I’m sitting across from Carly Thomas in a booth that has seen better days, the kind of spot where the coffee is strong and the lighting is unforgiving. She has the look of someone who has just stepped off a transcontinental flight but somehow managed to keep her soul intact. London, Ontario has been her anchor for a few years now. But don't let the local zip code fool you. Thomas is a global product, a songwriter forged in the fires of actual, lived experience rather than the curated aesthetic of a TikTok feed.
She was born in Thailand. She grew up navigating the cultural nuances of Argentina and France. She has lived across the North American map. This isn't just a travelogue; it’s the DNA of her sound. When you listen to her play, you hear the echoes of a childhood spent in Buenos Aires where a school dean pushed a guitar into her hands and told her to get on stage. That wasn't just a school recital. It was the moment the fuse was lit.
By the time she hit her teens, she was gigging in Paris. Later, she was cutting her teeth in the folk clubs of New York City, even logging hours at The New School University to sharpen her prose. Most artists talk about "the work." Thomas has actually done it. She recently blew back into Ontario after a long stint in California, and I wanted to know if the West Coast had finally claimed her.
I asked her about the California pivot. It sounded like a tactical retreat that turned into a full-scale invasion.
Thomas says, "I went out there to do a quick sort of visit and do some writing out there and then Chris McCready, my guitarist, came out there and we decided to do some shows. That turned into the opportunity for me to stay out there and that allowed me to network and set up relationships that would allow me to keep going back there and explore the writing world of L.A., so it was a lot longer than I planned but it was really amazing. I met some people that really support, promote and appreciate singer-songwriters. I made some connections with people to get out on the west coast a bit more. I feel like that’s going to be a good move for me to start spending a lot more time there."
There is always a risk when a local artist starts looking at the horizon. You wonder if the home fires have stopped burning. I put it to her straight: was London getting stale?
"No, not stale," she counters, leaning in. "But I think especially in music for me, for my own creativity and personal growth, there’s always the question of what’s next."
It is a restless energy. And it makes sense. If you spent your formative years jumping between continents, the idea of staying in one place for too long probably feels like a slow-motion car crash. I asked if that nomadic upbringing was the catalyst for her constant need to explore.
Thomas says, "I think it gives me a unique edge in terms of being comfortable in a lot of movement and change, yeah, and knowing that’s what it’s going to take in order to reach more people. There’s nothing really tying me down to one specific place. I have family that I love but I’ve sort of created my life in a way that I can jump at any opportunity that presents itself. While it was really nice to stay in one spot for a while and develop some relationships and work on my craft, there comes a time where you have to take it more seriously and extend your reach a bit."
The reality of the modern music industry is that you can’t just be a "local" artist anymore. Not if you want to eat. The reach has to be global because the pennies from heaven—or in this case, the fractions of a cent from Stockholm—don't add up to a mortgage payment.
No, not stale, but I think especially in music for me for my own creativity and personal growth there’s always the question of what’s next.
She isn't packing her bags permanently just yet, but the writing is on the wall. Or at least on the boarding pass. I asked if a move to California was inevitable.
"I see myself basing myself more on the west coast and coming back here to Ontario a couple times a year and also focusing on Europe as well," she says. "Wherever it’s more open and I’m appreciated is where I want to be."
There is something about the California air that suits folk music. Maybe it’s the ghost of Laurel Canyon or just the fact that people there still value a person with a story and an acoustic guitar. I asked if the West Coast felt more receptive to her specific brand of songwriting.
Thomas says, "I do, I find that there’s more embracing of artists in general, especially in California. And I think that once we are able to surround ourselves with like-minded individuals we thrive. That’s why I’m wanting to be out there more because it feels like the roots are getting watered more there than other places. That’s not to say that it’s bad here, it’s just different."
It’s a diplomatic answer. But the subtext is clear. Ontario is a great place to hone the craft, but the West Coast is where the industry actually breathes.
During her trip, she had one of those moments that usually only happen in bad screenplays. She was in a slump, doubting the trajectory of her career. And then, the universe decided to intervene through a stranger from Texas.
"I was having a day where I was questioning if I was doing the right thing," she admits. "I was wondering who was listening to my music and if I was reaching anyone. So I was playing a new song for a friend from Austin, Texas I had just met through other friends and she asked me if I was on Spotify. I said yeah, I’m all over, so she looked me up and said, 'Oh God, I didn’t put it together, I’ve been listening to your song “By Your Side” for the last 10 years since it came out. I just randomly found it on a playlist and it’s a song that means a lot to me!' 'I can’t believe this just happened!' She had no idea it was me singing that song and it was a super cosmic moment for both of us. It was a message from the universe to me that I’m on the right path and I’m reaching people."
It is a hell of a story. But it also highlights the weird, disconnected reality of the streaming era. People know the song, but they don't know the face. They love the art, but they have no idea who the artist is.
And then there is the money. Or the lack thereof. We talked about Daniel Ek, the Spotify boss who is sitting on a multi-billion dollar fortune while the people actually creating the content are checking their couch cushions for change.
Thomas didn't pull any punches.
"I need to read that article," she says, referring to Ek's net worth. "I was just talking with a friend the other day who said that when someone buys a CD at a show, that’s the equivalent of what I make in a year from streams. Music is such an important part of our culture and our lives, if people don’t buy CDs or T-shirts at shows, independent artists like myself can’t survive, so it’s really important for that support. Spotify is good for reach and accessibility to music which is important but it doesn’t necessarily help the funding of what it takes to make a living creating music."
It’s the great paradox of 2024. You have more reach than ever, but less financial security. You can be "famous" on a playlist in Austin and still wonder how you're going to pay for your next studio session in London.
Speaking of the studio, Thomas has been logging hours at the Sugar Shack. She is working with Kyle Ashbourne, a guy who knows how to capture the grit of a live performance without polishing the life out of it. They’ve been doing things the old-school way: live off the floor.
"Yeah, so I’ve been working at the Sugar Shack here in London with Kyle Ashbourne and we did a few songs live off the floor, a few new ones that I’ve been playing live for a while but I just hadn’t recorded them, so I wanted to capture the live element," she says. "I have a lot of stuff in my pocket ready for release so there’s going to be a lot of new stuff coming out in the next couple months. So we did that first and actually yesterday I was there working on some vocals for two new tracks that we’re working on and so far it looks like we’re going to release them as singles and I’d really like to follow that up with a full-length album."
The "live off the floor" approach is a bold move in an era of pitch correction and grid-aligned drums. It requires a level of musicianship that most modern pop stars couldn't manage on their best day. It’s about the vibe. It’s about the slight imperfections that make a recording feel human.
Carly Thomas is a reminder that the best music doesn't come from a boardroom. It comes from a kid in Argentina, a teenager in Paris and a woman who isn't afraid to fly to California on a whim to see if the grass is actually greener.
She is playing the long game. And in an industry obsessed with the next 15 seconds of fame, that is the most radical thing an artist can do. Keep an eye on her socials. The new tracks are coming. And if you see her at a show, buy the damn CD. She’s earned it.
