Fast forward to today, five years after its previous album, Chip Chrome & The Mono-Tones. It’s clear the band seeks to revive this bygone aesthetic.

Released on Friday, (((((ultraSOUND))))) adheres to The Neighbourhood’s established style. With soft beats, airy vocals and emphatic guitar and bass lines, each song embodies The Neighbourhood’s notorious soft-grunge sound and trademark brand of seaside melancholy.

(((((ultraSOUND))))) opens with the song “Hula Girl,” a standout track. The upbeat drums and beginning guitar riffs reel listeners in, artfully juxtaposed by the song’s hopeless and lovesick lyrics.

“Hula Girl” presents a clever metaphor for toxic romance and desire. The lyrics, “Dashboard hula girl, honey / Come and treat me like a crash-test dummy,” illustrate yearning for a girl who brings beauty and fun into the singer’s life, even if he ends up irreparably damaged by their connection.

The song exemplifies the album’s grandiose soundtrack feel. The band portrays a nostalgic and cinematic quality that would lend itself well to any gritty or moody teen drama.

The better part of (((((ultraSOUND))))) takes on a consistent tone. Tracks include copious references to unhealthy aspects of romantic relationships, and their production style is largely similar.

[Florence + The Machine’s ‘Everybody Scream’ is a bewitching view into personal trauma]

Vocalist Jesse Rutherford’s whispery falsetto appears on every song, alongside atmospheric synth and substantial surf-rock influences. Prominent bass lines, percussion and guitar riffs round out each of them, bringing out the band’s signature moody sound.

The song “Planet” uses Rutherford’s vocals to evoke an otherworldly atmosphere. His voice is mixed with whispers and echoes of itself, which are layered atop an easy beat and fuzzy guitar that infuse the song with a hazy, ethereal feel.

Several upbeat tracks help break up the album, however, and keep it from feeling too monotonous. They let the album become something you can blast, windows down during a drive, without getting too blue.

The penultimate track, “Mute,” takes on a more cathartic and raw feel than the rest of the album, featuring upbeat instrumentals and repetitive lyrics.

While it starts relatively restrained, frustration and disarray break out in the chorus, culminating in an emotional climax that mirrors the lyrics’ rising passion. The steady drums and beat carry weight and energy to Rutherford’s vocals, and make the song especially memorable.

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“Stupid Boy,” the album’s final song, contains a similar build in intensity.

The bridge of the song lists out several juxtapositions: “And thе mascot and the icon / And the hero and the tyrant / And the rabbit and the python / And the anthem and the fight zone.” Each exclamation frantically builds until the final lines are screamed, communicating the unease of the speaker at the opposing elements of life.

It’s an abrupt and haunting end to the album, yet it fits. The escalation of the bridge feels like the emotional buildup of each preceding track, presenting the inevitable anger from the sadness and despondency of all the songs before.

Ultimately, (((((ultraSOUND))))) doesn’t reinvent The Neighbourhood. But it doesn’t have to. It refines what the band does best: romantic alt-pop steeped in glamorous sadness, nostalgia and West Coast cool.

The album is a familiar return rather than a total transformation, and that’s a large part of its appeal. It knows its lane and drives it well, right along the California coast.

The pieces Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor and Enigma were conducted by bands director Michael Votta Jr., and Rain on It and Ma Mère l’Oye (“Mother Goose”) Suite were conducted by orchestras director David Neely. 

The wind orchestra began their set with Passacaglia and Fugue in C Minor by J.S. Bach, a piece dominated by the organ. Beginning slowly, the haunting melody rises dramatically, before capturing the audience in its awe and darkness. 

The piece used continued non-chord tones to create a vivid dialogue between various instruments, the performance striking in its unpredictability.

Arushi Srinivasan, a junior computer science and math major, praised the Wind Orchestra’s performances.

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“What struck out to me a lot about the Passacaglia were the question-answer phrases between the different parts of the orchestra,” Srinivasan said. “[There is] a very beautiful pattern that was established by Bach fugues, and I thought they did a really wonderful job articulating that.”

David Biedenbender’s Enigma similarly began with a soft, whimsical tone before surprising the audience with transitions into an intense melody comparable to a score out of Harry Potter.

Enigma, meaning riddle in Greek, signifies the piece’s dramatic progression as the supposed theme of the piece is revealed gradually through instrumental development.

Junior sociology major Genevieve Reineke said she liked the second piece’s organ accompaniment and highlighted Votta’s conducting.

“I really enjoyed seeing [Votta’s] movements and how that translated into the playing of the piece,” Reineke said.

Following the intermission, the performance switched to the Symphony Orchestra.

Rain on It by Kristin Kuster is a contemporary piece exploring feelings about the passage of time. In the event’s program, Kuster describes her resonation with rain, having often watched storms with her dad growing up in Boulder, Colorado. She wrote that rain feels like a “transition-time.”

In the piece, the dwelling and enraptured emotions that represent rain are drawn out through sequences of intense instrumentals. With fast-paced notes and rhythm, the piece takes the audience through a whirlwind of emotions until its sudden stop.

Evangeline Chen, a freshman biochemistry and music performance major, said they were surprised with Kuster’s piece.

“I’m not a big fan of contemporary pieces, but this one was actually really good,” Chen said. “I could get the feeling that the composer was talking about, the feeling of raining.”

Next was Maurice Ravel’s Ma Mère l’Oye (“Mother Goose”) Suite, a five movement piece that tells a different story each movement, including “Pavane of Sleeping Beauty” and “Conversations of Beauty and the Beast.” The piece, meant to evoke feelings of nostalgia, was refined in composition, making each movement slow and steady yet meaningful in its story.

The first movement, “Pavane de la Belle au Bois Dormant,” or “Pavane of Sleeping Beauty,” suspends time with the repetition of simple and quaint notes meant to awaken the princess.

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Every movement explores its stories through subtle and particular instrumental combinations, specifically “Le Jardin Féerique” or “The Fairy Garden.” With its celestial chimes, the orchestra proceeded into triumphant notes and bells that left a quiet but powerful impact on the audience with its childlike reminiscence.

Chen, who plays the viola, says the piece resonated with them because of past experiences playing the suite.

“It was definitely nostalgic hearing all of this again,” Chen said. “It was very mystical.”

Three years since their last album Dance Fever,the English band continues to explore themes of performance, release and introspection. While their music has always had a hint of gothic influence, Everybody Scream takes it to a new level.

As usual, lead singer Florence Welch’s vocals are the star of the show, as she displays her wide range and unique sound over billowing instrumentals.

The album begins with the title track, a powerful song about Welch’s relationship with her fans and performing. It opens with harmonized vocalizations that transition into crowd cheers over a steady drum beat.

Welch keeps the energy up as she sings: “Here, I don’t have to be quiet / Here, I don’t have to be kind / Extraordinary and normal all at the same time / But look at me run myself ragged / Blood on the stage / But how can I leave you when you’re screaming my name?”

“Everybody Scream” epitomizes the entire album in one song: an exhilarating celebration of music and its restorative qualities.

[Nep plays it too safe on ‘Noelle’]

The second track, “One of the Greats,” flaunts Welch’s lyricism, further playing into the album’s macabre, folk-horror undertones, all while scrutinizing sexism in the music industry.

While on tour for Dance Fever, Welch experienced a miscarriage and ectopic pregnancy, and had to undergo emergency surgery.

“One of the Greats” reflects on Welch’s mortality, and, in turn, the pressure to keep performing and maintain a superstar image: “I crawled up from under the earth / Broken nails and coughing dirt / Spitting out my songs so you could sing along, oh / And with each bedraggled breath, I knew I came back from the dead.”

Through its raw portrayal of stardom and unfiltered lyrics, “One of the Greats” stands out as one of the best songs on Everybody Scream.

The album continues into more subdued backing, focusing mostly on Welch’s vocals.

She reflects on her miscarriage on “Sympathy Magic,” as she references anxiety and PTSD symptoms in the aftermath.

On “Buckle,” a simple guitar riff backs lyrics of longing, confusion and remorse. Welch sings, “Falling for anyone awful who tells me I’m pretty / I blocked your number, but you didn’t notice / Oh, God, I thought I was too / Old for this.”

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Welch continues to discuss her fame and performing on “Kraken,” where she uses a kraken as a metaphor for her career. Welch sings, “Creature from the deep, do I haunt you in your sleep? / My tentacles so tender, as I caress your cheek / Did you know how big I would become?”

Like in “Everybody Scream,” “Kraken” represents how powerful and even dangerous Welch feels when she is on stage. Her comparisons to a kraken exhibit her urge to keep performing, even when she needs to rest.

While each song is unique in lyrics and instrumentals, the overall themes are cohesive. When listening to the album in its entirety, Welch’s struggles with womanhood, her relationship with performing and recovery from her miscarriage become apparent in every track.

“And Love,” the simple and breathy closing track of the album, juxtaposes the fiery nature of the rest of the songs with a soft piano ballad. Welch repeats the phrase, “Peace is coming,” a manifestation of her future.

After an album full of pain, heartbreak and chaos, Welch can surrender and find peace.

Aptly released on Halloween, Everybody Scream is a whirlwind of witch-like incantations, eerie instrumentals and, of course, Welch’s signature voice. The album is the rawest and most personal work by Florence + The Machine, solidifying Welch’s status as “one of the greats.”

And she would know; Nep is an indie musician from Daytona, Florida. Her debut album, Noelle, was released Friday.

Nep recently gained traction on social media through her quirky, energetic snippets of original songs, mostly from her 2024 EP Nep’s Storybook.

The new album features 12 songs that address heartbreak, attraction and insecurity. Nep delves into various genres, including pop, rock, folk and country.

But despite Nep’s versatility as an artist, her debut album falls short of being unique.

Nep draws on personal and relatable experiences in many songs on Noelle. But she opts for direct illustrative language rather than poetic descriptions, resulting in shallow and blunt lyricism.

For example, “Black Car Song” features this less-than-poetic verse: “Mom stays home on Fridays / We watch Harry Potter 4 / She forgets 1, 2, and 3 / But she watches with me / And we cry, Cedric dies, we cry more.”

This direct pop culture reference breaks the song’s immersion and feels like a cheap appeal to nostalgia.

[The Last Dinner Party’s ‘From the Pyre’ is cathartic, but puzzling]

In “Daytona,” Nep sings, “I’m failing my classes / But I always pass ’cause I’m goddamn smart / My parents shouldn’t be proud of me / But they still are, they still are.”

This writing style is not entirely out of character for Nep — past songs such as “Milk Town / Mr. Carter” have been story-focused rather than symbolic. But while “Milk Town” was humorous and fictional, the songs on Noelle attempt to convey emotional realism with the same level of bluntness.

At the very least, her listeners will certainly know what she’s talking about.

Nep’s target audience is Gen Z to a fault. In addition to referencing pop culture in her lyrics, she mentions using a YouTube tutorial to bleach her eyebrows on the song “Scar.” Nep also uses common internet slang such as “I will talk my shit.” It’s a style reflective of Gen Z’s preferred musical sound, and songs on the album indicate the influence of artists such as Billie Eilish, Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo and Mitski.

Many tracks on the album feature an indie-pop style that values vibes over substance. The song “Girls On TV” has an energetic beat, but the fuzzy vocal layering and instrumentation drown out Nep’s lyrics. It results in a common pop sound indistinguishable from others in the genre.

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“Scar” takes on a more acoustic, folk-country blend. The lighter instrumentation makes Nep’s Billie-Eilish-esque singing voice much easier to understand.

But like the end of Eilish’s song “Happier Than Ever,” “Scar” unfortunately devolves into a jumble of electric guitar noise. The catchy melody disappears, leaving listeners with loud electric guitar reverb for almost a full minute while the lyric “I let it scar” repeats over and over. While the shift offers an interesting artistic parallel to the song’s themes of emotional turmoil, the ending falls flat musically.

But Nep’s musicianship is strongest when she embraces her roots in “Florida Girl,” leaning into catchy guitar melodies rather than layers of noise.

If you need a song to scream in the shower, “Daytona” is your best bet. Nep infuses this rock-style track with more emotion and anger, practically yelling the repeated line, “My future is dead.” With a strong percussion beat and electric guitar, it’s impossible not to bob your head along to this tune while thinking about the terrors of growing older.

“Florida Girl” also features an upbeat and acoustic vibe, but ends on a much cleaner note than “Scar.” This ending track contains the catchiest bridge on the album with the happily nonchalant lyrics: “So what, the damage is done / What’s wrong with having some fun? / Takes one to know one so / I’m gonna be the bitch this time.”

For listeners who prefer the pop style with thickly layered electric instrumentation, Noelle will feel like a step in the right direction for Nep’s musical journey. But for those who enjoyed Nep’s past indie folk work on Nep’s Storybook, her artistic evolution may be disappointing.

The opening track, “Agnus Dei,” lights the fire with lead singer Abigail Morris’ vocals, establishing the project as an edgier addition to their discography. It is an interesting introduction with a British glam Queen-esque tone, asking: “Was that enough to make you come? Am I enough to make you stay?”

Staying true to their core, The Last Dinner Party serves layered lyricism, nodding to both romantic and religious themes.

A guitar riff reminiscent of Arctic Monkeys’ style guides listeners into “Count the Ways”, an outstanding gothic-rock recount of an omniscient romantic pain. The guitar felt fresh and new, and their overall experimentation is cozy.

They meet their storytelling quota with “This is the Killer Speaking”, encouraging a sing-along with the band’s backing vocals. Describing a romantic connection that ultimately met its demise, the lyrics are gut-punching.

“Your kindness didn’t last beyond a fry-up and my spit upon your sheets,” Morris sings. “When your hand is bigger than my heart / You can crush it just the way you like.”

But then they lost me with: “You look like a weeping saint with your infected eye.”

I understand the intent was to flip off your ex, but the adjective choice of “infected” stuck out like a sore thumb. Why “infected?” Why introduce the imagery of a stye or pink eye? Then I remembered the spit on the sheets and what that infection might imply. It’s a gross, but funny, joke.

[Get over your ex-friend with these 4 songs]

Though that song was a cheeky little puzzle to figure out, “Rifle” was just unsolvable. It was theatric, interesting, apocalyptic, rousing, but left me wondering why the French at the end?

Another review called it sophistication, but I thought it was pointlessly grasping at intrigue. In fulfilling their legacy of layered lyricism in the beginning and middle, a subversion like that at the end shouldn’t confuse the listener — it should be an easter egg. I wanted to find something interesting when I searched, “Is anyone in The Last Dinner Party French?”

No, they’re definitely British.

Unfortunately, this is where my green check mark streak stopped on Spotify. The last chunk of the album was mush, not flavorless but texture-less.

“Sail Away” was calm and pretty, but I would bet money that “I’m more than a girl, I am a seaside” will eventually be an Instagram caption for an esoteric photo dump.

The three song run, “Woman is a Tree,” “I Hold Your Anger” and “Sail Away,” are the holy trinity to convince tortured young women who can’t afford a therapist to scream these marketably vulnerable lyrics on their recently announced tour. Featuring opportunities for that cathartic collective scream is nice, but it didn’t impress.

Surprisingly, the magic does not translate through headphones for a more vocally forward project. My ears became tired. The listening experience felt far from dynamic with the same repetitive group chants.

[‘She Loves Me’ musical brings rom-com shenanigans to The Clarice]

“The Scythe” is a song that Abby Lee Miller would’ve choreographed a lyrical group piece to. And on the album’s last song, “Inferno”, I realized why I felt confused. Their PR team undoubtedly asked AI what their next move should be to keep the momentum from their 2023 hit “Nothing Matters”.

They definitely read the rubric, turned it in on time and the focus group may have loved it. Yet, it feels cleansed of the earwormish quality of their debut.

Ultimately, it’s still an amazing project, but you have to appreciate it like abstract art in a museum. It’s impactful, but you’ll forget about it until randomly scrolling through your camera roll one day.

From The Pyre must be served hot and fresh, loud in a concert hall. The beginning was fantastic, but the album should’ve leaned more into the rock-edge that it teased. Though a sufficient expansion on their sound, it is primarily effective in its purpose to sell tickets.

I really hope that they play more of their first album than this one at The Anthem in April — I guess I’m sold.

Shouldn’t the loss of a friend, someone you share a deep bond with, be a major topic for art and entertainment? These connections can sometimes run deeper than those with a romantic partner ever could.

Whether your friendship ended in a big blowout fight or a gradual drift apart, the feelings are all too hard to cope with. A few songs can help soothe the pain.

“Now That We Don’t Talk,” Taylor Swift

A flashback to 1989’s re-release in 2023, Swift’s vault track encapsulates the feeling of seeing your old friend change after growing apart.

Maybe it’s their Instagram story with new friends you remember them disliking, or hearsay of what they’ve been up to. It ultimately comes down to losing the concept of who you thought they were.

“You grew your hair long / You got new icons / And from the outside it looks like you’re trying lives on,” Swift sings.

Listening to this, you can’t help but feel like you can see through the façade your former friend now puts on, especially considering the history you had.

[Taylor Swift enters her flop era on ‘Life of a Showgirl’]

“The Grudge,” Olivia Rodrigo

When you’re stuck in the moment everything fell apart, Rodrigo’s song relates the feelings of anger, resentment and incapacity for forgiveness after being done wrong.

“I try to understand why you would do this all to me / You must be insecure you must be so unhappy,” Rodrigo sings.

This song can help you understand what they did to you is a poor reflection on their part, not yours.

“Hold No Grudge,” Lorde

Speaking of grudges, Lorde’s underrated bonus track on 2021’s Solar Power will be there to comfort you like a soothing breath of beachy air after finally getting out all the rage and resentment of the breakup.

“Hold No Grudge” is an ode to growing older and wiser, reflecting on the situation without the fog of anger. This song brings clarity to the mind and welcomes moving past old situations as you progress into a better place in life.

“No, I don’t keep a list, can’t hold a grudge / Don’t you think that we both might’ve done some growing up?”

It’s not easy to release all the grudges you once held. It might take a million listens to get all the anger out. There will come a day when the bitterness will be replaced with appreciation for the positive changes following the split.

[Lorde stuns with powerful visuals, energy at the ‘Ultrasound’ tour]

“White Flag,” Clairo

The nostalgic fall feel of Immunity reminds you of your hometown, but “White Flag” hits the spot when reminiscing about your high school BFF. Capturing the realization of your past, Clairo puts you in your feelings about how you were treated. Fearing isolation, you settled for dissatisfaction in the friendship.

“Laughing at me, you kick me when I’m down / Oh, how can you pretend you didn’t say that now,” is a lyric that makes you grateful you have more now than that one person you felt wronged you.

I’ve been a Lorde fan for as long as I can remember, and I knew I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see her sing live. The Ultrasound World Tour is in promotion of Virgin, the most recent album by the New Zealand singer.

From running on a treadmill barefoot to walking right through the general admission crowd, Lorde’s Sunday night show displayed a passion and authenticity that was unmistakably hers.

After openers Chanel Beads and The Japanese House, the unsettling synth beat of “Hammer,” the opening track of Virgin, erupted. Lorde appeared in a red T-shirt and jeans and her distinct raspy vocals rang through the room as she sang, “There’s a heat in the pavement, my mercury’s raising.”

On every chorus of the song, white strobe lights went off as Lorde danced along. The screen behind her showed a camera view of the audience, which only added to the unbeatable atmosphere.

As Lorde welcomed the crowd, she warned everyone would be leaving “a puddle of sweat and tears,” which was met by roaring cheers and applause from the crowd. I can confirm she was absolutely right.

[Taylor Swift enters her flop era on ‘Life of a Showgirl’]

Throughout the night, Lorde sang every song on her newest album Virgin, while sprinkling in her hits from past projects.

Lorde’s performance of “Supercut,” a staple track on her 2017 album Melodrama, was heart-pounding. A song I have held close to my heart since it was first released. Hearing it live was invigorating.

In the final chorus, Lorde hopped on a treadmill on the stage and walked barefoot to the beat, eventually speeding up to a run as the song closed out.

Channeling her single cover for “Man Of The Year,” Lorde performed the song in nothing but jeans and duct tape covering her chest. The track, along with Virgin as a whole, explores themes of gender fluidity, femininity and rebirth. Her clash of vulnerability and confidence perfectly encapsulated the themes of Virgin.

Lorde picked the energy back up with “Team,” a classic to fans and casual listeners alike and one of her earliest hits. The audience put their hands up on the lyrics, “I’m kind of over gettin’ told to throw my hands up in the air,” and immediately broke out into dance during the chorus.

Toward the setlist’s homestretch, security parted the crowd with a white line of tape on the ground as Lorde made her way through the venue.

Standing around the white line the entire concert, I had an up-close experience of Lorde walking through the crowd performing the emotional closing track “David” of Virgin. Roughly inspired by Michelangelo’s David sculpture, the song is an ode to rebirth and independence. Being so close to her in such a powerful moment was unforgettable and solidified Ultrasound as my new favorite concert experience.

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Lorde ended the concert at the back of the pit for a cathartic encore.

The whole crowd erupted the moment she announced she was playing “A World Alone,” a track that hasn’t been played at every show, and the energy didn’t stop until I was out the doors of The Anthem.

Seemingly every member of the audience belted in unison with Lorde: “Raise a glass, ’cause I’m not done sayin’ it / They all wanna get rough, get away with it / Let ’em talk, ’cause we’re dancing in this world alone / World alone, we’re alone.” The palpable liveliness of the pit, with everyone jumping and singing along, was unforgettable.

Free of theatrics, Lorde’s performance felt raw and unfiltered. She was down-to-earth, a rare quality from a megastar. Her performances often felt like a giant, liberating dance party, and her emotion radiated through the venue. It was a concert experience unlike any other.

Because I have the one thing a billionaire could crave desperately in this life — an English bachelor’s degree — I’ll ask: Ms. Swift, what do you think of this album? Do you genuinely believe this is the best quality of work you can produce in the almost 20 years since your debut? Did you actually use the word “legitly?”

In an interview with BBC about the new record, Swift said she worried her writing ability would “dry up” if she was happy in her personal life. If that’s the case, maybe it’s time to consider a second opinion. Take a writing workshop, journal, consider source material outside of your usual focus. The world can continue without a new album and its seemingly neverending vinyl variants.

Swift’s 12th studio album released Friday, The Life of a Showgirl, is irredeemable. It clashes the poppy, Mumford & Sons brand of millennial production with oddly dark or raunchy lyricism, a juxtaposition of image expectation and personal desire.

The showgirl legacy is one of maximalist glamor with a dark side. Oversized feathery headpieces, boas and glittery makeup mask six-nights-a-week performance exhaustion. The concept would be the perfect allegory to Swift’s grueling Eras Tour performance schedule and yet she misses the mark completely.

[Ed Sheeran’s ‘Play’ is heartfelt, but inconsistent]

Where is the brass? The belting or the Moulin Rouge high-energy choreography? What happened to fun? The entire album meshes into a confusing haze of acoustic guitar and simplistic stomp-and-clap rhythms.

The opening track “The Fate of Ophelia” is the closest Swift reaches to that coveted showgirl status. Yet, she still fails to sing the verses any more than a lilted talk, while producer Max Martin’s timid drums barely hold the weight to mask Swift’s weak contributions.

In “Father Figure,” the singer scrubs a superior George Michael track clean of flirtatiousness and sexuality to make a bizarre warning song seemingly to past industry mentors or collaborators.

Lyrics such as “Your thoughtless ambition sparked the ignition / On foolish decisions which led to misguided visions /  That to fulfill your dreams / You had to get rid of me,” could be intimidating, but Swift’s short-winded delivery instead lands with a middle school mean girl cadence. Sanitizing a George Michael sample into a weak retail commercial tune is disgraceful.

A showgirl is sexy, a showgirl is entertaining. A showgirl, apparently, brags about the amazing sex she’s having with her “gym teacher” fiance and participates in alleged petty fights with other pop stars.

“Actually Romantic” is speculated to be a scathing response to Charli xcx’s “Sympathy is a knife” — a song detailing Charli’s insecurities in the spotlight among other stars. Is Swift threatened by Charli’s open jealousy of her success? How does she hear “Why I wanna buy a gun / Why I wanna shoot myself?” from Charli’s song and twist it into a painful diss?

A soggy reheating of Pixies’ “Where Is My Mind?” melody, Swift fails to come up with anything more spiteful than calling her adversary “a toy chihuahua barking at me from a tiny purse.”

Swift’s fiance, Kansas City Chiefs player Travis Kelce, is another muse for this album. While not inherently bad, her lyricism takes a hit in its lovey-dovey-ness. “Wood” throws nursery rhyme superstitions and cringey euphemisms onto a whitewashed funk beat.

“Redwood tree, it ain’t hard to see / His love was the key that opened my thighs.” That’s great.

You’re 35, Swift. You can say “fuck” if you want.

[Zara Larsson is fun, but dated on ‘Midnight Sun’]

Within the album lies a somewhat meaningful track celebrating engagement and the desire to settle down. “Wi$h Li$t” is a sendoff to the fans who want her to win nonsensical awards such as—oh, I don’t know— an Oscar! A Palme d’Or! Obviously industry success isn’t the goal for her right now.

“Opalite” calls back to some of the better soundscapes of her earlier work with millennial whoops and an infectious hook. Swift’s imagery card is heavy-handed, but really, when is it not?

It’s clear Swift isn’t concerned with nuance. She’s not concerned with honing her craft and returning to the meaningful storytelling she demonstrated on past albums, such as folklore.

But the Taylor Swift machine depends on how much she can get you to pay. What are you willing to drop for exclusive offers and limited-time merch reveals from her website? She can’t just do an EP. It needs to be a full project for all your money’s worth.

I wouldn’t be shocked to see when her exclusive wedding photos drop. Do you think we can pre-order her future baby’s name, too?

Maybe they had just gotten fired, maybe their grandmother died, who knows. But thanks to the good fortune of TikTok, Larsson reentered the public consciousness — fully leaning into the moment at a recent concert with visuals of jumping dolphins chasing rainbows and pink glitter.

Larsson’s hits always radiated joy, even as her stardom fizzled out. First appearing in an era of one-off popstars scoring mega hits in the tail end of the 2010s EDM craze — think Anne-Marie, MØ or pre-Brat Charli xcx — Larsson dazzled on tracks including “Never Forget You”and “Lush Life.”

While both tracks have more than a billion streams on Spotify, it’s tough to think of another time she felt relevant pre-“Symphony” fanaticism.

Midnight Sun‘s title track single is a victory lap to the renewed interest in “Symphony,” with kitschy summery visuals and another crystal clear high note to lose your breath singing to. Yet producer MNEK’s fizzy keys backed by sparkly trance-pop bass rejuvenate Larsson’s sound instead of shallow grasps at another hit.

[SEE brings student performers, music lovers together for intimate ‘Cozy Concerts’ event]

Evident in her viral performances on Tate McRae’s Miss Possessive World Tour, Larsson understands her strengths reside in nostalgic, lively dance tracks — a craving for that 2010s club vibe. In response, Midnight Sun feels dated in the best possible way.

“Summer isn’t over yet,” she declares and the album’s blend of house, funk and bubblegum bass elements are a fun callback to potentially better times.

What are the better times? Y2K? Its fingerprints are found all over the tracks, from the “Hollaback Girl” calls on the brash “Pretty Ugly” or the steady Timberland stutters on “Girl’s Girl.” On the latter, Larsson equips the Ariana Grande vocal layering template for a glossy chorus, showcasing her potential as a vocalist.

Potential follows Larsson everywhere. As an opener, videos of her singing lifted in the air or the dance break from her title track constantly appeared on my feed, racking up thousands of likes.

The people might enjoy the idea of her as a main pop girl, but halfway through the album, it becomes clear that the “better times” signal to 2017.

[Lola Young chooses style over substance on ‘I’m Only F**king Myself’]

On “Crush,” lazy vocals attempt to pull together Coachella influencer-esque synths and crashes, crafting a frigid copy of tropical house’s greatest hits. Even the final glitchy “crush” send-off is rushed, as if Larsson couldn’t wait to get off the song.

The next track, “Eurosummer,” attempts to make up for this in a rising chorus within garish trumpet funk. But it succeeds only in evoking the tackier side of the era, as I feel The Chainsmokers’ ghost creep up my spine.

A dominant vocalist in her own right, Larsson misses the opportunity to carve out her space among the triple threat singers. The run after “crush” mostly blurs together in a blaze of sunlit house, dismissing the need for a strong vocal presence.

The one hint to Larsson’s capabilities beyond summer playlist pop-aganda is in the rousing stadium anthem “Saturn’s Return.” Cathedral rich echoes back Larsson’s confession of ennui, a sad tale about herself aging in an industry she failed to top. This feeling doesn’t last; it’s not supposed to, before the album closes.

Midnight Sun rounds itself out as a fun album, but in the heightened need to trap summer in a bottle, it might lose the capacity to be timeless.

The artist was catapulted into fame following her 2024 song “Messy,” which had a viral moment after topping U.K. charts. Seemingly unable to escape the hit, Young’s upcoming album promised listeners they would see more of her as an artist.

Since her debut in 2019 with “6 Feet Under,” Young’s vulnerability has bled into her music, covering topics such as addiction, sex and mental health. Her lyrics, dramatic but genuine, are even more blunt in her latest album; Young takes a chance and shows her authentic self to the world.

Her playful and candid style on I’m Only F**ing Myself breathes new life into the music industry, revealing the true self she’s been waiting to express. But this side misses more than it hits.

Discussing her imperfections in “why do i feel better when i hurt you,” Young displays self-destruction through lyricism. This track captures her failure to understand her behavior through her emotional sound combined with a quiet and comforting instrumental.

“Let’s not pretеnd we don’t find it hard / Just to accept the pеople we are,” Young sings. “Throw words like punches at you / Shove tables right across the room.”

While authenticity is important in an album, the production and lyrics keep people listening, and those qualities remain inconsistent from song to song.

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As a whole, the lyrics on I’m Only F**ing Myself lack meaning and feel repetitive. In “Penny Out of Nothing,” the chorus resembles word blabber without depth.

The lyrics, “Create a penny outta nothing, take a bullet out a gun / I’ll make a fool out of a man, I’ll make a man fall out of love,” are meant to have an impact, but Young fails to convey her message of coping with hardship through distraction.

When envisioning this pop-rock style of songs, I think back to Olivia Rodrigo’s Guts as a perfect example of loud and blaring songs that connect with listeners. The direct lyricism allows for a more refined track with similar production, but simpler and more appealing.

It feels like Young is trying to recreate this sound but falls short, with her lyrics lacking clarity.

The song’s production attempts to tap into the listener’s inner rage. The loud vocals on the chorus and dramatic instrumentals make it the type of song to belt to, but vague, tangential lyrics leave nothing to resonate with.

On the other hand, slower ballads like “who f**king cares?,” provide a more resonating song without the pressure of conforming to a rock-like production.

The verses in “who f**king cares?” show vulnerability that makes people feel seen through music, delving into feelings of depression, substance abuse and loss of hope. Featuring softer vocals, the track has the emotional impact of a demo. It doesn’t get lost in production to overshadow poor lyricism.

Lyrics such as “And am I happy? / Truth is, I don’t really know what that means anymore,”express Young’s hopeless, desensitized feelings, opening a window into the artist’s mind.

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“Post Sex Clarity” finds Young lost and uncertain in the haze of love. Drawing metaphors between the parallels of physical and emotional love, Young shows her discomfort showing vulnerability — a depth lacking in other tracks.

“When I’m lyin’ in bed, got post-sex clarity / I still love you, and I don’t know why,” Young sings. “Cause every other man didn’t mеan a God damn to me / When I finish, it’s not the еnd of you and I.”

Time will tell whether this album will garner the mainstream attention of “Messy.” Although the pop-rock sections had pitfalls, Young’s raw lyrics excelled in its quieter moments, creating some playlist-worthy tracks.

But the unpolished lyricism and inconsistent sound hinder the chance to cement herself further in the music industry.