Frankenstein

Where "Hurricanes" is tender and expansive, "Frankenstein" is kinetic and confrontational — Rina Sawayama working in full theatrical mode, constructing a monster-movie metaphor for the experience of being othered and then expected to be grateful for your own marginalisation. The production is muscular and deliberately overdriven, guitars sitting in that zone between pop and genuine rock that British pop artists have been navigating since the nineties. It's a track that owes a debt to Y2K-era arena rock — the kind of song that feels like it was built to be played in large spaces, with a guitar solo that doesn't apologize for itself. Sawayama's vocal performance is aggressive without being cold; there's fury here, but it's the kind of fury that comes from hurt rather than indifference. The Frankenstein conceit carries real weight — the monster constructed from parts, brought to life, and then condemned for existing too visibly. It resonates with a specific experience of inhabiting multiple cultural identities and finding that none of the available categories fully accommodate you. This is music for the commute when something has irritated you all the way down to the bone, or for that moment before you walk into a room where you know you're going to have to advocate for yourself harder than you should have to.