Ceci Day is an English-American singer-songwriter whose music lives among city streets and country skies. Her sound merges folk, country, rock and acoustic storytelling: a transatlantic identity shaped by a life lived between New York, London and the American West.

Her singles ‘With Fire’, ‘Homebound’, ‘Soho In July’ and ‘Beat’ define a sound that is lyric-driven and rooted in the specific. Her April 2026 release ‘Country Girl Sound’ captures her transatlantic identity. Ceci Day's latest single, 'lipstick on my orange juice' is a sung narrative full of vivid memories that carry you from first meetings through to final moments. This fan favourite captivates every audience: choruses belted, hips moving and lyrics that stick in heart and mind. Whether you’re dancing or crying, this song makes you feel something you can’t forget.

Ceci Day recently headlined London's Troubadour, where she performed fan favourites and unreleased originals like Goodbye Sweet Sheridan. This summer she performs at the Portofino arts festival and is taking her music across Europe and America — more stages, more miles, more stories to share.

Kiah Lindsay is a fresh artist and singer-songwriter from rural West Wales. Her unique fusion of Indie Folk/Country and Soul highlights a ‘New Age Wales’; a breathtaking and intoxicating landscape, full of rich heritage and culture. After releasing her debut album ‘Meet Me’ which captures an enchanting and honest story of self discovery, she then ventured to London and has taken the city's music scene with passion and stride. Join Kiah for an intimate and stripped-back performance at the Half Moon, delving into life’s complexities with her gripping songwriting.

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Catrin Vincent is a London-based singer, songwriter, and producer, formerly of Another Sky. Known for her striking, androgynous voice, she is releasing a solo record all about grief while living in a van. Inspired by Nick Drake, it embraces the freedom of life on the road.

MURPHY’s arrival is less of a debut and more of a long-delayed exhale. Raised between Huyton, York, Leeds and further afield, he’s been circling music his whole life without quite stepping into the centre of it. “I’ve wanted to put music out for ages,” he admits, though the delay was heavy with context: family fracture, unspoken trauma, and a childhood where music, despite being everywhere, was also something to be avoided.

Creativity runs deep in his bloodline. His father played in Liverpool indie rock bands Rain, Proper and Waste, and is widely regarded as one of the city’s great songwriters. His cousin, Jamie Murphy, was formerly a member of iconic Liverpool band SPACE. His grandmother, Alice Mitchell, is a published poet, and his late grandfather, Joseph Vogelsang, was a renowned sculptor and artist from Baltimore, Maryland. With that lineage, guitars were around before MURPHY could walk. Yet after his parents’ divorce at a young age, music became complicated. “I avoided music for a long time because there was a lot of trauma surrounding it,” he says. “I wasn’t really allowed to play music at home as a kid.”

That fracture carried an identity shift. During the period when his parents separated, the Murphy name and the musical connection to his father disappeared from daily home life. His mum began using Mitchell as his surname due to the emotional weight that name carried for her, encouraging distance from the Murphy identity. The tension between those two names and what they represented feeds directly into his songwriting now.

One of the defining memories behind the project dates back to when he was four years old, in his original childhood bedroom before the separation fully unfolded and he moved rooms. In a family video from that day, he stands with a mini Telecaster, singing “There She Goes” by The La's in a thick Scouse accent. When his mum calls him “a star” after he finishes, he looks back and replies, “Am I?” It’s a small exchange, but it holds everything: innocence, possibility, and uncertainty over his identity.

The project is partly about reconnecting with that younger Scouse version of himself: reaching back to the kid who felt music everywhere but didn’t yet have the language or safety to understand what he was carrying, and gently mending parts of that story through songwriting.

The shift back toward music began in his late teens. Although he declined an invitation to enrol at Leeds College of Music, he gravitated toward a loose circle of musicians there, finding himself in late-night jams and open mics purely for the joy of it. “We all put a pact together to make music together, but we never did,” he says. That circle stayed intact even as life pulled them in different directions, eventually folding back in on itself when his friend and Ninja Tune artist Rules asked MURPHY to jump on a track with no expectations attached. “I hadn’t written a single song fully before this,” he admits.

What followed was a sudden unblocking: one song became another, then another. “You break this mythical idea of doing something,” he says, “and then you want to do it over and over again.” All the music

he’s written so far has come in that short, intense burst. Not forced or pre-planned, but unlocked by trust, timing and familiarity.

In the span of weeks, MURPHY has written and finished a confessional batch of songs - the first fully realised songs of his life, and each one emotionally direct and unafraid of quiet truths. Inspired by Mk.gee and Dijon’s loose, instinctive reimagining of soul and pop, his music carries a similar sense of intimacy: lived-in grooves, space to breathe, and a voice that feels like it’s carrying a lifetime of experience. It’s powerful without showboating, aching without indulgence, and echoes like a distant memory you didn’t realise you’d been holding onto. “I got to a point where I wanted to communicate things,” MURPHY says simply. “They’re very personal songs, the sort of thing you wouldn’t necessarily say in normal conversation.”

Despite the weight of the subject matter, MURPHY isn’t interested in being consumed by it. At the heart of the project lies a deep love of soul, R&B and hip-hop - from Jimi Hendrix to Al Green, Bill Withers, Lauryn Hill and Frank Ocean - alongside a wide-open listening habit that moves fluidly across continents and genres. The most unexpected part, he says, has been seeing how the songs land. “My friendship group had been crying to this music,” MURPHY reflects. “That wasn’t something I expected.”

Travel has also reshaped his creative perspective. Time spent in the United States and across several African countries, initially through creative work and collaboration, significantly shifted how he understands people, culture and sound. “Being in different environments changed how I live,” he says. “It changed how I hear music.” That expanded perspective now sits quietly inside the songs.

Alongside music, MURPHY has been deeply involved in community-led projects for much of his adult life. Introduced by his close friend and collaborator Jay Weathers, he joined Outreach Homes at its inception, investing early and remaining actively involved for over six years as it has grown. The mission resonated personally, shaped by instability and mental health challenges within his extended family growing up, and the experience of finding a second, chosen family later in childhood.

Excited to continue down this path, MURPHY is preparing a live show he wants to feel like “a living room full of musicians”, stepping fully into a chapter that feels open rather than unresolved. Amber has functioned as a form of musical therapy, but it is not a closing chapter. It is the beginning of a much larger body of work. A substantial volume of material has already been written, with more constantly taking shape. The project is called Amber for a reason: these songs were born from warmth, glow and a long-awaited moment of creative openness. Catharsis, yes - but held gently, and carried forward, step by step.