There’s a creeping self-consciousness you feel when you listen to Lola Young’s I’m Only F*cking Myself, her first album after experiencing life-changing virality with her song “Messy.” Most artists, you’d assume, would use this critical moment to deliver something of supreme confidence and head-screwed-on-rightness as a display of their fitness level for the incoming, debilitating level of stardom. Not Lola Young. On I’m Only F*cking Myself, you get the sense that the South Londoner, who sings with a walloping mockney-accented croon, is mascara-stained-eyes stumbling through her most successful period yet: missing her (coke) dealer, having loads of unremarkable, messy sex, and pissing off everyone in her inner circle. “I should probably take my medication ‘cause it’s been days but I’ve been busy getting high,” she admits on stripped-down guitar ballad “who f**king cares?” All of these things make I’m Only F**king Myself an intense listen, but also a remarkable entrance from a breed of pop star that’s become increasingly rare: one who can sing about their struggles without it feeling like they’ve got an eye simultaneously trained on a camera lens. It might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but what can’t be denied is its bristling originality. —Steffanee Wang
Hear it: Spotify | Apple Music