Phoebe Huisman and the release “Inside” arrived in my speakers like the sudden, sharp scent of rain hitting hot asphalt familiar, grounding, and weirdly emotional. There is something unnerving about how accurately this collection of songs maps the topographical mess of being a teenager. Huisman, a singer-songwriter with the technical chops of a Distinction-grade vocalist and the heart of a poet, has essentially constructed a museum of her own adolescence (specifically the years between fourteen and seventeen) and invited us to walk through the exhibits without touching the glass.
The album opens with the title track, “Inside”, establishing a friction that defines the record: the exhausting labor of maintaining a polite facade while the mind runs laps around a track of anxieties. It sounds like the moment you realize you’re holding your breath in a crowded room. This feeling of containment bleeds into “No Want” and “But Thats Not Her”, tracks that explore the claustrophobia of being perceived incorrectly. Listening to Huisman’s vocals often draped in a cavernous reverb I found myself thinking about that specific panic of a moth hitting a lightbulb. It’s that desperate energy to escape the heat of judgment, interpreted through indie-pop guitars and earnest piano lines.
Huisman doesn’t linger solely in victimization, though. “Hypocrites” and “Nemesis” bring a delightful edge to the proceedings. They tackle the specific toxicity of two-faced peers with a rhythmic bite that feels like finally snapping a pencil in half during a silent exam jarring and incredibly satisfying. There is a palpable refusal to be “civilized” in tracks like “Untamed” and “I See Ya”. Here, the artist invites her “shadow self” to the dinner table. It’s a celebration of the weird, erratic parts of our personality that usually get edited out of the social script.
Yet, for all its rebellion, the album’s emotional anchor lies in its vulnerability. “Not That Lucky” and “Look at Me” hit a frequency of loneliness that feels blue and deep, like the bottom of a chlorinated pool. But the narrative arc bends toward light. “Settle Down” navigates the sticky web of family dynamics with maturity, acknowledging that shared blood is a bond you stretch but never truly break. By the time we reach “Dancing in the Rain”, the storms are no longer something to hide from, but an element to be endured with grace.
The record closes with “Photograph”, a track that captures the ephemeral nature of happiness. It made me think of how memory works not like a film reel, but like a series of flashes in a dark room. Huisman moves through Pop, Indie, and Acoustic landscapes, using her training not to show off, but to facilitate a necessary purge of the past.
We often tell teenagers that these years will pass, but we rarely acknowledge how loud they are while they are happening. Huisman has bottled that noise and turned it into melody. Does true peace come from quieting the mind, or from finally letting it scream on key?
