Naughty

A bright, declarative piano figure opens the track before the production fills out with crisp percussion and a theatrical swagger that straddles Broadway brashness and contemporary pop precision. Alisha Weir's voice is startlingly self-possessed for someone so young — she delivers each phrase with a clipped, almost sardonic clarity that refuses sentimentality. The song builds in controlled waves, each chorus landing with slightly more weight than the last, as if the character is convincing herself as much as the audience. Emotionally it sits in a strange, exhilarating space between defiance and earnestness; there's no self-pity, only the iron-willed logic of a child who has reasoned her way to rebellion. At its core, the song is about refusing to accept injustice as the natural order — the argument that when the world is wrong, it falls to the wronged to correct it. It belongs to the tradition of theatrical "I am" songs but subverts the form by grounding its ambition not in dreams of greatness but in moral clarity. You'd reach for this when you need to stop waiting for permission.