With her debut EP “Public Humiliation,” Perth/Boorloo songwriter ALEIA steps into the spotlight with fearless vulnerability and remarkable emotional depth. Released on November 6 and produced by Dylan Ollivierre, this five-track collection captures the raw and often awkward reality of love, heartbreak, and self-reckoning. It’s the kind of record made for those sleepless nights spent overthinking—comforting, cathartic, and achingly honest.
ALEIA, whose name is pronounced uh-lay-uh, has quickly become known for her open-book songwriting and unfiltered storytelling. On “Public Humiliation,” she invites listeners straight into her diary, exposing the messy side of modern love—the self-doubt, the denial, and the quiet strength that eventually follows. Rather than glorifying heartbreak, she dissects it with precision and grace, refusing to shy away from the uncomfortable truth that sometimes love leaves us humiliated, yet human.
Musically, the EP is a delicate blend of folk, dream-pop, and bedroom intimacy. ALEIA’s soft, confessional voice carries each track like a whisper in the dark, layered with subtle guitars, airy harmonies, and gentle percussion. The production feels spacious and intentional, allowing every emotional nuance to breathe. There’s beauty in its restraint—no unnecessary gloss, just pure feeling.
The journey begins with “Had Your Fun,” ALEIA’s haunting debut single. Led by piano and tender vocals, it confronts post-breakup denial with striking honesty. Her delivery is fragile yet defiant, as if she’s singing herself through the process of letting go. Then comes “Pretty When I Cry,” a gut-wrenching ballad that captures the pain of loving someone who can’t love you back. The sparse arrangement—soft guitar, subtle drums, and layered harmonies—heightens the emotional weight, making it one of the EP’s standout moments.
The title track, “Public Humiliation,” strips everything back to its most vulnerable form. Built on ghostly guitar tones and layered vocals, it feels like a confession whispered into the void. ALEIA exposes the humiliation and loneliness that often accompany love in the digital age—ghosting, half-hearted relationships, and the silent ache of waiting for someone who never shows up. It’s both painful and empowering, showing her willingness to turn personal heartbreak into universal connection.
The EP closes with “Holy Water” and its breathtaking live version, recorded with what sounds like a small choir in an empty cathedral. The combination of warm piano, bowed strings, and echoing harmonies gives it a sacred, almost spiritual quality. As ALEIA chants, “Holy Water, Devil’s mouth, you could only spit me out,” the track swells into a haunting crescendo—both a lament and a release. It’s a fitting conclusion to an EP that turns private pain into shared healing.
In her own words, ALEIA describes “Public Humiliation” as a reflection of being “jaded with love” after years of toxic relationships and disillusionment with modern dating. Yet, despite the heartbreak, there’s hope threaded through every note. The EP isn’t just about pain—it’s about resilience, self-worth, and the quiet triumph of still believing in love, even when it hurts.
With “Public Humiliation,” ALEIA has crafted a debut that feels both intimate and universal—a soundtrack for anyone who’s ever cried in their car, stared at their phone too long, or tried to move on gracefully. It’s shattering yet soothing, proof that even in our most humiliating moments, there’s beauty to be found in being real.
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