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Luvcat exists in a state of perpetual Halloween. At least that's how it seems on the set of her NME Cover shoot, as she peers through torn fishnet fabric and flicks strands of the Cruella De Vil-esque black streak running through her otherwise blonde hair out of her face between camera flashes. The look, she later tells NME while perched in the corner of the East London studio, was not the product of ebony box dye, but rather the residue of a lightning strike that ushered her toward a spookier creative direction. "Something just happened overnight," she half-jokes, "and then I was Luvcat."

It's an aesthetic that's equal parts Phantom Of The Opera and classic, old Hollywood glamour, and seems like the product of a lifetime spent carving out an image. But 'Luvcat' has only existed in its current form for around two years. In that time, she's captured an ever-growing fanbase's imagination with her macabre approach, which extends from her visuals into her sound.

Channelling the intimate storytelling of her idol Tom Waits, she weaves a world around her music through tales of obsessive love and fantasy characters - mostly ill-intentioned men - and a collection of wonky, off-kilter sounds that endows her alt-pop with an eerie creepiness, as if each song was destined to be sung in a haunted jazz bar. Her first singles, 'Matador' and 'He's My Man', went viral upon release, Luvcat's sultry, haunting vocals juxtaposing the violence and gore at the heart of the songs.

Heralded for her live shows - marked by an impeccable stage presence honed from years of gigging in pubs and small venues, and her close-knit band - she's resonated with a now-devout fanbase craving a dose of drama. Her songs have racked up over 30million streams even before the release of her first album. Only two years since playing solely in pubs, she's toured with The Last Dinner Party and Paris Paloma, and supported Sabrina Carpenter at her huge BST Hyde Park gig this summer.

Luvcat's success might seem like it happened in a flash, but before she adopted the moniker, Sophie Morgan Howarth had been grafting in the music industry under her own name for almost a decade. She grew up in Widnes, an industrial town on the edge of Liverpool, where, as a teenager, she cut her teeth busking and performing in a series of "quite gothy" bands. It was a short-lived era that came before a swift but necessary change in sound.

"My ears were hurting so much playing at these shitty venues that I was like, 'oh, I need to do something folky'," she explains, cradling a cup of tea during a midnight blue manicure post-NME shoot. A string of other musical pursuits followed, defined by a softer, acoustic and introspective approach which she now deems "quite serious and intimate, and maybe a little polite".

Years later, "running away from Liverpool" to move to London and collisions with the eccentric characters the capital has to offer sparked a desire to delve into something more theatrical. Luvcat - named in homage to The Cure's 'The Love Cats' - was formed in 2023, and by the following year, Howarth was putting out music to a rapturous reception.

In many ways, Luvcat is less of a new costume for Howarth than a return to the flamboyance of her earliest influences. Now 29, she grew up during the high-octane glamour of the 2000s, where garish maximalism seemed a requirement for airtime on MTV. She recalls being entranced by My Chemical Romance's high-concept 'The Black Parade' - falling in love with the stage makeup, unapologetic drama, and the music's ability to forge a world more mystical than the one surrounding her.

"I'm drawn to artists that I don't know everything about - there's more intrigue there"

Her key references - old Hollywood icons and enigmatic rock stars - also notably come from an era entirely alien to today's pop culture landscape, where it's nearly impossible for emerging artists to maintain any mystique while pressured to keep up social media appearances. For Howarth, whose rapid ascent can be attributed in many ways to TikTok virality, striking a balance between being noticed and remaining elusive has been a challenge.

To keep some mystery around her, she adopts a "two truths, one lie" approach that paints her past with a golden sheen. Tales of running away with the circus and falling into a messy love affair with the ringmaster are peppered between romantic accounts of Parisian nights and meeting future bandmates while skinny dipping.

There's an element of truth, she says, but she's keen to keep some things to herself. "I'm drawn to artists that I don't know everything about; there's more intrigue there," she explains. "I just wanted to slowly weave this intoxicating world and hopefully get a few people drunk on it."

Luvcat arrives as part of a wider embrace of escapism and hedonism in post-pandemic pop, as a penchant for hyper-confessional acoustic ballads subsides into a craving for true glamour. "It feels like everyone gives a bit less of a fuck. We all just realised the fragility of life, and now it's like, fuck it. Let's have some fun," Howarth theorises.

In many ways, she's ideally poised to deliver said glamour, something that is arguably an inherently northern English trait. Industrial towns and cities up north have long embraced maximalism and glitz. She sums up the region's mantra: "It's all about big hair, big heels and no coat."

Although it's a practice integral to community in the north, it's one that's frequently derided. A far cry from the "clean girl" aesthetics that have dominated the 2020s so far, Scouse girls have become notorious for their more-is-more approach to beauty: stage make-up for everyday activities, well-defined brows and barely-there dresses. Howarth sees the look she's created for Luvcat as an homage to her hometown. "It's the show of it all, painting in your face. I don't even see it as armour, I just see it as theatre. I love it. I couldn't be prouder to reflect that in what I wear on stage. Fuck anyone who criticises the northern girls."

Luvcat's debut album 'Vicious Delicious', appropriately due for release on Halloween, encompasses this opulence in its dazzling exploration of dark romance. It recalls punk sensibilities - a nod to her dad, who raised her on Sex Pistols - while also conjuring the thick smoke of jazz bars and the most dramatic elements of classic rock. These eclectic influences collide across the record to paint a portrait of "the lady I am today", she smiles.

Opener 'Lipstick' is a notably on-the-nose exploration of love and kink, with Howarth singing: "I can be your cowgirl/Or your stewardess/Or your bedside nurse/Moppin' up your sweat". It's an anthem of "freedom and liberation", she says. "I really adore that I can sing about that and nothing will happen to me. I feel very privileged that I can do that, and that I can like what I like, and I can sing about it if I want to."

The rest of the album deals in similar tales of gilded romance, or "the more unhinged sides of love," as she puts it. "There's a Joni Mitchell [lyric in 'A Case Of You'] where she says, 'I'm frightened by the devil, but I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid', and I think that's something that I really resonate with. I'm a bit of a good girl, but I like bad men," Howarth laughs.

Though dark romance is a key theme, as she drifts from one chaotic romantic encounter to the next, there's no lack of joy. Tales of misfortune are delivered with an almost audible wink, and it's clear that, though the men may be problematic, Howarth remains in control throughout.

"I wanted to weave this intoxicating world and hopefully get a few people drunk on it"

"I just can't wallow," she explains. "Maybe sometimes I should allow myself that, but then I just think, 'Nah, life's too short'. Your eyes work, your legs work, you can shake your arse and dance on the dancefloor, so let's crack on and keep grafting. It bores me to be sad."

This attitude perhaps explains Luvcat's whirlwind beginning. At the end of last month, she celebrated the one-year anniversary of her breakout single, the viral murder-ballad 'He's My Man', by teaming up with John Cooper Clarke for a remix. In the music video, the punk poet stars as her "poisoned husband", sitting on a front porch straight out of a horror movie as she carefully plots his demise.

Their chance meeting came at the Northern Music Awards earlier this year. Howarth, who had been well educated on Clarke by her dad, was initially intimidated by his presence. "I was too nervous to go over," she recalls, but eventually, her photographer introduced them. "He's so amazing. He was saying, 'You're gonna headline Glastonbury one day with that voice.' And then, when it came to revisiting 'He's My Man', he just seemed like the perfect fit."

A co-sign from Clarke is one of a string of accolades Howarth has racked up in the short time since dreaming Luvcat into existence. "Only two years ago, I couldn't sell 80 tickets in my hometown," she grins. "I still feel like I'm that girl playing at the pub down the road - hoping that your mates come, hoping the sound guy is nice to me. I just don't want it to go away. I've been soaking up every single moment."

It's why she endeavours to not only embrace chaos, but often, she admits, can't help but seek it out. "Maybe it was strange parenting advice from my dad, but he always told me, 'Comfort is the killer', and I believe that," she says. "Especially as a youngster, you have to feel slightly on the edge to create something special. I don't ever want to feel too secure and safe. I like the thrill of feeling on the edge of something else."

Luvcat's 'Vicious Delicious' is out on October 31 via AWAL.

Listen to Luvcat's exclusive playlist to accompany The Cover below on Spotify or on Apple Music here.

Words: Laura Molloy

Photography: Barnaby Fairley

Styling: Kat Pelosi

Hair: Alisha Corcoran

Label: AWAL

Goth-glam pop star Luvcat delights in drama | The Cover | NME.com