Riri Rose refuses the sensible exit on “I Don’t Want That Colour,” an indie-rock single about loving someone so completely that the affection starts chewing through the walls. The Lincolnshire songwriter, raised in a small village and singing her whole life, formally began making music in 2023 to work through a severe health flare-up that derailed everything. She draws from that lived journey and from her nerdy devotion to fiction, TV shows, comics and tabletop role-playing games. You can hear the second part. This plays like a character knowingly picking up the cursed sword.

It opens on a steady, driving pulse beneath a gritty, sustained layer that keeps swelling, louder and heavier with every pass. Her theatrical vocal soars over the top, wide-eyed and emotive, and then the pace tips from patient to frantic, as if the narrator has stopped arguing with herself. Someone suggests she might be better off alone. She hears it. She shrugs. She wants the whole emotional spectrum, the joy and the bruises in one package.

By the climax, every layer tangles into a dense, chaotic wave of alt-rock and emo angst that crashes hard before vanishing in a sudden fade. It is yearning with its sleeves rolled up, cathartic in a slightly reckless way.

If someone handed you the safer shade of love, would you honestly take it?

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