“This EP feels like everything I felt all at once — the adrenaline, guilt, and loneliness that come with change. I’m really proud of it. This has been the most exciting and rewarding year of my life so far.”

“Honey, I’m Home is just my raw feelings — unfiltered. Some songs are so honest I thought, ‘this can never come out’. If you’ve dated me or hurt me, there’s probably a track about you. These are my secrets.”

“I’m a child again, riding in the back of a car. A hole in the roadside beckons me to enter. I slip away like condensation into a pastel world where dolphins swim through turquoise streams and fruit trees twist in bonsai proportions. Then I realize I’ve been left behind.”

“When I was little, I wasn’t afraid to get angry. Now I’ve had to relearn getting mad, and reconnect with indignation.”

“It feels like it sits between me and my ma’s chapters in life… She could sing it, and so can I, and we both understand it from different angles.”

“Streetcar explores the discomfort of admitting what you’re not supposed to want. It’s about fantasizing about infidelity, the guilt that shadows those thoughts, and wrestling with what that means when you love someone.”

“One summer at my grandparents’ house, we found a stray piglet on the road. Babe was my favourite film, and I had begged for a piglet that year. My grandpa, known for his practical jokes, might have orchestrated it—or maybe it was fate. They never made a third Babe film, but we lived it.”

“The song came from that feeling of trying to connect with someone who was always just out of reach. Mike and I even layered in the sound of a New Zealand busy tone as a kind of sonic metaphor. It’s funny and devastating at the same time.”

“The ick isn’t just a feeling—it’s a deep, existential betrayal. It’s realizing they’re not the flawless masterpiece you invented in your head, but rather a person who says ‘boys will be boys’ unironically. There’s no recovering from it, so we figured we might as well write a song about it. Call it a public service.”

“We almost tried to squeeze it onto our EP back in 2022. But it felt too special—it deserved its own spotlight.”

“The song has a few meanings, but the one that connects them all is patience. In intimacy, relationships, life—being confident in communicating what you need. That’s reflected sonically too: confident, soulful, sexy, fun, joyful.”

“Each track explores a different shade of heartbreak, from denial and excuses to pleading for change and, finally, acceptance. It’s the sound of fighting goodbye, and the scars it leaves behind.”

“It’s the most typical love song you’ll find on the album. Written with hearts in my eyes, full of optimism about life and the future … like floating between two storms, momentarily forgetting the hardships and focusing on how sweet and warm it can feel to be in love.”

“It felt like every piece of safety and security was pulled out from under me. I was forced to grow up too fast. This EP is me making sense of that shift — about grief, isolation, and losing a version of yourself you didn’t even know you were leaving behind.”

“I needed it to feel like it was breathing life, and that there’s somebody in the room with you when you’re listening. I wanted to keep the intimacy of acoustic demos whilst bringing them to life through this combination of live sound with slightly weirder, wonkier atmospherics.” 

“I hope that one day she will be able to hear these recordings. I hope that one day she, all of her co-defendants, and all of Palestine, will be free."

“it’s exciting baby u should come own it… I’m your trophy / come hold it.”

“the distortion of reality and the uncomfortability of death. It’s a reminder that anyone, including myself, is susceptible to distortion.”

Built from a single resampled guitar take, “peaches” was inspired by a recording session canceled when a storm knocked out power in East Nashville. “The storm provided imagery to express feeling disconnected from close friends, and frustrated with external forces getting in the way of mending the relationship.”

“It’s about staying where you are when told to leave, making a fuss, and taking up more space. In Ireland, making music without fleeing abroad is already an act of stubborn optimism. Sure, sometimes you’re crying in Lidl or dreaming of Australia — but you’re still standing. That’s our kind of ‘big girl.’”