Call Me What You Like

There's a defiant looseness to this track that arrives in the very first guitar stab — jagged, slightly dry, cutting through before any mood is established. Lovejoy are working in deliberately provocative territory, and the song's energy is that of someone refusing to be defined by the language others press onto them, wearing every assigned label so openly it becomes a kind of armor. The rhythm is uptempo and insistent without becoming aggressive, more strutting than sprinting, and the bass sits low in the mix in a way that grounds what could otherwise tip into pure attitude. Soot's delivery here is at its most pointed, each line landing with a precision that sounds effortless and clearly isn't — there's real craft in making contempt sound this casual. What saves the song from becoming a simple act of defiance is its self-awareness: it understands the trap of caring whether or not you're being understood, and it holds that contradiction without resolving it. The chorus opens the song up slightly, a moment of vulnerability immediately resealed, like a window opened and shut before the room temperature changes. This is music for putting on when you've spent too long trying to explain yourself and have run out of patience, the sonic equivalent of deciding the conversation is over.