Two years after releasing her breakthrough album, “What A Devastating Turn of Events,” Rachel Chinouriri has returned to the alternative-pop scene with more soul-baring lyrics and air-tight melodies. Released on Oct. 16, Chinouriri’s latest album, “I think I spoke too soon,” echoes the dreamy vocals of its predecessor but swaps indie rock for layered metallic synthesizers.
In an interview with Variety, the English-Zimbabwean singer-songwriter compared producing the new record to performing an “autopsy” on herself “whilst going through it at the same time.” The quote is a testament to the introspection of the singer’s latest release, where fans can watch from the sidelines as Chinouriri drunkenly stumbles into a nightclub bathroom and asks her reflection in the mirror, “What am I doing?”
The 12-track record balances high-gloss with melodrama, which is clear from its opening track: “One song away from crying.”
Although the track conforms to a standard pop formula, it also offers an intriguing textured percussion and bleeding emotional core. Juxtaposing dancefloor hedonism with creeping anxiety, Chinouriri sings, “She’s never looked better and she’s never felt worse” over the backdrop of various throbbing synths. The pressurized instrumental is as mesmerizing as it is claustrophobic, making it all the more satisfying when the electronic warbling dissolves into uplifting affirmations: “Turn those tears to dust (Mm, mm) / Come on, girl, get up.”
In “Pretty girls,” which revels in the joy of female friendship, she resolves to reapply her lipstick and stay on the dance floor. Ethereal and bordering psychedelic, Chinouriri breathily sings, “Doing whatever we like / Can we kiss until the silver sparks turn to blue light?”
But Chinouriri quickly pivots back to sorrow with the strongest track on the album: “Favourite desperation.” Weaving in and out of narrative and reflection, she recounts a rose-tinted memory: “I see us driving out of Harlyn Bay / You’re playing Pixies, and I know it’s our last.” Later, the pre-chorus powerfully crescendos into a somber confession ––“A little bit dumb, a little bit lost without you” — that ultimately reveals a wounded heart.
If “Favourite desperation” is a quiet admission, “I’m a star” is a wildfire of anxiety. Chinouriri trails off singing, “I’m not hallucinating, baby,” only to recite the titular “I’m a star,” in a whirlwind of electric guitar. As she repeats this affirmative mantra, her voice softens and cracks. Once again, Chinouriri seems to choke back tears as she attempts to distract herself from the cruel reality of heartbreak.
With complex electronic instrumentals, the album may require multiple listens to distinguish each track, but “I think I spoke too soon” is certainly worthy of putting in that time. Chinouriri neatly packages cool and complex electronic instrumentals with bittersweet lyricism, curating an atmospheric and cathartic dissection of young adulthood. Reckoning with indecision and self-doubt, Chinouriri does not shy away from wearing her heart on her sleeve throughout the record. “I think I spoke too soon” is another vulnerable diary entry in the indie-pop musician’s promising discography — a tangled web of insecurities sparkling with a sleek and sophisticated varnish.
Kendra Eastep is an illustration chief and a Senior Staff Writer for Arts & Culture. She is from New York City and concentrates in English and History. While she draws, she likes to drink peach tea and watch video essays.
