When Maddy Carty opens her new EP, “Otherhood”, she bypasses the shiny veneer of typical pop releases and aims squarely for the marrow of our messy, complicated realities. The London singer-songwriter possesses a uniquely commanding, almost suspiciously delicate vocal tone. She uses it here as a surgical tool to dissect womanhood, pure exhaustion, and the quiet thrill of finally drawing firm boundaries.
She has this weird, wonderful habit of disguising heavy thoughts as irresistible grooves. Take the bouncy, syncopated rhythm of “Blame Game”. It has your head nodding furiously while Carty systematically tears apart societal polarization. It serves as a beautifully optimistic neo-soul mandate. Her approach takes a delightfully cynical turn on “Not A Fan.” Floating above sparse, warm chords, she politely but ruthlessly dismantles a toxic, arrogant acquaintance. Her relaxed vocal delivery makes the confrontation incredibly cool; she essentially drops the emotional guillotine without losing her soulful composure.
Yet the release aches most beautifully in its most isolated corners. She tackles the strange melancholy of romance on “Old Hands,” utilizing a softly looping, bedroom-pop beat to celebrate the absolute peace found in fading youth. The twin tracks addressing early parenthood the protective, nurturing warmth of “Little One” and the physical depletion detailed in “Dark Circles” feel profoundly intimate. On the latter, twinkling higher notes mimic the strange haze of sleep deprivation before a massive wave of loving devotion washes the doubt away. She anchors these internal storms with “Unseen,” an emotionally soaring R&B tribute to being a steadfast anchor for a struggling friend.
Carty claims her power by turning raw vulnerability into an absolute fortress. Why do we spend our lives outrunning our fatigue and flaws, when sitting inside them yields a sound this devastatingly whole?
