Bea Elmy Martin’s new single “Anouk” offers a more open and tender chapter in her songwriting. This time, she steps away from processing heartbreak and instead writes about her best friend, centring the song on platonic love and the kind of connection that can truly shape your life.
The track leans into a more stripped-back palette, allowing breath, space and closeness to take centre stage. As their friendship shifted over time, so did the song, growing bigger and bolder in places and more restrained and intimate in others. That sense of evolution is woven into the production, allowing “Anouk” to feel real and relatable.
As she moves toward her upcoming EP, Under The Yew (Vol. 2), Martin reflects on what it means to integrate everything she has worked through so far. Where the first volume traced loss and the first signs of light, this next chapter feels steadier, rooted in resilience and self-trust. Noctis Magazine spoke to her about the sentiment behind “Anouk,” how the song evolved alongside real life, and what she’s uncovered about herself along the way.
“Anouk” is deeply personal. How did writing about your best friend differ emotionally from past songwriting experiences?
It felt so fun writing about a best friend, writing “Anouk” felt softer and more exposed than anything I’d written before but not in a scary way. A lot of my earlier work processed grief, loss whereas this was centred on platonic love – the process felt steady and life-affirming. Because it’s about someone I love so deeply, there was a tenderness in the writing process that felt different. It wasn’t about untangling pain but more honouring our connection. However, that vulnerability came with a different kind of responsibility and I really wanted to handle it with care.
You’ve said the song evolved alongside your friendship. How did revisiting it over time change the way you approached both the production and your vocal performance?
It meant that the arrangement of the song kept taking new forms but I think the main difference was the chorus became wider and more ethereal. The arrangement also became more intimate as I became more sure about what I wanted from the song. Vocally, I leaned into restraint, allowing fragility and breath to sit at the forefront rather than pushing for intensity. Each return to the track felt less like correcting something and more like listening to what it needed at that particular moment in time.
Your previous EP had brooding electronic layers. How does “Anouk,” with its softer, organic elements, signal a shift in your sound?
I always start songs with just me and the piano. I think the organic elements of “Anouk” stuck because it reflected our relationship perfectly, I lean into the more electronic sounds when I feel like it could add more to the journey of the song but with this one it wasn’t needed. Under the Yew (Vol. 1) lived in a more shadowed, electronic space – it carried the weight of grief and introspection. “Anouk” feels lighter, not in depth but in texture.
Under the Yew (Vol. 1) explored grief and renewal. How will Under the Yew (Vol. 2) build on that, and what new emotional territory are you stepping into?
If Vol. 1 was about moving through loss and finding the first glimmers of light, Vol. 2 feels more like integration. It continues the thread of transformation but steps into resilience, strength and acceptance. There’s still vulnerability, but it’s steadier. It’s much less about survival and more about growth. Songs like “Lost,” “Born To Fly,” and now “Anouk” show different shades of that journey, from uncertainty to empowerment to the power of deep connection.
You’ve described this whole body of work as a personal excavation. As you move toward completing the project, do you feel changed by the process of writing and releasing these songs?
Yes, I definitely feel like I have learnt a lot about myself. I’ve always said stepping into the studio is kind of like a therapy session. It forces you to work through things and I feel very lucky to have songwriting to fall back on! Releasing the songs has also shifted them from something private to something shared, which is transformative in itself. I feel more grounded now, and more trusting of my instincts. The excavation has been challenging, but it’s also clarified who I am creatively and emotionally.
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Words: Alexander Williams
Photographer: Harry Hibbert