Ravyn Lenae debuts in 2022, SLEEPestablished her as a chameleon, able to blend slick R&B with her own futuristic stylings. While that approach placed the 25-year-old singer-songwriter among the innovators of this generation, her follow-up, Bird's Eyeit's a deliberate shift toward more unfettered exploration. For this album, Lenae and executive producer Dahi sought to create something new and amorphous, pivoting if the music ever felt, as she explained, “too R&B.” While SLEEP showcased the fluidity of R&B, Bird's Eye is more varied: Lenae experiments like an alchemist in an R&D lab, trying out new combinations of downtempo guitar, soft reggae-pop, and even a stuttering Brainfeeder-like beat.
On Bird's EyeLenae isn't abandoning R&B entirely, but rather discovering and rediscovering the compartments for her evolving emotions. The production features greasy electro zaps, swirling pop and stretched rock, like on opener “Genius,” where his signature sage-scented falsetto cuts through a beat that sounds like a distant cousin to “Billie Jean.” Lena sings as if whispering from another life with the gift of perspective, explaining, “Heaven needs a little patience/Give it time.” Her music is contemplative and Bird's Eye reflects the slow part of her journey of self-discovery. She's still deciphering the anxieties surrounding love, grief, and self-doubt, but she feels more limitless than ever.
Realistically, growth happens gradually, with buildups and setbacks. Along the way, Lenae challenges her partners and loved ones to join her in pushing past suffering. On the gritty, whiny “Love Me Not,” she deals with her romantic desires, mixing feelings for an ex (“Oh no, I don't need you, but I miss you come here”). Its softer counterpart, “Love Is Blind,” floats over a supple drum beat and soaring sitar solo, raising her voice to a pitch that sounds like a lonely witch casting a spell. On “One Wish,” a warm, lush ballad, she tries to erase the stains of her father's absence with pure contemplation: “He called me on my birthday/I thought you'd be on your way,” she sings, with her mind. Vocals drift between strummed strings as she talks about her 10-year-old self. Childish Gambino appears as a stand-in, screaming from her father's point of view in short Frank Ocean-coded fits, offering a strange sense of comfort. The song is gorgeous, tender about stolen connections, and her dad didn't hear it until he filmed his appearance in the music video—a testament to Lenae's willingness to allow her vulnerability to unfold in real time.
Even in the album's softer moments (the slightly too laid-back “From Scratch”), it's easy to get lost in her expansive soprano. On “Bad Idea,” he hits a smooth-talker with snappy sentences reminiscent of Bow Wow and Ciara's “Like You.” Her elegant purrs sync beautifully with Ty Dolla $ign's confident rap on “Dream Girl,” as if she's Catwoman crawling through a field of glittering keys. The cozy '80s track captures the bliss of a summer weekend in the park with sleek, watery strings and guitar licks, while “Candy” pairs her nimble, cackled vocals with the rock groove of a glowing lover. Moving from these lighter moments to the deeper introspection of “Pilot,” the album's penultimate track, Lenae searches for belonging by a crackling fire, lamenting, “Maybe I'm contagious/The way I can push anybody away.” These shadows of doubt give the album its graphic, hydraulic feel, deepening Lenae's search for understanding. Bird's Eye it positions her as a consummate thrill seeker with boundless curiosity, limited only by the uncertainties in her own mind.
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