Referencing worship music, “Jesus, take the wheel,” and the big guy himself, Samia half-commits to a God-fearing country album. Nashville has been her adopted home for the past couple years and everyone knows that when you get to Tennessee, they strap you down and program a twang into your vocal cords. OK, the accent is a bit exaggerated at times, but it complements the record’s religious and patriotic themes. Residing in the hyphenated space between her Lebanese and American heritage, Samia explores this tension via love interests who fill her with self-doubt and trigger an identity crisis (“I’d be so afraid of what your daddy’d say/I could fetishize you for the whole damn day”). This element is easy to miss on a casual listen, but it does add a satirical tinge to songs like “Charm You,” where she sings about the thrill of visiting that white suburban institution, the outdoor mall.
When Honey shines, it’s in the same way as Samia’s debut, 2020’s The Baby: by highlighting her rich and versatile voice. “Mad at Me” makes a case for her pop pivot. Like Ariana Grande and Lorde, she’s able to manipulate an upbeat synth-pop palette to unsettling effect. On this pleading-eye emoji of a track, she sounds like a child performing a choreographed song and dance to get the attention of a parent who is giving her the silent treatment. That’s when her anguish is most potent. The way she modulates her voice on the chorus of “Amelia”—an electronic tribute to Amelia Meath of Sylvan Esso, in whose studio Honey was recorded—almost makes up for the Little Mermaid soundtrack quality of the instrumental.
When the late Toni Morrison taught a creative writing course at Princeton, she required her students to write from perspectives wholly foreign to their own, reasoning that their ability to “relate to themselves as strangers” would result in dynamic stories. Samia pitches Honey as a graduation from the egocentric stage of artistry by tackling themes of nihilism and generational legacy: “Are you scared to die?/The trick is don’t arrive/You can see it in your daughter’s eyes/That’s the purpose and the prize.” Society might make you feel old for being in your late 20s, especially as a woman, but at 26, Samia is not yet ready to write her “deathbed record.” She’s better at romanticizing the mundane, like when she compares a cobweb to a constellation and professes her desire to “be a mermaid.” The album’s more pleasing songs, like “Charm You” and “Honey,” are campfire ditties with rich, inviting harmonies. These brief moments of levity suggest that, in the face of existential dread, maybe it is more rewarding to sing with the people you love than about them.
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