Raquel Martins: Finding Home in the In-Between

Photo by Guy Gooch

For London-based Portuguese artist Raquel Martins, the idea of home has never been a fixed point. At seventeen, she left Porto for London with a guitar and a quiet determination to make music – a move that would eventually shape her sound as much as her sense of self. Blending the warmth of rhythms with the intimacy of alternative jazz and the texture of lo-fi indie, her music feels like a dialogue between worlds: nostalgic yet forward-looking, grounded yet weightless. 

Since arriving in the UK in 2017, Martins carved out a space that’s entirely her own. Beyond her solo work, she’s become a sought-after session and touring guitarist, performing with artists including Amaarae, Biig Piig, Rina Sawayama, Mabel, Poppy Ajudha, and Loyle Carner, whom she recently opened for at KOKO. Her 2023 EP ‘Empty Flower’ drew praise from BBC Radio 1, 6 Music, and The Line of Best Fit, while appearances at We Out Here, Lost Village, and Wilderness festivals cemented her reputation as one of London’s most distinctive new voices. 

Now, with the release of her debut album London, When Are You Gonna Feel Like Home, Martins turns inward, exploring displacement, belonging, and the grey spaces between cultures and identities. Across songs like ‘I WANNA LIVE NEXT TO THE SEA’ and ‘LITTLE BOY,’ she captures the emotional weight of searching for safety in unfamiliar places, offering listeners both vulnerability and comfort in return. 

We sat down with Raquel to talk about learning to belong, finding strength in uncertainty, and the lessons London taught her about music, identity, and home.  

You moved from Portugal to London at 17 – what do you remember most about that transition, both personally and creatively? 

It was really exciting. Growing up in Porto, most of the music that influenced me came from the UK, so moving to London felt like the most natural step if I wanted to make a life in music. People said it was brave to move at 17, but it didn’t feel that way. It just felt like it made sense. My other option was going somewhere like Berklee in the U.S., but London felt closer to the kind of sound I wanted to explore. 

Cultural shock comes in waves, and at first, I was kind of in denial about it. For the first six months, I convinced myself it wasn’t happening – but it definitely was. 

Has your relationship with London changed since you first arrived? Do you feel more connected to the city or does it still feel like something you’re learning to inhabit?

Photo by Guy Gooch

I definitely feel much more connected now. I’ve lived in a few different parts of the city, but being in East London has been the first time I’ve really felt that sense of community where you leave your house and bump into friends. When I was in Dulwich, it felt quieter and a bit separate from the full energy of London, which I can also appreciate, but East just feels alive. 

London is such a temporary city where people come to take something, whether it’s a career opportunity or a moment, and that constant movement affects how the city works. I’ve been thinking a lot about how to give something back instead. 

When I first moved, I think I rejected parts of my Portuguese identity because I wanted to fit in and become the people I saw around me. But over time, I’ve realised how important it is to stay connected to who I am emotionally, to where I come from. London taught me that and that you can still carry your roots even when you’re somewhere new. 

How does your Portuguese background continue to shape your music and identity, especially with London’s diverse and ever-evolving music scene?

I came here to study guitar and a lot of my early experiences would happen during COVID in a park in South London that I used to go to. That’s how I ended up getting my first session works and touring for other artists. What’s funny is that other people often recognise your essence before you do. I started getting booked and I was singing in Portuguese, and that was a freeing realisation – that people wanted me for who I was, not for how well I could fit in. 

There was definitely a bit of imposter syndrome in the beginning, but being part of shows like Loyle Carner’s has made me so grateful. It’s helped me stop looking outward for validation and instead turn inward. I used to make music alone, but working with others has taught me so much in terms of how they may notice something in a track that I would’ve otherwise discarded, and it opens new sonic doors. 

Your new album London, When Are You Gonna Feel Like Home has such a striking title. What does ‘home’ mean to you now? Is it still Portugal, London, or somewhere in-between? 

I think I’m learning to find home in the in between. When I was making the record, Portugal stopped feeling like that easy place of safety. At first, whenever I felt sad or lost in London, I’d think ‘I’ll just go back home for a while and everything will be fine.’ But after a few years, I realised Portugal wasn’t going to fix that feeling. It had changed, and so had I. 

That realisation left me in a kind of limbo, unsure where to find stability. This album became a way of exploring that space, of understanding that not everything is black and white. I’ve been trying to get comfortable in the grey areas: between masculinity and femininity, home and away, movement and stillness.

I don’t know how long I’ll stay in London, but I’m learning to enjoy being in that in-between place. It’s terrifying and freeing at the same time. And when I play the album live, hearing so many people relate to that feeling makes me realise I’m not alone in it. That’s been really healing. 

The new album feels deeply personal. Are there particular songs that capture the essence of what you were going through while making it?

Photo by Guy Gooch

‘I WANNA LIVE NEXT TO THE SEA’ definitely captures that. I wrote it in about ten minutes while crying. It was at that moment I realised I didn’t have any solid ground beneath me. That’s the beauty of music; it lets you understand feelings you’ve buried for months. 

The song has that duality: calm surface, but underneath there’s longing and displacement. I wanted to channel the idea of an idealised place, like going home to your friends, but realising life has moved on. Even in the production, especially the drums, I wanted that sense of chaos and groundlessness to come through. It’s amazing how music can hold all those emotions at once. 

You’ve worked as a guitarist for some incredible artists from Rina Sawayama, Biig Piig, to Loyle Carner. How has collaborating with others influenced your own approach to songwriting and production? 

So much. I usually work alone, so going on tour or collaborating with others feels like stepping outside my room and seeing the world again. Working with Loyle, especially, has taught me a lot. He’s shown me what it means to be present and intentional. 

Every experience brings something new, both musically and personally. It’s also made me appreciate the small moments like connecting with just ten people in an audience. That’s still huge. Music is so subjective, and you can’t control who it reaches, but you can always feel grateful to be there. It’s a privilege to share your work. 

Finally, what do you hope listeners take away from this album – especially those who might also be caught between places, cultures, or versions of home? 

I hope it makes people feel less alone and that they see the beauty in the in-betweens. That’s where the most interesting things happen, where growth and understanding live. I just want the album to be something people can return to when they need it, like a small micro-home in their headphones. 

Listen to Raquel Martins on Spotify, Apple Music, and SoundCloud and keep up to date with her on Instagram.