Sravya Sruthi Kothalanka, better known as Lady Skavya, arrives with “Peru Gurthu Pettukondi”, Telugu for “Remember the Name”, a title that feels less like a suggestion and more like a command. This isn’t just another underground drop. It’s the first written Telugu album by a female artist, and it carries with it a rare combination of fearlessness, fluidity, and fun.
From the very first track, you know this isn’t about fitting into neat boxes. Skavya’s sound is stubbornly her own, bending hip-hop, reggae, underground bass, and indie-pop shimmer into something that feels rooted yet uncontainable. She isn’t chasing trends or easy virality; she’s asking you to lean in, to sit with the lyrics, to let them challenge and charm you in equal measure. And if you think that sounds heavy, think again, because the music is alive with bounce, with grooves that invite you to nod along, with hooks that stay lodged in your head long after the song fades out.
Take the opening song, for instance, where she flips the everyday judgment women face into fire. “Why does a girl have so much anger, they say,” she raps, and suddenly the word “Aadapilla” (girl) becomes a mantra, a battle cry, a refusal to shrink. You can almost feel her daring you not to chant along.
Then comes “Choostu Undu”, a laid-back but firm declaration that she will prove herself on her own terms, rejecting empty promises and letting her art be the answer. By now, you’re drawn into her world, one where personal battles, street observations, and playful wit blur into a restless, raw narrative.
Skavya has a knack for turning ordinary moments into sharp social snapshots. In “Kukka Thoka Vankara”, a crooked dog’s tail becomes a metaphor for chaos and resilience, while cats and tigers leap in as symbols of her sharp-eyed observations.
With “Kullu”, featuring MC Hari, the flow shifts into a conversational whirlwind, with references to Hyderabad, household squabbles, and everyday struggles tumbling out in fragments; yet somehow, it all coheres into something witty, vivid, and real.
And then there’s “Marayaada”. In her solo version and the one featuring Sherni, Skavya crackles with assertive energy, commanding respect without ever having to ask. The club turns into her stage, and you can almost picture her smirking as she reminds you of the difference between showing up and showing off. It’s playful, it’s bold, it’s alive with authority.
Just when you think you have her figured out, she changes the mood entirely. “Oosaravalli”, as the name implies, blooms like a morning vine, weaving flirtation and mischief into a captivating rhythm. The repeated phrase “Oosaravalli” anchors a hook that is simply impossible to resist dancing to. Unlike the heavy hip-hop moments, this one slides into pop territory with a prominent bassline and irresistible drums. It’s vibrant, cheeky, and feels like a wink aimed straight at the listener.
She doesn’t shy away from vulnerability either. In “Pedda Noru”, she embraces the label of “big mouth” with unapologetic swagger, even slipping into Hindi to flex her flow.
At the heart of the album sits its title track, “Peru Gurthu Pettukondi” and it’s here that Lady Skavya sharpens her pen the most. The song unfolds like a raw confession, layering trust, betrayal, and resilience into verses that blur the line between the personal and the political. Every word carries a weight of experience, memories of broken promises, the sting of judgment, and the determination to survive. Instead of dwelling on these hardships, she transforms her scars into strength. Poetry becomes her weapon, and rhythm serves as her shield. The production reflects this duality, balancing grit with fluidity. More than just a song, it feels like a manifesto, a reminder that names are not merely labels but legacies, etched into memory with defiance.
And by the time you reach “Vintha”, with its bass and grand piano painting jazzy dreamlike imagery of strange humans, fragile pearls, and mirrors, you feel as though you’ve traveled through every corner of her emotional and artistic landscape.
What ties it all together is her refusal to play small. Lady Skavya doesn’t just release songs; she etches them like pages from her diary, weaving humor, resistance, reflection, and rhythm into every beat. Peru Gurthu Pettukondi, out September 12, doesn’t feel like an introduction; it feels like a declaration. Skavya isn’t just entering the underground scene; she’s demanding space in it, reminding you again and again to remember her name. So, if you still haven’t caught on to her name, Peru Gurthu Pettukondi.
