SPOTLIGHT: ANA LUNA

Meet Ana Luna and tune into her new single “Can We Pretend We Just Met At A Bar?”

What inspired the title “Can We Pretend We Just Met At A Bar?” and how did that phrase set the tone for the rest of the song? 

My ex was the one who first said that phrase to me, and I immediately thought, damn, that’s a good song title. The context of that conversation we were having that day actually ended up shaping the whole song too. “Can We Pretend We Just Met at a Bar?” is about wanting to rewrite the past, to imagine meeting someone for the first time again so you could start fresh without all the baggage. That idea comes through right from the first verse, where I picture what things might have been like if we were strangers just meeting instead of carrying all the history we already had.

You’ve described the track as a conversation with yourself. Can you walk us through what that inner dialogue looked like while writing it? 

I wrote the song right after a conversation with my ex where, for the first time, I was completely honest about what I wanted from him. But when I got home, it hit me that nothing was actually going to change. No amount of time or reflection would make him want to commit. Writing the song became a way of processing that realization. It was part reflection on what could have been, part acknowledgment of what I was feeling in that moment. At the core, though, I was asking myself when I would be honest with myself. I hadn’t been listening to my friends or family. I was in denial. The song became my way of finally telling myself the truth: that no matter the connection, I wasn’t going to get what I wanted.

The song blurs the past and present to reveal deeper truths. How did you approach weaving those timelines together lyrically? 

I wrote the song almost like a stream of thought. The first verse explores what could be, the second is grounded in the present, how I was feeling in that moment and what I wanted to ask. The pre-choruses and choruses capture the bigger picture and the lingering question of when I’ll be honest with myself. And the bridge became the moral of the story, where I really center myself and confront why I can’t let go.

You mention staying in denial despite knowing the relationship was over. How did that tension influence the mood and pacing of the track? 

Throughout the song, the pacing is slow and lingering, giving space for the more grand and cinematic production. It creates a contradiction. On one hand, the slow singing represents those lingering emotions I felt: the uncertainty, the hope that I’d get an answer, the desire to leave but not being able to. It feels like a slow burn, a slow walk where you’re waiting for someone to stop you and tell you what you want to hear. On the other hand, the production has this cinematic, grand feel that represents the intensity of my emotions: the beauty I felt, that pure space where feelings exist and logic is completely disregarded. By the time we get to the bridge, there’s more of a push. It becomes a confrontation with myself, leading into a chaotic final chorus where all the emotions spill out before everything crashes down into stillness, and you finally face the truth.

The production feels warm yet haunting. How did you work with your team to balance cinematic beauty with emotional heaviness? 

When I first wrote the song, I wasn’t really overthinking the chord structure. I actually worried later that the repeating chords might feel too static though, so that’s where the production and vocals had to carry the weight. My producers pushed me not to sing perfectly, but to sing with raw emotion, which is where the heaviness really comes through. Initially, I imagined the track as something stripped back, maybe just piano and a few instruments. But when I came back to the studio, they’d built a skeleton with this cinematic scope. It was nothing like what I pictured, but I fell in love with it. It transformed the song from a sad ballad into something bigger and more cinematic.

You explore the disconnect between external appearances and internal reality. How do you hope listeners relate to that idea? 

I think we all at some point go through the disorienting experience of loving someone who doesn’t want the same things as us. These people can be sweet as can be and treat us with love, but when it comes down to it, they won’t commit or change. It doesn’t even necessarily mean that they’re bad people, we’re just incompatible. I’ve found that those relationships are often the hardest to walk away from too. 

This song isn’t about pointing fingers and blaming anyone for the relationship ending. It simply explores the ending of a beautiful connection that you know ultimately won’t fulfill you. It’s a song about learning to be honest with yourself instead of being blinded by emotion. 

I hope that this song serves as a way to get people to ponder and think about their own similar experiences, and hopefully leads them to making the right decision for themselves. 

Were there any specific visual or cinematic references that guided the song’s atmosphere? 

For me personally, not really. When I describe what I want, it usually comes through in a specific beat or melody, or I’ll explain to my producers and musicians how I want the song to feel. With the musicians especially, we gave them some guidance but mostly just told them what the song was about and encouraged them to have an organic reaction to what they heard and played.

How did your background in acting influence your approach to storytelling in this track? 

When I first recorded the song, everything had just happened, so I didn’t really need to tap into my acting skills because the emotions were already raw and right there. But as we worked on the album later, I had moved on, and I worried I might not be able to connect in the same way. So much of the vocal delivery is driven by emotion, so I was scared I wouldn’t be able to sing them the way I wanted to. But even when I sang the songs out of context, I still felt that connection. I think that’s where acting comes in, because I treat each song like a story to tell, and I can tap back into the emotions and the version of myself who first wrote them.

You’ve lived in Ukraine, Paris, and Los Angeles. How have these different cultural environments shaped the way you write about love and loss? 

I don’t know exactly if the places I’ve lived have influenced how I write. I will say, for this album, most of the experiences I’m writing about happened when I moved to America for college and how that shaped my life here. 

Was there a particular moment in the writing process when you felt the song’s emotional core fully click? 

Definitely the bridge. The tempo builds, and that’s where I finally say what I’ve been circling around throughout the song. 

You’ve spoken about the hypnotic pull of a relationship’s “illusion.” How do you translate that feeling into melody and arrangement? 

I think with the lingering melodies and vocals, there’s no clear moral or resolution, no answer tied up neatly. You’re just suspended in the emotion, fully immersed in the story as it unfolds.

What was the most challenging part of making this song: lyrically, vocally, or emotionally? 

I think vocally it was the most challenging, especially in the bridge. I don’t usually sing that high, but I knew the song needed it. I even took some vocal lessons just to figure out how to hit those notes.

How does “Can We Pretend We Just Met At A Bar?” fit into the larger emotional arc of your upcoming debut album? 

Every song on the album explores a different part of a relationship or breakup. This track is about denial and letting go. It’s also one of the longest songs on the record, and I think of it as a closure moment for me. The only other song like that is “Bleeding Pen,” which will actually be my next release.

Are there lines in the song that hold a personal weight for you every time you perform them? 

These lines in the second verse: “I wake up in his arms, wonder if he still loves me / but I'm afraid to ask, I know he'd never stay regardless.” That’s something I always wanted to ask him but never did. I felt stupid for even wanting to, and I was too scared of the answer. Now, almost two years later, those questions are out in the world through this song. It feels like a huge emotional disclosure, which is terrifying. But in a way, releasing it gives me the closure I never got from him. It’s like finally getting the answer—not from him, but from letting my inner monologue exist outside of me.

What do you hope listeners carry with them after hearing this track for the first time?

I hope they feel less alone, and that they realize how intense and absurd love can be. And that it’s okay. Most of all, I hope it gives them the courage to walk away when they know they need to.

Listen to “Can We Pretend We Just Met At A Bar?” here.