Rachel Chinouriri - I think I spoke too soon Review
Rachel Chinouriri turns to radiant synth-pop to untangle sobriety, old relationships and the gap between her twenties and what she thought they would be.
Centred around the universally messy existentialist experience of mid-to-late twenties identity interrogation filtered through the lens of a singular raucous night out, South London-born Rachel Chinouriri’s sophomore album, I think I spoke too soon, tackles the tensions that colour the great post-frontal lobe maturation of 25 through melodic synth-pop dance beats and vulnerably rich, dreamlike harmonies that serve as a cathartic contrast to Chinouriri’s knack for confessional lyricism.
Exchanging the jangly Britpop-inspired guitars and melodic melancholy-infused indie hooks that bathed the sound of her 2024 debut, What a Devastating Turn of Events, for ’80s-inspired radiant synths and sparkling pop production, Chinouriri’s signature celestial vocal delivery weaves the cross-cultural sounds and stylings from Prince-esque funk-psychedelia to disco-electronica noughties Madonna into an indie-pop daydream of a twelve-track record that still manages to feel uniquely hers.
Written during a time of immense career growth and newfound sobriety, the reflective nature of the album’s candid lyricism reckons with Chinouriri’s relationships with partying, alcohol, and past relationships in a gracious yet carefree manner that allows the songs to have an emotional levity despite their danceable grooves and big, bold beats. ‘Broken Chair’ stands out as a prime example. A deceptively upbeat tune full of squelchy synth rhythms, a bouncy bassline, and tinny cowbell clanks, the track confronts her relationship to alcohol in the metaphorical comparison of herself to a broken, abandoned chair on the side of the road. Despite its uncomfortable confrontation with reality, its glitzy, upbeat dance-pop production turns the dire lyrical candour into a singalong bop, making it easy to forget you’re gleefully chanting: ‘I feel so so sad again / Where are all my party friends?’
Writing of past flings from an exploratory perspective rather than in the midst of it as an act of survival, tracks like ‘Shiver’ re-evaluate the ending of a relationship long past. A warm melodic jaunt draped with synth chimes, subtle soulful strings, and indie-rock guitars, Chinouriri’s dreamy falsetto reconciles with the dissolution of a relationship where her lover is incapable of mutual respect and meaningful reciprocation from a future perspective: ‘What I would give for you to hear a voice of reason / And even then, we’ll probably end in a blaze of paranoia / Alone again / But at least then we don’t have to play pretend.’
Exploring a kaleidoscope of genre-bending sounds of longtime musical inspirations from Donna Summer and Kylie Minogue to LCD Soundsystem, Chinouriri’s sophomore album stays solidly within the indie-pop canon while still broadening her sound to interrogate modern life and romance with a lyrical freedom akin to a diary entry. Whether she’s admitting she lost herself in the surrealistic illusion of what she thought her twenties should be with the ‘friends [she] fucking hate[s]’ (‘The Good Fight’), or recounting her frustration with taking ‘baby steps’ in life and romance (‘Baby Steps’), Chinouriri’s aptitude for dreamy cathartic candour is endlessly captivating, especially so when loudly reaffirming her well-deserved space in the indie scene as a Black woman on ‘I’m A Star’.
Chronicling the endless cycle of self-discovery forged by the inescapable burden of ageing, I think I spoke too soon turns the struggle of personal progress into a beautifully reflective and viscerally vulnerable narrative that embraces the messiness of life and all the endless possibilities that exist when you grant yourself the permission to question, learn, change, and grow from the versions of yourself you no longer resonate with.