I’m always telling my students that the 1990s were better. I mean, in almost every way, they were just better. Objectively so. Cars still looked like they were designed with rulers, digital cameras literally had floppy disks in them, you could play GoldenEye on the N64, and there was a lot of gunge on TV. Noel’s House Party had it, Live & Kicking had it, Dave Benson Phillips absolutely loved it. Come to think of it, you don’t see much of that now. Gunge. I suppose maybe some things weren’t better… but, anyway, there was something to be said for not having a shiny little device that reflected all your anxieties back at you in your hand at all times. In the ’90s, you only had to worry about your uncle’s problematic take on immigration and/or the welfare system at the occasional family barbecue. You didn’t have to actively block them on every social platform.

Only last week, my wife and I were on the train with our son and I found myself getting all teary-eyed as I pointed out the industrial estate where my brother and I used to kick a football about almost every day as children. Hours and hours lost to kicking a ball against a wall. Saying it out loud to my wife felt completely mad, as the thought of our little boy doing such a thing is the last thing I’d want. We were outside. Uncontactable. What happened at school during the day just stayed there. Anyway, I’m getting away from things here and the reason is that the excellent Little Window kind of touches on the same territory – a time before smartphones, not kids larking around in factory car parks – and just like those addictive little ergonomic fuckers, once you’ve been acquainted it’s really hard to get it out of your mind.

Following the hyper-pop of Side Quest and the giddy, wide-eyed You See Wonder, Little Window is the third solo song that Holly P has put out in 2026 – although there’s also Do It For Bonnie which moves at a different pace and occupies a different sonic realm but retains all of the charm and beauty. Little Window itself is a perfect slice of pop that balances Holly’s astute, playful lyrics and melodic instinct with some McCartney-esque piano and propulsive drums. It’s the vocal that really stands out though, fizzing all over the place with the kind of gleeful abandon that you can’t resist. Those layered harmonies in the bridge too. Oh man, it’s just so good! I think it’s a really neat touch how the song ends too, with pretty much everything tiptoeing from the mix and leaving just the warmth of Holly’s voice and piano, mirroring the song’s yearning for simpler times.

In short: If you enjoy, you know, having fun and smiling and stuff like that then you’ll probably find something to love here. It’s as smart as it is bold and unselfconscious. Holly’s songs have a knack of taking off in unexpected directions, running away at speed and then coming back to you, and yet they still feel kind of familiar and effortless. The optimism and joy at the heart of them is palpable. And totally contagious. Go listen.

As I occasionally do on here, I reached out to Holly with a few questions. I’m glad I did too, because her response was the kind of thing that makes this blog, and writing about music in general, so worthwhile to me. It’s funny really, because I spend so much time with my art lecturer hat on – week in, week out – telling students not to waffle and that less is more… all of that… and then I catch myself writing and sending the most convoluted gibberish you’ll ever read to strangers on the internet. Anyway, I’d written four of my typical long-winded ones that go round and round in circles and sent them across to Holly, but essentially they all boiled down to one broader question. What follows is that question and Holly’s response in its entirety.

ISY: I know you’ve been around, in, and out of music a long time but how did you find yourself releasing stuff now?

The short answer:

The paradigm shift of motherhood and a week in the country with strangers helped me purge the fear-demons and get down with my inner nerd.

The long answer: 

Over the years I’ve been almost an internet recluse – Making things under different aliases and avoiding showing my face where possible. I far more enjoyed the experience of creating than performing and am not a big fan of social media.

In Dec 2025 I was invited by producer and good friend Peter Miles to contribute a song to a magical recorded project called Middlefarm Sessions. 10 artists meet as strangers at Middlefarm Studios in Devon and each are given 3 hours to showcase, arrange and record a song (live to tape) with the group. 

At that time I had been musically dormant for a while and was 1 year into my parenting journey. I’d convinced myself that my participation would likely be my goodbye bugle call to the long-held secret dream of releasing my own music, as myself.
I walked in, questioning whether my new role as ‘Mother’ would eventually eclipse all facets of my identity, music included. And like many new parents, I wondered whether I should be sacrificing my dream – something that brought me joy – in order to be a present and a less self-centric parent.

I write songs for other artists, but a combination of unfortunate events, health blips and mild scopophobia (among other things) had so far prevented me from releasing music as myself. Now I’d had a baby, the idea of being an artist would had to give way to this new reality… or so I thought.

The week at Middlefarm ended up being transformative. Through connecting with others and revelling in the act of spontaneous co-creation, I remembered who I’d always been, underneath the mountain of nappies and self doubt. 

It felt so good to blow off the cobwebs and froth up in the broth of voices, ideas and instruments. I was making music again, and it was medicine.

I remember the exact moment the gears shifted for me. I heard my daughter squeal with delight whilst we were all mid-take (that squeal made it onto the record, ha!), and it was then I had the realisation – I was right where I was meant to be, and Motherhood wasn’t costing me that feeling of belonging, only bolstering it. I did know what I was doing; I was sure of what I wanted to say; how I wanted to sound. I had never really left myself. 

Working as a songwriter and taking part in so many democratic writing sessions for so long had distorted the signals between my ability to make music and what it was I really wanted to be and say, as me.

Walking into Middlefarm I was grieving what I thought was a lost opportunity to be myself creatively. 

But in that session I found joy and self-certainty. For the first time in too long I felt like an artist. 

By the time I left Middlefarm, I understood that in order to be the best version of me for the sake of my daughter and I, I needed to evolve into the most authentic and aligned version of myself. 

Something about becoming a mum and going through childbirth really shook up my snow-globe of what felt scary to me, and what matters in life. I was a fearful person before, but I just don’t have the space or energy to let fears paralyse me these days. Past concerns about what people might think of me or my music have evaporated. The 3 things that scare me the most now are heights, losing my loved ones… and the idea of not being excellent for my daughter (not in that order). And I now believe part of being excellent for her means being my truest self.

And my true self is a geek. She is not cool. She likes fuzzy, fun, bubblegrunge, musical-theatre-sounding nerd-rock with waspy guitars and oddball lyrics. And it has always been this way. Ever since my virgin spin of a Ben Folds Five CD.

So somewhere between childbirth, motherhood and one spirit-enriching week spent hugging strangers and crying in the countryside, my inner nerd decided to come out, play a power chord, and roll the damn d20. 

It’s very freeing to finally be able to say that so long as Bonnie likes my music and my elf ears, I really don’t mind being me.

And hey, it’s pretty hard to hide whilst wearing elf ears and playing loud guitar.