There’s a curious kind of cruelty beating at the heart of Emma Whybrow’s new single, “Amnesia,” and it is utterly exhilarating. Here is a massive, pulsing techno anthem—a thundering, four-on-the-floor declaration built for vast, sweaty rooms—and yet, tucked inside its propulsive machinery is an intensely private, bitingly personal act of dismissal. It’s like finding a handwritten “get lost” note folded neatly inside a fireworks display.
The track’s narrative is all venomous sugar, a series of fantastical, sarcastic questions posed to a phantom who has dared to reappear. While the beat insists on collective movement, the lyrics paint a picture of solitary, self-absorbed grandeur: spaceships and treasure cruises. The juxtaposition is a dizzying, brilliant trick.
For a moment, one of the shimmering synth arpeggios reminded me of the frantic, blinking light on an old museum diorama I saw as a child—the one depicting the Battle of Hastings. It was meant to signify chaos and action, but it was just a tiny bulb, blinking in a loop, completely unaware of the painted soldiers it was meant to represent. That’s the sound of this song’s accusation: a looped, bright, impersonal signal for a deeply personal catastrophe.
Emma Whybrow weaponizes the concept of amnesia, turning it from a passive affliction into an active, unforgivable insult. This isn’t a lament for what’s been forgotten; it’s a cold stare at someone who believes their absence can be so easily overwritten, as if a memory card was simply wiped and reformatted. The song doesn’t ask for an apology. It scoffs at the very notion that one might be owed.
It leaves you with the strangest, most invigorating feeling. So, when the beat drops, who are you meant to be dancing for: yourself, or the ghost you’re finally kicking out of the room?
