self-protection?
Anna May: I think I’m perpetually walking that line in both life and art.
Humor is one of the best antidotes to trauma. We have to laugh at ourselves. There really is no other way through.
When I think back to that day, it still hurts. But now I can see the absurdity of it. Being devastated while surrounded by symbols of perfection showed me something important: no amount of wellness culture, luxury, or status can protect us from being human.
We’re still going to cry. We’re still going to hurt.
Making this song allowed me to rise above the sadness rather than sink into it.
Q: You’ve been described as having a “PhD in breakup songs.” What continues to fascinate you about love ending rather than love beginning?
Anna May: I think it’s because love has always ended before it truly began for me.
Endings force us to reevaluate ourselves. They shake our identity and create opportunities for reinvention. That’s incredibly fertile ground for songwriting.
Joy is wonderful to experience, but grief tends to be more layered and complex. The breaking points reveal who we really are.
Ironically, every devastating breakup I’ve experienced has brought me closer to becoming the person I’m meant to be. They’ve produced some of the best work of my career and forced me to grow in ways I never expected.
Q: Your catalog often blends hope, despair, and metaphysical imagery. What emotional territory does “Crying at Erewhon” allow you to access that your more atmospheric work doesn’t?
Anna May: This song accesses the funny, carefree side of me.
People who know me personally know that sarcasm is a huge part of my personality, but my music has traditionally been much more earnest and philosophical. This was an opportunity to let people meet the version of me that loves absurdity.
I think listeners will discover a side of me that hasn’t really existed in my recorded work before.
Q: From folk stages to opening for artists like Ariel Pink and Amythyst Kiah, you’ve moved through very different musical worlds. How has that range shaped your identity?
Anna May: It’s been incredibly affirming.
Within a few months I opened for traditional Irish musicians, bluegrass artists, rock bands, experimental performers, and Ariel Pink. Every one of those experiences felt authentic to me.
I’ve always resisted being boxed into one genre. I love moving between musical worlds because that’s how I experience music as a listener. I want my career to reflect that same openness.
Q: Producing the track yourself suggests a strong sense of authorship. Did taking control behind the boards change how vulnerable you felt in front of the microphone?
Anna May: Absolutely.
Producing brought out a completely different side of me. As an artist, your job is to be vulnerable. As a producer, your job is to make decisions and shape the vision.
Wearing both hats made me realize just how exposed I really am in my songs. It gave me a deeper appreciation for the entire creative process and helped me become a more well-rounded artist.
Q: If “Crying at Erewhon” marks the start of your 2026 chapter, what do you most want listeners to understand about where Anna May is headed?
Anna May: Honestly? That I don’t entirely know.
There’s a full-length band record coming, but life has taught me that everything can change in an instant. A breakup completely altered my creative trajectory and gave me four new songs I never planned to write.
Right now I’m reconnecting with my Americana roots while also experimenting in ways I never expected. I even wrote my first rap song recently.
My motto lately has been: Who knows what will happen next?
That’s the beauty of songwriting. You never know when inspiration is going to arrive and completely change your direction.
And before I go, I’d love readers to know that I’ll be performing at Songs in the Canyon Festival in Costa Mesa, California on June 12th and at the Hermosa Beach Fine Arts Festival on June 13th in Hermosa Beach, California. I’m excited to bring these new songs to the stage and connect with audiences during this next chapter.
