Live Laugh Love feels like Earl Sweatshirt learning how to breathe inside adulthood. Warm soul loops and string cascades glow, then glitch, cough, or drop out, as if domestic peace keeps getting interrupted by old static. His verses move by associative rhyme more than narrative, sliding from hoops talk and LinkedIn banalities to tarot, fatherhood, and a fear of failure with the same deadpan cadence. The jokes aren’t escape hatches; they’re pressure valves that stop sincerity from turning into sermons. Earl’s public persona stays hazy, even as his private ground grows real. A small record that still lands like bruises.
Turnstile’s NEVER ENOUGH asks a simple, brutal question: how do you regain sensation in a world that keeps numbing you? The record answers not with closure, but with conversion. Hardcore velocity snaps the body awake (“SOLE,” “BIRDS”), then glitch, ticking time, and dial-tone static expose how waiting corrodes (“DULL,” “CEILING”). Light becomes both rescue and side effect (“LIGHT DESIGN,” “SEEIN’ STARS”), while “SUNSHOWER” turns panic into new-age drift. Turnstile stand as translators between pit, club, and prayer—building temporary nervous-system relief, even as time keeps happening.
On EUSEXUA, FKA twigs doesn’t merely go clubbing—she repurposes the club as an editing suite for the self. Four-on-the-floor ascents, chrome-trap hush, D&B squalls and choral washouts keep re-cutting her silhouette in real time: hard edges, then soft centers, then a blur. The lyrics refuse easy labels—love, healing, submission—treating intimacy as design and vulnerability as a chosen costume. Even the jarring detours feel intentional, testing how far pop can carry transcendence without lying. Twigs stands as auteur and body, both DJ and material. From “Eusexua” to “24hr Dog,” beats become boundaries; she steps inside them to unstick, to move again.
PinkPantheress’s Fancy That feels less like a nostalgia trip than a manual for modern emotional processing. UK garage, rave stabs, and hyper-efficient samples act as coping mechanisms: desire spikes, doubt clicks in, and the song ends before catharsis arrives. Her whisper stays oddly calm at the center, turning drama into conditions—distance, secrecy, miscommunication, dopamine. Even when she names love like a role (“Romeo”) or draws boundaries (“Girl Like Me”), the rush keeps moving. The intermission’s “add drums” aside is the thesis: feelings are edited in real time, not resolved.
PinkPantheress『Fancy That』は、ノスタルジーの再現というより、現代の感情処理のマニュアルのように響く。UKガラージやレイヴの断片、過剰に効率化されたサンプルは“参照”ではなく、欲望が跳ね上がり、不安が差し込み、カタルシスに到達する前に曲が終わる——その一連を成立させる対処法として機能している。ささやく声は妙に冷静で、ドラマを内面ではなく「距離」「秘密」「誤解」「ドーパミン」といった条件へ変換する。“Romeo”のように恋を役名化しても、“Girl Like Me”で線を引いても、勢いは止まらない。幕間の「ドラム足そう」が示す通り、ここでの感情は解決されるのではなく、リアルタイムに編集されていく。
09
Sudan Archives - THE BPM
Sudan Archives’ THE BPM treats dance not as escapism but as method: repetition becomes a loop you live inside until ego, desire, power, and forgiveness start talking to each other. House propulsion, breakbeats, glitches, and “wrong” textures keep pleasure unstable, while her violin shifts from body-signature to battle cry to shadow. The lyrics move from command and flirtation to pain, myth, and digital doubt, then land on human error and grace. As a “Gadget Girl,” Archives doesn’t worship technology—she tests how far speed can carry a self before it must return to breath.
On Addison, Addison Rae treats pop as a mirror, not a disguise. TikTok gloss, New York fantasies, money talk and high fashion stay deliberately shallow, but she refuses to apologize for that surface; it is part of her reality right now. Around it, trip-hoppy, Y2K-tinted production and water imagery slowly expose bruises: fame as a gun, parents divorcing, comparison fatigue. She never digs for grand theory, only for usable feelings. By the time “Headphones On” and “Life’s No Fun Through Clear Waters” arrive, the album has quietly become a handbook for surviving still young, visible, and unfinished online and offline.
『Addison』において、Addison Rae はポップを仮面ではなく鏡として扱っている。TikTok的なグロス、ニューヨークの幻想、マネートークやハイ・ファッションは意図的に浅いまま保たれるが、彼女はその表層を恥じない。それはまさに「今の自分の現実」の一部だからだ。その周囲で、トリップホップ由来のY2K風プロダクションと“水”のイメージが、名声という銃、両親の離婚、比較疲れといった打撲痕を少しずつ露わにしていく。彼女が掘り当てようとするのは大きな理屈ではなく、「使える感情」だけである。「Headphones On」と「Life’s No Fun Through Clear Waters」に至る頃には、このアルバムは、オンラインとオフラインを同時に生きる“若く、可視化され、未完成な”自分でいるための静かなサヴァイバル・ハンドブックへと変貌している。
07
Cameron Winter - Heavy Metal
Heavy Metal unfolds like a slow chemical reaction: motifs accumulate, then combust, then settle into a bruised promise. Cameron Winter starts with folk-piano sketches that sound light until his voice roughens them into myth—Stones, Nausicaä, Nina—names that work like talismans. Songs build by addition: horns, strings, jaw harp, stray noise, each layer slightly off, as if intoxication were an arrangement choice. By “Nina + Field of Cops” and “$0,” value, surveillance, and faith collide, ending in the manic mantra “God is real.” The closer doesn’t redeem; it simply walks beside you, keeping boundaries. Even at rest, the music keeps twitching.
『Heavy Metal』は、ゆっくり進む化学反応のように展開する。モチーフが増殖し、やがて燃え上がり、最後は痣の残る約束のように着地する。Cameron Winterはフォーク/ピアノのスケッチから始めるが、声がそれを一気に神話へ変質させる――Stones、Nausicaä、Nina。名前は護符のように機能する。曲は“足し算”で組み上がり、ホーン、ストリングス、口琴、ノイズが少しずつズレたまま重なる。まるで酩酊が編曲方針であるかのように。『Nina + Field of Cops』『$0』で価値・監視・信仰が衝突し、「God is real」のマントラへ雪崩れ込む。ラストは救済ではなく、境界線を保ったまま隣を歩くだけだ。静まっても音楽は微かに痙攣し続ける。
06
Amaarae - BLACK STAR
On BLACK STAR, Amaarae treats quotation as a weapon of authorship. She raids club and pop memory—baile funk pressure, Jersey-club snap, highlife sway, trance shimmer, even winked-at early-2000s hooks—not to cosplay nostalgia, but to seize its grammar and rewrite the rules of desire. Her elastic, high-pitched voice performs power as texture: sweet, icy, ungrabbable. Lyrics move from flirtatious commands to the comedown question (“Can I believe in love off the drugs?”), then widen into communal stakes on “FREE THE YOUTH.” The result is luxury with a crack in it: pleasure engineered into sovereignty.
『BLACK STAR』においてAmaaraeは「引用」を、懐古の飾りではなく自己決定の武器として扱う。バイレ・ファンクの圧、ジャージークラブの跳ね、ハイライフの揺れ、トランスのきらめき、00年代ポップの合図──それらを“なりきり”で再現するのではなく、その文法ごと奪って欲望のルールを書き換えるのである。伸縮する高音は、甘いのに冷たく、触れられない質感として権力を演じる。リリックも命令形の誘惑から「ドラッグ抜きで愛を信じられるのか」というコメダウンの問いへ、最後は「FREE THE YOUTH」で共同体へ開く。贅沢さにひび割れを残した主権のポップがここにある。
05
Dijon - Baby
On Baby, Dijon doesn’t “write about love” so much as generate its real-world aftermath—heat, dread, labor, recovery, and lingering reverb—through editing and sound design. Domestic joy becomes a pressure system: gospel lift-offs, horny funks, and glossy keys flare up, then collapse into scorched feedback, referee-whistle interludes, and rewind-to-the-bruise confessionals. The lyrics refuse grand theses, choosing tactile fragments and compulsive repetition that feel like home videos left to glitch. Positioned between alt-R&B intimacy and experimental collage, Dijon turns family into an instrument—and makes devotion audible as instability, not comfort.
On LUX, Rosalía frames her relationship with God as a dialogue that refuses to skip the ugly parts. Orchestras, choirs, flamenco cante and club pulses stage a devotional drama where lust, burnout, resentment and celebrity excess sit beside relics and saints. God appears as stalker, the dance floor doubles as nave, forgiveness becomes an act of self-authorship rather than piety. Singing in many languages, she treats each tongue as another lens on the same restless faith. Post-MOTOMAMI, she steps past the “pop innovator” tag into something stranger: a contemporary mystic who lets light and darkness pray together.
On choke enough, Oklou treats modern intimacy as breathwork under pressure: algorithms, surveillance, and “forces” that push us into performance until oxygen drops. Rather than offering catharsis, she proposes two fragile answers—co-regulation and distance design. “Take me by the hand” is less romance than rescue, a tactile sync when language fails; “harvest sky” finds peace by stepping back, watching from the balcony. Sonically, glassy trance, folk-tinged strings, and human artifacts (sirens, horns, sax) loop like anxious habits—beautiful, inescapable. Positioned between PC Music maximalism and diaristic ambient-pop, Oklou turns soft surfaces into survival strategies.
『choke enough』でOklouは、現代の親密さを「圧のかかった呼吸法」として扱う。アルゴリズムや監視、見えない“forces”が人をパフォーマンスへ追い込み、酸素が薄くなるまで身体が先に反応してしまう。彼女が提示する答えは、カタルシスではなく、かろうじて成立する二つの技法——共同調律と距離の設計である。「take me by the hand」は恋ではなく救命であり、言葉が折れたあとに触覚で同期する行為なのだ。「harvest sky」はバルコニーから眺めることで安らぎを得る。ガラス質のトランス、フォーク寄りの弦、サイレンやホーン、サックスといった人間の痕跡が、不安な習慣のように美しく回り続けるのである。PC Music的マキシマリズムと日記的アンビエント・ポップの間で、Oklouは“柔らかい表面”を生存戦略へ変えるのだ。
02
Bad Bunny - DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS
Bad Bunny turns DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS into a question: before the people who made “here” disappear, what did you manage to keep? He frames love-loss as an archive problem—stories, close friends, potholes, blackouts—small interfaces where absence becomes routine. The sound answers with lineage, not nostalgia: salsa’s long swell, plena’s street-chorus, jíbaro holiday ghosts, and perreo rebuilt from early-2000s DNA, all mixed with modern low-end clarity. Benito’s stance is neither tourist nor preacher; he’s a witness-compiler, staging community inside pop, urging one more photo—now.
Bad Bunnyは『DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS』を、「“ここ”を作ってきた人たちがいなくなる前に、自分は何を残せたのか?」という問いに変えてしまう。失恋は感情の問題というより、アーカイブの問題として描かれる——ストーリー、Close Friends、道路の穴、停電。欠如が日常のUIとして反復される。サウンドはノスタルジーではなく系譜で答える。長尺サルサのうねり、plenaの合唱、jíbaro的ホリデーの亡霊、そして2000年代レゲトンDNAを再点火したperreo。それらを現代的な低域の輪郭で鳴らす。Benitoの立ち位置は観光客でも説教者でもない。ポップの内部に共同体を組み立てる“目撃者=編集者”として、いま一枚、写真を撮れと促す。
01
Geese - Getting Killed
Geese’s Getting Killed turns the cruelty of a “pretty good life” into a jittery, body-first rush. The band builds grooves that almost let you dance—then yanks the floor away with time shifts, jagged riffs, and sudden bursts of panic (“There’s a bomb in my car!”). Cameron Winter’s lyrics treat comfort as a trap: love becomes worship, worship becomes hell, and even “paying taxes” feels like being nailed down. Yet the record isn’t a manifesto; it’s a nervous system on tape, laughing at disaster while refusing to look away. In 2025’s rock landscape, Geese sound like rare natural antagonists—funny, anxious, and fully alive.