Out Now: My Life As A Moth -The Parade of the Broken Hearted

My Life As A Moth is the kind of project that doesn’t begin with a strategy—it begins with a moment. A Swedish-born, East London-based artist, she makes music that pulls from post-punk, experimental rock, art pop, industrial textures, and alternative guitar music, shaping those elements into something immersive, eerie, and emotionally charged. It’s not just sound, but atmosphere: the feeling of walking through a dream you can’t quite control, where beauty and dread keep trading places.

The origin story is as stark as it is cinematic. During lockdown, at a time when she felt lost and disconnected, she sat down at a dusty keyboard she hadn’t touched in years. Between the keys was a dead moth. Small, fragile, and strangely perfect in its stillness, it hit her with a kind of quiet grief—sad, yes, but also oddly beautiful. She wrote a song called “My Life As A Moth,” and what could have been a single track became something larger: a name, a lens, an artistic identity built around transformation—turning the overlooked, the broken, the discarded into something that glows.

Since then, the project has steadily gathered momentum. My Life As A Moth has played a sold-out show at Paper Dress Vintage, performed at venues including Oslo, The Boileroom, and SJQ, and earned support from BBC Radio 6, BBC Radio Wales, and Absolute Radio. She’s also landed on Spotify’s editorial playlist Melomania—a signal that her particular blend of darkness and melody is finding listeners who want music that doesn’t flinch.

That instinct—to take difficult feelings and render them vivid—sits at the centre of her new 12-track album, The Parade of the Starlet & the Broken Hearted. Written during a period of deep personal change and therapy, the record draws from experiences of trauma, manipulation, coercive control, and gaslighting. But it doesn’t live in despair. If anything, it’s a document of resilience: the slow return of clarity, the rebuilding of self, the parts of a person that survive even when the story tries to erase them.

Her writing doesn’t present experience as a diary entry. Instead, it filters the personal through surrealism, symbolism, and world-building—songs that feel deeply intimate, yet slightly otherworldly, like confession disguised as myth. It’s a way of telling the truth without flattening it, of giving pain a shape that can be held at arm’s length and examined under different lights. Produced and engineered by Ellie Mason (Voka Gentle) and Keir Adamson, the album was recorded over just under a year in Keir’s back garden studio—an unglamorous setting that suits the record’s emotional honesty. There’s something fitting about that: a body of work born from isolation, built patiently in a small space, now stepping out into the world as its own strange, luminous parade.