Intimate gigs: Lucy McWilliams

It is remarkable to captivate a room with your presence alone. We go to gigs and watch our favourite artists perform, but it’s only when the music is stripped back, just the artist and an instrument, that we truly see their art.

I was privileged to see Lucy McWilliams perform an intimate set at Camden Recording Studios in Dublin. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. There was no explosive crowd, no stage lights, just a small room where we sat quietly on chairs surrounding a piano and a microphone. It felt comfortably quiet, nothing like the usual chaos of a gig.

There’s something powerful about watching an artist in such a vulnerable state. Despite the small crowd, I imagined how exposed Lucy must have felt. She had no band, just her and the piano.

Lucy sat at the piano with her notebook in hand, playing a mix of unreleased music and songs we already knew. The moment she began, a whirlwind of emotion hit me. It was beautiful, not because it was perfect, but because it felt so deeply human. The way her hands moved, the way she poured herself into the piano. It was incredibly personal and heartfelt.

What stuck with me was when Lucy spoke about contemplating what makes something beautiful. She confessed that the song she’d just written didn’t meet that standard, and she had tried to capture that struggle within the lyrics. Lucy knew she had to play it anyway because performing it would challenge that doubt. The song moved me deeply, and at that moment, I realised how harshly we judge ourselves, endlessly critiquing every detail. When, in reality, there is beauty in imperfection.

We often put artists on a pedestal. We forget they are just like us, that they have feelings, doubts, and struggles. Intimate gigs like this allow us to connect with the person behind the music. Lucy McWilliams is one of the kindest, most talented people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.

Written by Sophie Lee.