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The songwriting throughout ‘Fickle Friends’ is simple and insistent, never flashy or contrived. Everything feels natural, like the songs almost formed themselves.
Have Fickle Friends ‘gone pop’?
The comparisons write themselves: there’s Sabrina Carpenter vibes here, flashes of Olivia Rodrigo there, maybe some others if you squint.
It’s shimmery, it’s catchy, it’s got that TikTok-clippability.
But things are not what they seem. Fickle Friends haven’t sold out or jumped on a trend, they’ve just evolved their sound without caring what people think.
Like Hot Chip writing Ready For The Floor with Kylie in mind, they’re embracing what they love without irony or embarrassment. And what they love, it turns out, is pop music. The good kind.
Strip away the glittery production and you’ll find something closer to New Young Pony Club, Little Boots, or Hot Chip.
Fickle Friends is mid-2000’s indie-dance DNA dressed up in modern pop production, and it works precisely because they’re not trying to prove anything. They’re just making the songs they want to make.
Take Bleach, which opens things with a frisson of energy that fits perfectly with its will-they-won’t-they relationship tension. It’s an extremely fun two minutes that wastes no time, unlike the people in the story.
Then WOW arrives with summer bounce and the infectious energy of peak 80’s Cyndi Lauper or Whitney Houston, without actually sounding like either. It’s light, but it’s got that same unstoppable momentum.
The songwriting throughout Fickle Friends is simple and insistent, never flashy or contrived. Everything feels natural, like the songs almost formed themselves.
Happier could’ve come from HAIM or Carpenter, and nobody would’ve blinked; Honest shifts gears entirely, the vocals drop lower and get breathier with just a hint of jazz in the delivery that’s vaguely Sade without the brass and sultry grooves.
It’s more melancholic, sure, but Fickle Friends’ shimmer hasn’t gone anywhere, they’re just snuggling under a duvet with it.
Joe is the rockiest thing here, but even that’s still lovely pop at heart, while Fantasy feels like Lady Gaga as a gentle disco hustle. You can’t help but move, just not too much.
In contrast, Fear is genuinely haunting without ever turning dark, which only works because the production is full of light and space. Most bands would’ve made it moodier, heavier. Instead, it sounds hopeful.
Dream manages to feel both huge and wafer-thin at the same time, like it could crumble if you looked at it for too long, the whole thing has an 80’s vibe without any cheesy 80’s sounds, synths or contrivances.
It’s unashamedly pop but with craft and intention behind it, not just chasing a sound for the sake of it. The production is king here, making everything feel warm and approachable.
The influences are there, but they’re like a fine dusting of glitter on top. You could almost miss them.
What’s also remarkable is the efficiency: over half the songs clock in under three minutes, with one barely scraping past two, and the longest just nudging three-and-a-half.
There isn’t an ounce of fat on this album; Fickle Friends never waste your time or their energy doing anything unnecessary, the songs just get in, become infectious and are gone almost before you have the chance to sing along.
Despite some of the more aggressive song titles, this album couldn’t be cuter. Like a Shih Tzu called Tyson, it’s fluffy and will follow you around everywhere. The only thing spiky is its name tag.
But don’t mistake cute for lightweight. The songs sound light, but that’s a production trick. They carry real weight, making lazy comparisons to TikTok-era pop and pop stars (like we did) misses the point entirely.
This is pop with substance, created by people who genuinely love the genre and know how to make it work without any of the disposability.
This time, Fickle Friends have made exactly the album they wanted to make, and it turns out it’s a pop record that actually pops.
Who saw that coming?
