Erika de Casier's world is effortlessly inviting. So far, the Portuguese-born Danish artist's output has been characterized by a rich interiority. It takes the idea of bedroom pop seriously, illuminating the space in which pop music is commonly consumed and made, whether casually or with extreme passion. Her songs are sensual, grounded and elegant, while also displaying the playful humor that elevated her 2021 sophomore effort. arousingwhose title continued the sarcastic boast of its first appearance, basics, while finding new ways to quietly exude confidence. You may or may not be aware of any of this that happened on De Casier's latest album — though you've probably heard of her work topping the NewJeans chart. Episode 2 Get up Or maybe she caught a remix of Dua Lipa's “Physical” — knowing it would be rude to announce it's here Still, which is the kind of statement that most artists don't feel the need to make until later in their career. It's funny, but by the end of the album, de Casey's journey feels challenging. She welcomes the listener by promising “a lot of fun,” and then shows more sides to her than new or returning fans might expect.
When you open up its world – to a wider range of emotions as well as collaboration – you get a stronger sense of the person behind it. In the past, de Casey experimented with characters that allowed her to explore how she might have acted in different situations, and reshape how things could have gone. But even when she inhabits a more extroverted personality sarousing“It's still me,” she said in our 2021 interview. A lot of Still It revolves around a similar idea but eliminates those characters, loosely charting the ups and downs of a relationship. This time, the drama isn't just unfolding in her mind, so there's less retrospective reflection: On “Ice,” she taps Tampa rap duo They Hate Change for a song that's pure ear candy but steeped in conflict, pinpointing the moment when a partner's hesitation turns the fantasy To an exciting story. “I have to enjoy all this horror,” she admits on “Toxic,” at which point she only leaves room for her point of view, and excitement turns to bitterness.
De Casier is intentional with her use of guest features, being more subtle the more popular they are and matching the vibe of the song rather than changing it radically. Blood Orange offers a brief spoken word segment on “Twice,” yet it’s its harmonies that dazzle, floating in the absence of a true outro; Shygirl's appearance is less harsh than you'd expect on a song called “Ex-Girlfriend,” a strange and icy set that avoids the obvious PinkPantheress/Ice Spice comparisons. But with contributions from a group of producers and musicians, Still It is absolutely alive in the way De Casser makes her presence felt through every instrument. The drum and bass beats flowing through “Lucky” reflect the rush of new love, but it's her gentle vocals that fill the landscape, light filtering through Copenhagen's gray skies. The music is not only catchy, it's always evocative and inventive: it's one thing to talk about “how hypnotizing your voice is” and then to invert the emotion by layering her voice, echoing with pain as she vows to recall the details of a love affair previously faded.
Erika de Casser is not the type to shy away from intoxicating hooks, and the album is full of them: “Oh,” which contains a vague reference to her last album, features one of her most memorable songs. (The wink is delivered literally: emojis — not emojis — litter the lyric sheet, especially on the bolder, funkier tracks.) But the album does more than simply showcase her melodic prowess or revel in the sly air of detachment. She tests the limits of her voice and identity just as she confronts the themes of these songs. if arousing Allows moments of loneliness and depression, Still It opens the door to deeper introspection, which also happens when de Casey pushes her voice the most. She begins singing in her lower register over gentle guitar on “The Princess,” struggling to reconcile the dreams she grew up chasing with the reality of continuing her career: “I want to do it hard and / I want to make love.” She sings as soon as her voice rises, pressing the words difficult And love As if they were tightening her throat.
If she has to hold on to every version of herself to remain Erica de Casser, and keep moving forward, where does that leave the parts that no longer fit? This does not mean that she failed to fulfill her promise to throw the party; Still He is every bit as ecstatic as can be. But if you swear you “heard the whisper of the sunset,” as you do on closer “Somebody,” isn't that the path you want to take, the sound you want to achieve? So she lets out a long breath and, over heavenly cinematic platforms, offers her apology: “I said I'd always hate you / Just because I didn't know what to do without you.” That doesn't mean she knows exactly who she is now, though, as that old adage, “Just be yourself,” is starting to ring hollow. However, in failing to live up to it, Du Casey discovers the freedom of trying to be anyone at all, and in that a kind of transcendence: the joy of all this horror. There's no rhythm, but with a lead synthesizer coming in, you can imagine yourself dancing to it.
