Lola Young burst onto the scene with the viral anti-anthem “Messy,” a forceful single that felt like reading through someone’s unfiltered notes app at 3 a.m. “I’m not skinny, and I pull a Britney every other week,” she howls. “But cut me some slack, who do you want me to be?” It was a question, but also a warning to dial back your expectations: Young is far from interested in being your typical pop star.
Hailing from South East London, the 24-year-old introduced herself voice first — scratchy but honeyed, and impossible to ignore. With “Messy,” Young begged her listeners for a second listen, if only to figure out who the hell could sound like that. Now, with her third studio album “I’m Only Fucking Myself,” she’s not just doubling down on the chaos, but rather weaponizing it. The singer-songwriter continues sharing her life’s narrative with wit and robust vocal runs that feel and sound beyond her years.
Titled with a wink and a warning, “I’m Only Fucking Myself” was penned in the shadow of a breakout hit, a cocaine rehab stint and the emotional bombshells that come with sudden fame. Young is blisteringly self-aware of her own methods of self-sabotage. The album cover says it all: A blow-up doll bearing her face, a metaphor for commodification, alienation and the general absurdity of being young and peeved.
The lyrics dive deep into Young’s inner world, and reveal her at her most self-destructive, but artistically at her sharpest. She hits like a punch and hugs like a bruise, often in the same verse. On “Can We Ignore It? :(” she rationalizes with her avoidant tendencies: “I play with fire kinda like the way I feel when it burns / If I’m bein’ honest, I’ll take anything as long as it hurts.”
There’s context to the mayhem. After graduating from the BRIT School in 2018, Young was performing at local gigs and open mics before she caught the attention of industry heavyweights Nick Shymansky (Amy Winehouse’s former manager) and Nick Huggett (the exec who first signed Adele). With Shymansky still at her side, Young’s path was undeniably influenced by legends, but in “I’m Only Fucking Myself,” she’s put in the work to make it unmistakably hers.
Where her earlier work leaned into acoustic balladry, this record sees Young swerve confidently into an instrumentally tight alt-pop terrain. The production is richer, weirder and more assured, with collaborations including Manuka and Solomonophonic (SZA, Dominic Fike, Remi Wolf) adding psychedelic-funk and rock flourishes.
The second-to-last song, “Who Fucking Cares?,” captures the album’s balance of self-pity and comedy, packaging it into a sticky chorus: “All I know is that I’d like to be, and someday I might get there / In the meantime, I’ll cry to Radiohead hoping my ex still cares / But that’s unlikely, he’s probably having great sex / With that girl I knew was an idiot.” Meanwhile, “Post Sex Clarity” feels like the most (somewhat) radio-ready offering, polished and pop-forward without sanding down the edges. But it’s on “Fuck Everyone” where she bares her teeth: “I’ve been smoking on your father, giving him head / He’s been blowing up my phone, but I blow him instead.”
It’s brash, unhinged and impossible not to laugh (or wince) when you find yourself relating to her sheer audacity. But Young never lets the shock value eclipse her musical substance. Beneath the ruthless confessionals, there’s a soulfulness that’s impossible to ignore.
variety.com
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