My Life As A Moth

When My Life as A Moth forced herself to sit down at her piano in her pyjamas, determined to create in defiance of a global pandemic that narrowed her world to four walls, as she rested her fingers on the keys, she discovered a dead moth. “I looked at it,” the Swedish singer-songwriter says, “and I realised I felt quite the same.” When the only place she could mine inspiration from was the confines of her East London apartment, the dead moth wasn’t swept away, but became an unlikely muse. It was then that she began - and became - My Life As A Moth.

Her approach to music has an almost child-like quality, delving into the possibility of sound. Bringing not only trumpets, the harp – which she plays casually – violins, cellos and a range of percussion, she also explored recording the sounds of stomping feet, the crunch of gravel and the sounds of the natural world around her. Being drawn to influences of yesteryear from David Bowie (“He is like a god in my eyes”) to the psychedelic scene of the 70s, she is also inspired by the cosmic and the otherworldly.

Equally a poet as she is a musician, My Life as A Moth takes pride in her lyrics. The challenge of trying to articulate the intangible, to attempt to capture her emotions and experiences lightning in a bottle, is what drives her.