Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson – AKA CMAT – is puzzling over the menu of the department store restaurant on a sunny London afternoon. “This place is weird,” she says with a grin, her tooth gem glinting. “I look forward to becoming a regular at this quintessential brasserie.”
She snaps the menu closed. “Let’s order the tuna tacos.”
More widely known by the acronym CMAT, the 29-year-old Irish singer-songwriter’s astuteness stretches beyond her shrewd late-lunch-early-dinner order. Five years since arriving on the scene as a blazing pop tour de force, she’s cultivated a voice for a cult-to-mainstream audience who love her candid and confessional country-pop.
Her music explores heartache, small-town mentalities, sensuality, silly decisions and her experiences banging down the door of the music industry with honest, colourful observations, underpinned by her powerhouse vocals. CMAT’s debut 2022 album, If My Wife New I’d Be Dead, galloped to the top of the Irish charts, dappled with melancholic camp: “Who needs God when I have Robbie Williams?” she sings on the beautiful and achingly sad track Lonely, which she wrote in a Manchester shopping centre in between shifts working in a shop. “I’m mentally unwell, mentally unwell,” goes the refrain, her celestial soprano rising. The follow-up album, Crazymad, For Me, in October 2023 opened up bigger gig venues and festival fields that screamed back CMAT’s lyrics, peppered with Sex And The City references, heart-palpitating hooks and anthemic choruses like that of total screamer Stay For Something. CMAT quickly gathered a clutch of nominations, from the Brit Awards to the Mercury Prize, bagging the 2022 RTÉ Choice Music Prize Irish Album of the Year in March 2023 for her debut album. Then her 2024 appearance at the Brits, with her viral, bum cleavage-showing dress, said all that she’s about more than any little statue could.
Now, she’s fronting one of GLAMOUR UK’s three May music covers special, and she’s gearing up for the release of her third studio album in four years this summer – EURO-COUNTRY. “I look at it like this,” she says, leaning forward in the booth. “I spent the first 25 years of my life trying to convince everyone that I was a pop star. And now it allows me to be silly and funny and have a fun time.”
When we meet, CMAT is fresh from touring with Sam Fender, and her first solo run of shows in Australia, a country she had never visited before but where her sister lives (CMAT’s one of four, the rest are teachers and nurses). “It was intense, but amazing,” she says of her shows. “I love playing by myself, but I never get to do it any more. With a band, everything’s pre-planned and I have to have in-ear monitors so I don’t hear myself sing. I’ve since realised I love to hear myself sing, because I am insane.”
The whistlestop tour saw her link up with Sierra Ferrell, a country musician who CMAT describes as a “total fruitcake – she loves standing stones and old Pagan Ireland, just like me. I’m a bit woo-woo – you know, I believe there’s a Loch Ness monster. It’s science!” But it was playing acoustic shows in arenas that felt most special. “Me, by myself, and all the rest of those people.”
“I like touring as it’s a break from having to deal with your real life,” she says. “You’re performing to crowds of people who, every day, tell you you’re the most amazing person that’s ever lived: ‘We love you! You’re so sexy! Play another song you wrote!’ Real world problems – like dating, where I’m going to live, friendships, family relationship maintenance, all these things I find difficult – are put off. But I’m trying to get myself a personal life in 2025! Stay alive for a personal life… It’s not going amazing, but I’m working on it.”
But to write, CMAT needs to be living proper. “You need to be struggling with real life in order to write good music.” The day we speak, Lorde has dropped her return track – a resplendent pop survey about being neck-deep in a breakup and fuelling recovery with snogs, cigs and drugs. “I wish I was doing as much MDMA as Lorde right now, but unfortunately my budget doesn’t allow it.”
“There’s a lot of musicians and songwriters who as soon as they ascend into being professional, they elect to lead the life of someone in the upper classes, of a celebrity or a very important person. I can’t do that,” she continues. “I find it incredibly boring and it’s not helpful for my music. I’m not making the next big pop song in Soho House. I’m going to the pub.”
Does she find the trope of the suffering artist to be something with substance? “I think that in order to make art in the first place, you have to be wired a little bit unusually,” she says. “I don’t think I have a miserable life or anything at all. I have a very lovely life full of friends and I get to sing my songs – but when I suffer, which is inevitable, I will hone in on that and make work out of it because I think it tells me more about myself. It gives you perspective and makes the fun times even funner. You can’t just exist in a state of constant, orgasmic joy.”
Being self-destructive is a problematic source of inspiration. “I don’t need to get fucked up all the time,” CMAT says. She no longer drinks spirits or takes drugs. “It’s not good for me and it’s really not good for my brain, but I’m also not going to be sober or clean because that seems shit. I need balance.”
CMAT’s heart-on-sleeve frankness, especially when talking about her journey to this point, contrasts with how impenetrable most celebrities are in interviews. “I would have regretted working so hard, bashing my head against the wall trying to get anyone to believe me as a musician, to then slow down and not work hard enough,” she says emphatically. “It’s not even about working hard and being successful, or making that shmoney. I am taking advantage of this current moment in time where people will give me money to make it work – you put your whole pussy [she pops the ‘p’ with gusto] in or regret it later.”
Still, she didn’t think she’d make this third record so quickly. It was a “very, very weird year”. A friend and musical collaborator, who had always told CMAT to keep pursuing the dream, died suddenly. Another friend, her makeup artist, suffered a horrific accident. “There I was on the telly singing, while all these weird and awful things were happening,” she says. “Then I was becoming more disappointed in my part in relationships with friends and family. I realised… after all the smoke and mirrors, and me being this kooky gal for however many years… I had some bad mental health problems.” Things just “came crashing down, and with it came this huge sense of urgency”.
Our tuna tacos arrive, as well as some dressed crab, a platter of oysters and two lagers. The plate of oysters are cloaked in dry ice. The remaining tables crane their necks to follow the smoke to our booth.
“Something you should know about me is that I used to work as a sexy shots lady in a nightclub,” CMAT says. In this job – one of several on her expansive CV – she would have little pellets of dry ice to pop out for Jäger shots. Because of her calloused fingers from guitar playing, she could pick up the pellets quickly. “Dry ice triggers me. I’m reminded of all those dropped pellets leaving little burn marks on my arm.”
We cheers with the shells before embarking on a conversational journey through Dunboyne – CMAT’s hometown.
“I spent so long being so poor, broke and desperate for anyone to listen to me or believe that I was a musician,” she says. As a woman from a working-class background, she didn’t know anyone who made music. “I was from this tiny village where, when I was 25, I hadn’t met anyone who’d done anything that I’ve done now at the age of 29. I didn’t meet anyone who played an instrument until I was 14. It was not even in the realm of possibility for me to ever be able to do anything like this. It was just so fucking unheard of.”
Born in Dublin in 1996, before moving to the village of Dunboyne, just north-west of Dublin, aged four, CMAT’s mum was a carer and her dad had a “computer job”. She started travelling to Dublin to do open mics at the age of 17. The Irish capital was a fertile place to come up as a songwriter. “People there are discerning and naturally critical of music, regardless of your feelings and emotions – as I found out,” she says. “And I actually think that was great.” She joined her first band at age 17 and through her mid-teens, she’d take the Rail & Sail from Dublin to London by herself to stay with an aunt who lived on a council estate to see the indie bands she read about in NME. At a Little Comets gig at Camden’s storied home of indie, Koko, she had her first lesbian experience in the pit. “It was incredible.” Two days in London and she’d be back to Ireland for three months to watch videos of people being pop stars in London and New York. “I just knew I would be so good at it – being an ‘indie musician’ was my only interest.”
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CMAT ran two blogs about Bombay Bicycle Club and because she was such a fervent fan girl, she was able to connect with the band’s Jamie MacColl, who saw her SoundCloud links to her music and ended up becoming her first manager. At 25, when the record deal rolled through from AWAL (still her label today and home to Little Simz, Laufey and Djo), she had a fat stack of songs ready to go. “I was so fucking lucky I made these connections just from being a fangirl. Thank God I spent that time on the internet when, in real life, I was a loser with no friends – no Skins experience, but whatever. I’m 29 and I’ve been catching up.”
Her early twenties were hard graft, working multiple service-industry jobs and making ends meet in Manchester (because she couldn’t afford London), and in an unhappy relationship, before she packed it in. She recalls the story of Charli xcx giving her advice at a small fan listening event (CMAT being one of the invited fans). “If you want to make music, go be with your friends.” Something that could seem flippant was the best advice she ever received – she broke up with her boyfriend and moved back home to focus on her music.
Right now, she’s back living in her stylist Mia Maxwell’s basement. No windows, no doors, but every morning, she can go play dress up – ideal, especially for days like today. She’s wearing a Zandra Rhodes for Levi’s jacket, a lacy black corset she picked up in Berlin that’s gloriously “booby” – “I have small boobs, it works hard” – and a skirt from a lady in Camden market, along with witchy, Acne Studios boots. “I feel hot!”
Putting a record out almost every year has been a relentless, exhausting pace – “But I don’t regret it,” she says. When this album started to percolate in her head, it was also the first time that this Irishwoman felt the most separate she ever had from home – or more so, the very concept of Ireland and Irish identity. “Ireland was always my personality,” she says. “I fucking love that place.”
It had been some time since she’d been home to Dunboyne, but surrounding her was this Irish culture boom: from Guinness to Paul Mescal’s every move, London and the wider world had the Irish on the brain. It made her confront her own complicated relationship to her identity. “I didn’t relate to any of it,” she says incredulously, curling her lip to bear her gem-studded teeth with a grimace. “Like, why am I seeing Claddagh rings everywhere? The GAA [Gaelic Athletic Association] jerseys? Why is everyone pretending we had this exact same childhood? There’s this very romantic vision of Ireland, but I grew up in a place where it’s not very fun to grow up. This fake version of our [Irish] identity was being built up by Americans and English people and claimed for themselves. So this album had to come out – to try to capture that for myself again.” EURO-COUNTRY opens with CMAT singing as gaeilge [in Irish], having grown up speaking the language. “I got a little too good at waiting for adventure so I stayed inside so long,” she sings on Ready, itching to confront life.
And while other Irish acts like Fontaines DC, Jordan Adetunji, and Kneecap thrive in their genres, CMAT is crafting something altogether new. EURO-COUNTRY is the exact descriptor for how CMAT defines her sound. Yes, it’s country, but it’s propulsive with her singular songwriting and glittering pop sensibilities. “I really wanted to spell out the type of music I make,” she says. “It has confused people – mostly the British press – so I just had to come out and say, ‘I make European country!’”
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She also wanted to give a name to the lack of community she felt, and the issues that come with that. “A big problem that keeps rearing its ugly head is the lack of community – the lack of talking to each other, forming connections,” she explains. We’re a lone country, a state of commerce and capitalism, and that’s not easy to come back from – a ‘Euro’-led country. We have this culture of individualism and not caring for each other. That’s so much the reason for the rise of fascism.” On the title track, Ireland is like a toxic boyfriend: “All the big boys / all the Berties / all the envelopes, yeah, they hurt me.” Elsewhere, she calls young women in with stories of wrestling with identity and societal pressures.
For CMAT, the tunnel vision has been on “making a big, serious, statement-making record”. Because what else could she do? “I’m not really here to make money – I wish I was!” she says with a cackle. “I wish, sometimes, I could be a girlie whirlie who could do a little brand deal. People keep pulling out of brand deals with me because I’m too political.” She’s long been vocal about trans and disability rights, misogyny and exclusivity in the music industry, and working-class solidarity. In the weeks after our meeting, CMAT has joined the likes of Charli xcx, Self Esteem, and Wolf Alice in signing an open letter from the music industry in support of the trans community, following the UK Supreme Court’s ruling in April that a “woman” has to be defined by biological sex.
Across 12 tracks, CMAT reckons with the economics of social class, self-awareness and surreal heartbreak, all explored with equal fervour. It blazes with the attitude of Stevie Nicks and the country-inflected, lovelorn lamenting of Dolly Parton. Coronation St is a track that’s been floating in her orbit for some time, unused from her first album. Running/Planning has existed embryonically since 2022. It’s about the social norms foisted onto women, the locked-in linearity of dating and relationships, and following the parent-approved path. And if you choose to follow a different path? That’s a dead end too! “It’s about every woman I know and how they’re feeling, basically.”
She references a new song, Take A Sexy Picture Of Me, and explains how, when she was performing at Radio 1’s Big Weekend, the BBC had to turn off the livestream comments because of the horrendous body-shaming. “That song is about getting fat-shamed on the internet all the time. I wanted to really dig into commercial attractiveness and how women are pruned into this marketable product until they turn about 27.” It’s an affirming song for both CMAT and her audience of young women. “I genuinely didn’t care that people got so angry that I thought I was sexy, but it forced a lot of 15-year-old girls who love CMAT, who might even be bigger than me, to witness a level of vitriol against a woman’s body against her will.”
How is she reckoning with that fame and responsibility? “I’m confused by how famous I really am, but every single night that I go out to the pub, someone will inevitably come over and cry at me.”
Right now, she’s not on TikTok – her team takes control of that – and just keeps up with her Instagram and more intimate Substack, Sinceremat. “I understand my friends with nine-to-fives deserve a little scroll, but as someone who is essentially freelance, I’ll spend six hours on it and feel terrible about myself. When it’s not real! And that’s where people shame me most. I connect with my fans where they’re really at.”
She sets boundaries with her audience. “I hate when people go for their fans,” CMAT says. “First of all: Fans are not a homogenous group. But second: They’re only picking up on what you’re putting out. If people are weird with you, maybe it’s what you’re selling. Whereas for me? Yeah there’s weird people. Some intense interactions with people are also some of the most thoughtful, informed, funny and interesting. And I’m quite weird. I’ve some brain problems!”
But what she finds truly weird? Some of her peers’ behaviour.
“Famous women”, who she won’t name, have often imposed unsolicited advice on her. “Sure, it comes from a place of care and love, but I’ve found it to be quite negative and catastrophizing,” she admits. “Someone I love and respect told me that I should be making albums at the pace I do because once you’re older, they’ll forget you. Once you turn 40, no one cares.”
The biggest pinch-me moments so far? “That first Glastonbury changed my life,” she says. Watching clips, you can understand exactly why – a tent filled with over 10,000 people scream when that airy opening guitar of Stay For Something hits, then chant and woop as she whips her gold fringed jacket above her head and a ‘CMAT is a silly bitch’ tank top revealed. The second was her appearance on Graham Norton. “I’d done a lot of telly and live recordings, but we did such a good job,” she says. “You could have one shit Live Lounge and that’s it, but all the moving parts worked.” She was on the same sofa with Miriam Margolyes. “She told me I had an amazing bum. Of course, I know that, but it’s a Miriam Margolyes-certified ass.”
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The next single is the aforementioned Take A Sexy Picture Of Me with a Celtic Shania Twain-coded video. “It’s the best song I’ve ever made,” she says. “It’s basically calling every man that thinks I’m ugly a freak.” .
It comes as she feels liberated leaving her twenties behind. “I’ve achieved so much, I have these amazing friends, and there’s people I know who didn’t get to turn 30. I’ve been the same person since I was 15-years-old and I haven’t really changed that much.” We chug the rest of our lagers because CMAT has to hurry off to a friend’s art opening. The next few weeks involve a Jools Holland appearance, music video drops and a mini British tour to test out her Glastonbury set. “Maybe some people get more jaded by the music industry, but that hasn’t happened for me. I only get more grateful.”
EURO-COUNTRY will be released on 29th August.
Acting Global Creative Director: Amelia Trevette
Head of Editorial Content: Kemi Alemoru
European Design Director: Eilidh Williamson
Acting Associate Visuals Director: Lauren Brown
Entertainment Director, Assistant Editor: Emily Maddick
Executive Editor: Camilla Kay
Website Directors: Ali Pantony/ Anya Meyerowitz
Interview: Anna Caffolla
Entertainment Editor, The Talent Group: Eliz Akdeniz
European Fashion Editor: Londiwe Ncube
Creative Producer, Social Video: Charlotte Warwick
Social Media Manager: Robyn Eugene
Photographer: Ruth Ossai
Stylist: Shibon Kennedy
Hair: Lauraine Bailey at Leftside Creative using Sam McKnight & GHD
Makeup: Hila Karmand at Arch the Agency
Nails: Michelle Humphrey at LMC world
Set Design: Ruth Ossai Studio
Videographer: Nathaniel Rodriguez
Lighting Tech: Celia Croft
Digi Tech: Ryan Coleman
Lighting/Set: Sarah Cotterell
Styling Manager: Carmen Ramos Kennedy
Stylist Assistant: Alice Dench
Stylist Assistant/Tailor: Jemima Hastings
Stylist Assistant: Heaven Wondim
Makeup Assistant: Cassandra Scalia
