Brisbane singer/songwriter Lottie McLeod embraces the heartbreak, hilarity, and beautiful contradictions of growing up on ‘The Boathouse,’ a dazzling sophomore EP steeped in dreamy indie pop and intimate folk warmth. With unflinching honesty, disarming tenderness, and an irresistible sense of humor, she gives voice to the feelings we often struggle to articulate, inviting listeners to recognize their own lives in hers. The result is a record that celebrates the glorious mess of being young and the freedom of becoming yourself.

Stream: “Wednesdays at the Waterloo” – Lottie McLeod

Lottie McLeod is learning that two things can be true at once.

At 20 years old, she’s already discovered that love can make you feel like the luckiest person alive, the biggest fool in the room, and everything in between. You can want someone who isn’t right for you, miss someone who hurt you, and laugh at yourself for falling hopelessly in love with a person who barely knows you’re looking. Growing up means making room for all of it – the heartbreak, the hilarity, the longing, and the lessons that come from loving people, losing people, and learning to love yourself.

Her bruised, buoyant sophomore EP, The Boathouse, brings that emotional whirlwind to life in vivid, glorious color. Across seven songs, dreamy indie pop, intimate folk, and subtle alt-country flourishes mingle with acoustic guitars, banjo, flute, and pedal steel, creating a wonderfully expressive backdrop for McLeod’s candid and brilliantly incisive storytelling. Her tender voice can sound almost conspiratorial, like a friend letting you in on a secret, before a single piercing lyric changes the entire mood. The result is utterly dazzling – a richly textured, disarmingly personal collection that celebrates the messiness of being young with equal measures of sincerity, wit, and hard-won self-awareness.

honey
you know I can’t keep doing this
spending Wednesdays at the Waterloo
I keep missing the questions
you’re so cute
I made us lose
please forgive me
can you blame me
the game is over now
we’ll get em next week baby

Released September 25 via ABC Music, The Boathouse follows McLeod’s May 2025 debut EP Bug, a profoundly personal first chapter shaped by love, loss, and the beginnings of her life as a songwriter. Her father taught her to play guitar in 2020, just a year before he passed away from brain cancer, and music became a way for McLeod to process her grief while holding onto his memory. Named after her father’s nickname for her, Bug accompanied the young artist through first love, life-changing loss, and the formative experiences of finding her place in music.

McLeod had been immersed in the performing arts long before pursuing songwriting professionally. Growing up in Brisbane, she explored acting and visual art and eventually attended Music Industry College, where supportive mentors and peers encouraged her to pursue her ambitions. She found particular inspiration in Phoebe Bridgers’ unflinching emotional honesty during her father’s illness, while artists like Christian Lee Hutson, Samia, and Andy Shauf helped shape her appreciation for thoughtful, character-rich songwriting. Those early creative influences would become increasingly important as McLeod began developing a more complete artistic identity, bringing her lifelong interests in music, imagery, and storytelling together.

Her career has gathered considerable momentum since her 2023 debut. McLeod earned a Queensland Music Award for her first single “Happy Birthday,” received the prestigious Billy Thorpe Scholarship in 2024, and was named QMusic’s Emerging Artist of the Year in 2025. That same year, she was recognized as a triple j Unearthed Feature Artist, secured triple j rotation for “Ruin a Good Thing,” and embarked on her first headline tour. Behind those achievements was a songwriter gradually learning to trust her instincts, discovering what she could bring to a creative collaboration and gaining the confidence to stand by her own artistic decisions.

This growing self-assurance accompanied McLeod into the making of The Boathouse,

recorded across two continents with producers Josh Beattie at Brisbane’s 4000 Studios and Caleb Wright at Stadium Heights Sound in North Carolina. The latter collaboration carried particular significance: Wright had reached out after hearing “The Line” from Bug, and McLeod had admired his work with Samia since high school. Together, those sessions would help shape a collection she now considers her most complete artistic statement yet. But when Atwood Magazine asks what she initially envisioned for the record, McLeod’s answer begins in a far less deliberate place.

“To be really honest, when I started recording this record there wasn’t a long-term vision,” McLeod says. “I had one song that felt really important for me to see through – ‘Important to You.’ I was clear with what I wanted for that song, what I wanted it to say, how I hoped it would be received, but there wasn’t any plan beyond that. I recorded the title track ‘Boathouse’ with the same producer, Caleb, in North Carolina and I think these two songs, being the first two that I completed from the project, just became these organic beacons for the rest of the EP to follow.”

What began with two recordings gradually grew into seven portraits of the relationships that shaped McLeod over the past two years. A romance ends abruptly over breakfast; a crush makes an ordinary trivia night impossible to concentrate on; the desire to protect someone else becomes too heavy to carry. McLeod gives these moments their full emotional weight, while embracing the self-deprecation, flashes of indignation, and youthful exuberance that make her perspective unmistakably her own.

For anyone discovering McLeod through The Boathouse, it’s a striking introduction to a songwriter who’s fiercely observant, unguarded about rejection, and perfectly willing to laugh at herself. Her songs reveal a young woman still figuring out what she wants from love and life, increasingly confident in what she deserves and what she has to offer. And as the record came together, that growing sense of self began to influence her entire creative approach.

“The Boathouse has felt like a complete project,” McLeod tells Atwood Magazine. “I feel like there were really important learning opportunities from the first EP that have helped me approach this one with more purpose. The result feels like I’ve created a collection of songs that I am really confident represent where I am in my writing in this moment.”

“Also, I could lean into the other creative areas I’ve explored through my life. When I was young, I tried acting, I loved visual art, was surrounded by photography, and I think this project has felt like a combination of all of these things I’ve explored growing up. I feel like the end result is music I am proud of, that is very authentically ‘me,’ complimented by these other artistic mediums that have given the project its own visual world.”

Where Bug had been an education in making music, The Boathouse gave McLeod the opportunity to bring her artistic interests together with greater confidence and intention. “This has felt like a whole space that I’ve sat in for the last 15 months,” she reflects.

That space extends far beyond the music. In photographer Ghina Sari’s striking black-and-white seaside portraits – one of which adorns The Boathouse’s cover – McLeod appears both nestled in another person’s arms and alone against the open water. There’s an almost film-like quality to these images – the grain, the understated compositions, the longing in a glance, the intimacy of an embrace. Their beauty lies in their simplicity, each photograph inviting the viewer to consider the complicated emotional lives unfolding beyond the frame.

And the music shares that attention to detail, even as it moves between markedly different moods. “Thomas” builds its folk foundations into a bittersweet swell of trumpets, banjo, and violins, while the breezy, lovestruck “Wednesdays at the Waterloo” extends its playful spirit into an exuberant, ‘80s sitcom-inspired music video. Together, these creative choices reveal an artist increasingly comfortable expressing every facet of her personality, from the earnest and introspective to the delightfully ridiculous.

Asked to describe the record in three words, McLeod distills its emotional breadth and personal significance into a simple answer:

“Coming of age.”

It’s a fitting description of a collection shaped by firsts, false starts, difficult decisions, and discoveries that have changed how McLeod sees herself and the people around her. And for a record so concerned with the relationships that shape our lives, its title carries a significance that reaches far beyond the music.

The opening line of “Boathouse” sets the scene: “We get along, talk it out by the Boathouse, try not to cry.”

“It’s a reference to the ‘Manly Boathouse’ which is actually a restaurant in my hometown,” McLeod explains. “It’s right on the bay, next to the boat harbour, and is about 15 minutes from where I live. It has this seaside vibe and you can sit outside on a picnic bench, park your car nearby or go inside and have a meal and a drink. It can actually be whatever you need it to be. And for me it’s been that so many times.

“I have sat in the car of someone I’m seeing and had raw conversations, I’ve had beautiful times of connection and I’ve had hard truth telling chats there. It’s just a place I’ve found myself drawn to when I want to connect with people, for meaningful and special moments but also for really difficult ones. When I was recording the EP, I just felt that line was genuinely representative of all of the songs I was writing. It all came back to connection and conversation and how those things contribute to the outcomes of our relationships. It just felt right.”

McLeod’s gift for capturing the complexities of human relationships extends beyond the words people exchange.

Sometimes the most revealing details are the ones that go unspoken. One of her favorite lyrics from “Boathouse” captures the physical anxiety of wanting someone whose intentions are painfully difficult to reconcile with your own: “rubbing my hands together, I do it when you make me anxious. You wouldn’t understand because everything you do is intended.”

“This just shows how much control this person had over me,” McLeod explains. “He gets to go about his day while I can’t sit still. Someone taking over everything is such a bizarre feeling. If it’s not peaceful then it’s probably not right.”

That emotional imbalance runs through the title track, a breathtaking portrait of a friendship complicated by romantic desire. McLeod sings from the painful in-between, where closeness breeds longing and the fear of losing someone can become as consuming as the desire to be with them. “I would risk it all / but I don’t wanna lose what was never mine,” she confesses, distilling an entire relationship’s worth of uncertainty into a devastating admission. There’s an exquisite tension in her delivery, the yearning of a young woman who knows the outcome she wants may never arrive. And even as the relationship slips beyond her reach, she finds extraordinary beauty in the possibility of what could have been.

“Sunburnt” carries that longing into warmer, gently lilting indie pop and alt-country territory, its imagery of heat, skin, and open water illuminating the aftermath of a romance that ended almost as quickly as it began. McLeod wants to accept the disappointment, but part of her still hopes the other person will recognize what they’ve lost. “Take It Back,” meanwhile, brings a welcome lift in energy while confronting a different kind of hurt: the experience of dating someone who admired her music before ever knowing her personally. “I go back / to when I was a stranger through your speaker,” she sings, giving the song’s reflections on feeling used and discarded a particularly revealing twist.

The stakes grow considerably heavier on “Important to You,” the song that first set this project in motion. Its central refrain, “I don’t want to be important to you,” transforms a phrase ordinarily associated with affection into an urgent declaration of self-preservation. McLeod confronts the crushing responsibility of being made to feel accountable for another person’s happiness and survival, her writing unflinching in its depiction of the fear, guilt, and emotional exhaustion that can accompany an unhealthy relationship. It’s among the record’s most devastating moments, and one of its clearest expressions of the courage required to put yourself first.

And then, gloriously, comes “Wednesdays at the Waterloo.”

A breezy, lovestruck daydream wrapped in the golden glow of indie pop, the EP’s fifth track trades emotional turmoil for the wonderfully embarrassing experience of being hopelessly distracted by a crush. Crisp drums, buoyant banjo, fluttering flute, and delicate pedal steel give the song an easygoing, sun-kissed charm, while McLeod’s breathless vocals capture the dizzying excitement of wanting someone so badly that even the simplest activities become nearly impossible. “You’re so cute / I made us lose / please forgive me / can you blame me,” she sings, apologizing for her disastrous pub trivia performance with all the sincerity of someone who knows perfectly well she’d do it again next week.

It’s an irresistible little marvel, sweet and self-aware, with all the romantic comedy charm of a hopelessly smitten protagonist caught staring across the table. McLeod knows she’s being ridiculous, and her willingness to indulge that embarrassment gives the song its infectious personality. Coming immediately after the emotional weight of “Important to You,” its placement is especially meaningful: the same young woman who has learned to protect herself from a damaging relationship can still lose her head over a harmless crush. Her excitement is genuine, her embarrassment is palpable, and the pleasure she takes in both makes the song all the more endearing.

That playfulness gives way to more difficult reckonings on the EP’s final two tracks. “In Theory” confronts the painful experience of being made to feel cherished, desired, and safe before discovering that another person’s intentions were never what they appeared to be. McLeod’s repeated insistence, “I don’t give my body to just anyone,” is especially harrowing, expressing the hurt of having her trust and physical intimacy treated so carelessly.

Closer “Thomas” then inhabits a different kind of romantic devastation, its bittersweet folk-pop arrangement accompanying the search for closure after a potential future disappears without explanation. “I didn’t love you but I could’ve,” McLeod admits, a simple, piercing acknowledgment of all that never got the chance to exist. The song’s repeated plea for an answer lingers through its intimate voice-memo ending, leaving the record suspended in the uncertainty that so often follows an unfinished relationship.

Asked which recordings she holds closest, McLeod returns to the title track and the unexpected circumstances surrounding its creation.

“The title track is probably my favourite. It’s hard to choose but recording this was unexpected and just felt really honest. I feel so drawn to lyrics that make you feel like you are in the moment with the artist and I think that is the best way I can explain ‘Boathouse.’ Caleb and I had completed ‘Important to You’ the day before and had extra time and this just rolled out so naturally. I feel really proud of it.”

That happy accident has a counterpart in “Wednesdays at the Waterloo,” another song whose spontaneous creation became a cherished part of the project.

“I also love ‘Wednesdays at the Waterloo’ for the way it lightens the mood of the EP,” McLeod shares. “Josh, my friend and producer and I wrote this in a session where I was honestly thinking our day was going to be working on something existing. And Josh had planned on us starting from scratch on something. Anyway, long and short of it is we have a history of creating things we love completely unexpectedly and this is an example of that.”

The spontaneity behind these two very different songs says plenty about the creative confidence McLeod has developed.

Across The Boathouse, she gives her instincts room to lead, and the results are exceptionally moving. The music is lush and lovingly detailed, embracing the melodic sweetness of indie pop, the intimacy of folk, and the aching textures of alt-country while preserving the immediacy of her storytelling. Guitars and delicate instrumental flourishes surround her voice with warmth, lending even the most sorrowful passages a sense of closeness and care. At the center of it all is McLeod herself, singing with a disarming tenderness that can give way to frustration, indignation, or delight at a moment’s notice. There is genuine beauty in how naturally these different expressions coexist, each one illuminating another aspect of the young artist’s personality.

Perhaps most striking is the extraordinary openness of her writing. McLeod has a way of articulating experiences that are difficult to admit even to ourselves, approaching the embarrassing, the painful, and the profoundly personal with refreshing directness. Her lyrics can be brutally honest, occasionally uncomfortable, and wonderfully funny, their impact heightened by her willingness to acknowledge her own contradictions. She allows herself to be angry, uncertain, jealous, smitten, disappointed, and hopeful, capturing the full range of emotions that make us human.

This unguarded sincerity is what makes The Boathouse so special. Beneath its beautiful arrangements and vivid storytelling lies an intimate portrait of a young woman coming into herself, learning what she deserves, discovering how to advocate for her needs, and growing more comfortable with the person she is becoming. Her willingness to share that process so openly makes the music remarkably easy to connect with, offering listeners the reassuring recognition of hearing their own complicated experiences reflected back at them.

For McLeod, that freedom to embrace life’s contradictions is central to what she hopes listeners take away from the record.

It’s also a philosophy that has shaped how she approaches her music, her relationships, and herself.

“Something we say a lot in our home is ‘Two things can be true.’ It’s not new or groundbreaking but I think it says a lot about this record. I can write music that is heavy with depth but still be a 20-year-old that likes to make fun of a lighthearted crush and laugh at herself. Being introspective and writing about personal experiences is not special to me as an artist. All songwriters do that, but I think remembering when it’s time to let go of something and not take yourself too seriously is really important also.”

The most moving measure of that growth, however, may have come in a simple moment at home, when McLeod finally heard the completed record from beginning to end.

“My first EP, I felt like I really wanted to prove to myself that being a songwriter was a realistic goal for me, and that I could really do this. This EP felt a little like letting go and just doing what felt real in each moment of making it. When I finished this, and listened to it from beginning to end, I just smiled and looked at my Mum and said, ‘that is a good EP, I am really happy with that.’ And that’s a really amazing way to reflect on something you’ve worked so hard on. I hope listeners take away that you can be deep and connected while also being lighthearted and having fun.”

For an artist whose first EP was driven in part by the need to prove herself, that simple satisfaction speaks volumes.

The Boathouse preserves the heartbreaks, humiliations, hard conversations, and fleeting joys of a formative chapter in McLeod’s life, but it also celebrates the confidence she’s gained in telling those stories on her own terms.

And after seven songs of wondering what she means to other people, there’s a special kind of triumph in hearing Lottie McLeod recognize just how much her own voice is worth.

She can lose herself in a crush and find herself in a song. Two things can be true – and The Boathouse makes both sound beautiful.

Experience the full record via our stream below, and step inside Lottie McLeod’s enchanting world of The Boathouse with Atwood Magazine as the Brisbane singer/songwriter takes us track-by-track through the stories, lyrics, and experiences behind her remarkable sophomore EP!

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:: stream/purchase The Boathouse here ::

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Stream: ‘The Boathouse’ – Lottie McLeod

:: Inside The Boathouse ::

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Boathouse

I wrote this when I was in denial about my slow burn friends to lovers relationship not working out the way I had hoped. One minute we were best friends and the next I felt like I was doing the wrong thing by being near him, I hated it but also wanted it so badly at the same time. I asked him to give it time, knowing deep down it was never going to happen.

Sunburnt

I was with this person for not even a month. I thought I was locked in until he ended it out of the blue at breakfast one Saturday morning. I was so disappointed and wanted it back but also knew I just had to let it be what it was. I wrote it when I was allowing myself to be sad about it and yearn a little but to not take it any further than that.

Take It Back

I wrote this song in a writing session and the more I listen to it I realise it touches on a lot. I intentionally wrote it about dating someone who was a fan of my music before he knew me. It’s also just about me feeling really sorry for him, we could’ve had something really beautiful but I think he was battling some inner demons that I never got to discover. I guess it’s about feeling used but also recognising his self sabotage had nothing to do with me!

Important To You

Important to You is a reflective song about a time I found myself feeling responsible for someone’s mental wellbeing. I wanted to provide support and give this person a safe space but in the end I didn’t feel I had the skills or capacity to do that.

Wednesdays at the Waterloo

It’s about having a weekly game of trivia with your crush. It’s fun and flirty and cute and it’s about missing all of the questions because you’re too distracted by how pretty they are.

In Theory

In Theory is about someone making you feel so special and comfortable, like you’ve finally found the real thing only to take it all away once you’ve slept with them. It’s a disgusting feeling when you are nothing more than a box they can tick off on their to do list. Unfortunately this is not a unique experience, so I hope this reaches people who have felt used for their body in any way, and that they can feel validated.

Thomas

Thomas is about seeing a future with a person who wasn’t sure about you and never getting closure about why. Such a universal experience, people changing their mind and leaving you to process what just happened. Trying to find answers and searching for them everywhere you go.

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 © Ghina Sari

The Boathouse

an EP by Lottie McLeod