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Rosśa Crean is a multi-genre recording artist and composer, so don't be afraid of the variety! You can also listen to a lot of Rosśa's work at Soundcloud by clicking here.

Rosśa is always for hire for multimedia and film projects as well. Check out the COMPOSITIONS page to listen to past works!

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Lost Daughters: Opera in One Act (Piano/Vocal Version)
  • Lost Daughters: Opera in One Act (Piano/Vocal Version)
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$25.00

CAST: The Queen of the Night - Coloratura Soprano Mrs. Darling - Mezzo Soprano Clytemnestra - Contralto

SYNOPSIS:

In “Lost Daughters,” the Queen of the Night, Mrs. Darling, and Clytemnestra reconvening repeatedly to a desolate wasteland, where they return each time someone is done reading their stories. They then discuss the losses of each of their daughters, one by death, one by estrangement, and one by intervalic disappearance. It's also about how these three very different women come together to express their grief and eventually, with the discovery that they relive this story and these feelings on repeat, decide to try and end the cycle.

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Nightingale Songs (A Miniature Cycle)
  • Nightingale Songs (A Miniature Cycle)
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$7.00

Nightingale Songs

Music: Rosśa Crean Text: Bea Goodwin

Nightingale songs began as bits of poem pieces extracted from Bea's diaries during the fall of the Kavanaugh hearings. The image of Philomela & birds flew from the page in an attempt to take back control of women's sexuality. The following songs, raw and genuine, are tiny shards of glass from a very broken time. Rosśa used the sentiment of each poem, as well as their own synesthesia, to compose melodic phrases based on the colors they were seeing: hues of rich browns, saffron, periwinkle, violet, and ruby red.

  1. Mother Earth Some women, when they have life inside of them, eat dirt like they are potted plants.

II. lamplight My skirt is a lampshade with a warm glow underneath

III. nightingale We are all Philomela; birds lined to slaughter, with songs we are too scared to sing.

IV. Venus de Milo Venus de Milo, I hold your arms and scotch tape You whisper: "dont fix me."

  1. nectar Under the flesh you taste is ruby red blown glass, and you, my hummingbird, are wet with nectar.
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