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Linndsyeah Crafts Her Most Honest Work Yet With ‘I’m Not Her’

Published

3 hours ago

June 27, 2025

With “I’m Not Her,” Linndsyeah offers her most emotionally arresting work to date — a track that merges heartbreak with healing in a way that feels both intimate and cinematic. The rising Orlando-based artist has already earned praise for her genre-fluid approach to pop, and this latest release shows just how powerful her blend of sonic minimalism and lyrical depth can be.

The song immediately draws you in with its fragile atmosphere. There’s a beautiful simplicity to the arrangement — hushed beats, ambient textures, and Linndsyeah’s signature light-touch vocal — but beneath the softness is a heavy emotional current. This is music that speaks in glances and half-whispers, and yet it says everything.

What makes “I’m Not Her” so effective is its refusal to dramatize. There’s no bitterness here, no blame — just the quiet ache of realizing you’re not who someone else wants, and the unexpected strength that can come from that. The lyric “I’m not her, and that’s okay” may be understated, but in Linndsyeah’s hands, it lands like a revelation.

Her production skills shine as much as her songwriting. Everything feels intentional and spacious, giving her words the room to resonate. The influence of bedroom pop and singer-songwriter intimacy is clear, but Linndsyeah also adds her own flair, creating something distinct and emotionally immersive.In a world of overproduced breakup anthems, “I’m Not Her” stands out for its authenticity and nuance. Linndsyeah doesn’t just tell you how she feels — she lets you feel it with her. It’s a song that lingers long after it ends, and proof that quiet songs often speak the loudest.

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We Speak Music

Cosmos Ray’s New Album ‘The More We Live’ Is A Worthy Listen

Published

1 hour ago

June 27, 2025

Philomena Marie

Cosmos Ray’s debut solo album, The More We Live, doesn’t so much announce itself as it slowly envelops you. After years spent building sonic bridges across Chicago’s experimental underground, Ray steps out of the margins with a 19-track opus that feels both highly curated and defiantly unpolished — a contradiction that ends up being the album’s most compelling feature.

The record’s architecture is unusual in today’s streaming-first landscape: long, nonlinear, meditative. It opens in a haze of ambient swells and emotional density, and refuses to loosen its grip. What emerges is a deeply personal exploration of grief, identity, and rebirth, filtered through a sonic palette that blurs genres to the point of irrelevance. There’s hip-hop grit here, yes — but also the texture of post-rock, the elasticity of dub, and the patient pulse of ambient minimalism. Cosmos Ray isn’t interested in clean edges or easy hooks; this is music as process.

At the center of the record is a willingness to sit in discomfort. The production feels intentionally raw at moments, pulling the listener into the messy, nonlinear space of personal transformation. Rather than smoothing over emotional spikes, Ray allows vulnerability to lead — both in voice and in arrangement. That choice won’t work for every listener. The album occasionally loses momentum in its more meditative stretches, but even those lulls feel like part of a larger, necessary ritual.

The six interludes labeled “Recall” offer brief moments of stillness — or maybe confrontation. They act as checkpoints in a longer journey of self-interrogation, asking the listener to slow down and look inward. The effect is cumulative: by the album’s end, you don’t feel like you’ve heard a debut — you feel like you’ve witnessed an unmasking.

The More We Live is not a record made for the algorithm. It resists your attention span and demands your full presence. In doing so, Cosmos Ray has created something rare: a debut album that prioritizes emotional truth over polish, offering no easy answers, only real ones.