Sydney doesn’t lack heartbreak pop, but what it sometimes lacks is an artist willing to treat emotional collapse like something you can study, catalogue, and rework until it reveals a pattern. On The Bridge, Betty confesses her this is how she comes to her truth.
Her first EP Knack introduced her as an emotionally precise songwriter — someone who can take chaos and shape it into something deliberate. Listening back to that EP now, she sees it as documentation from another, younger, version of herself - the lyrics stretching back years. There’s distance there. Not embarrassment, not nostalgia - just recognition of who she once was. A much younger person figuring it all out in real time.
We played Devote, which sits squarely in situationship limbo — not dramatic, not explosive, just suspended, like two people sitting in the backseat of a car, hesitating to be the first to reach for the handle. The production builds gradually, layer by layer, until her voice feels almost choral. It’s not accidental. Outside of her solo work, Betty runs Sounds Good Choir in Sydney’s inner west - a weekly gathering where she writes fresh four-part harmonies and strangers show up to sing them together.
The choir began post-COVID, not as a performance project but as a community one. No gatekeeping, no drinking culture - just voices in a room. That structure - rehearsal, harmony, collective vulnerability - mirrors her solo work more than you’d think. Even when she’s writing about emotional isolation, she builds the songs collaboratively. It's usually just her, producer Yianni Adams, and drummer Alex Coad. A small team, high trust. No committee writing rooms. It’s not how she works.
Collaboration is central to how Betty works. We revisited six one, her track with Euan Hart, which was written during a particularly low period of time. Instead of shelving the session, they built around it. The result is restrained but tense — two disparate voices circling the same emotional ground without fully resolving it.
Then there’s Fire - we played in a stripped-back live version recorded at Greenhouse Studios in Petersham (RIP - due to developers buying the old church it was in to build, you guessed it, more overpriced inner-west housing). Without the heavy production, the volatility becomes so much clearer. It’s not as delicate, masteredto have all it’s edges smoothed. It’s a controlled combustion that feels like a slow moving electrical current running up your spine. That energy will scale up at her upcoming Oxford Art Factory headline show on May 8 - a bigger room, with the same tight emotional framing.
Her upcoming EP String (1st of May release date) is the most deliberate expression of this mindset yet. The concept is simple - all the invisible threads between past relationships. The recurring language. The repeated dynamics. The patterns. Oh, the patterns. Hindsight reorganising memory. It’s less “I’m heartbroken” and more “I just noticed something.” That shift matters. You and I understand this rumination all too well.
We finally premiered North — a dramatic, explosive, and intentionally unresolved track, which is being released on the 13th of February. Written post-breakup and later refined overseas in Amsterdam, it captures the internal oscillation of wanting to leave and wanting to stay. It’s one of her proudest tracks, and it shows. The production stretches wider than it has before, a slapping, almost cracking drum, whipping the heavy emotions along, which continue to remain precise.
To close, Betty spotlighted the Sydney artists orbiting her world — Ella Haber, Sarah Levins, Jude Pascal, Andie, Surely Shirley and Zipporah — the community she surrounds herself with.
Betty’s work isn’t about just about catharsis and release - it’s about pattern recognition. About taking the chaos of relationships and arranging it into harmony — sometimes literally. And if the choir proves anything, it’s that even the most personal lyrics sound different when other people are brave enough to sing them back to you.