The cover photograph of Matilda Mann’s debut album, Roxwell, is not entirely decipherable. Mann, a blurred figure on a quiet street, stands framed by a triptych of neon, light and shadow. The moment, a confluence of light and dark, embodies an essence of Roxwell: its interplay between darkness and hope, its blend of bitter and sweet. “I’ve found life to be this experience of feeling love and joy in a world that’s messed up at the same time”, Mann says. “Through all the ups and downs, I’d like to bring people some calm against the waves.”

Huddled in the cold with her arms crossed for warmth, her stance is a mix of defiance and vulnerability. “I kind of look like a petulant child”, she laughs, “but also like I’m trying my best to be confident even though I’m uncomfortable. I am right there in the forefront, with nothing to hide behind. That’s how I feel a lot of the time – vulnerable, afraid to fail, but still standing tall.”

Following a precocious few years in music, it feels fitting now for Mann’s debut album to start at the beginning. Named Roxwell after the cherished street of her childhood home, the album is a tender ode to her formative years. An only child to loving parents, she soaked in the world from their house in West London, watching music documentaries with her father, writing songs in her bedroom and performing to her parents in the kitchen. “I’m very sentimental and wanted to pay tribute to that house, which is the closest thing to me. So much of my history is there”, she notes. A gentle and resonant album, Roxwell exudes the warmth and care of that nurturing environment, propelling Mann into the world with a fundamental desire to connect with people.