Is it real, a dream, or somewhere in between? Much of quarantine has felt splayed between nostalgia for a future that never seems to come and ennui in a present that seems insurmountable. Sycco knows this first-hand; in her mind, the days have lost their distinction, all clothes have become pyjamas, and the default window on her browser is one to “fluoride conspiracies” (which, I guess, is the dental-equivalent of WebMD rabbit holes). And yet, the newest song from the Future Classic signee is anything but glassy-eyed and mundane.
Instead, My Ways is Sycco at her slickest and smartest, basking in James Turrell light and dusting off the mirrorball to try and salvage her cabin-fever sanity. During the verses, her voice stretches out listlessly like a cat in the sun among quicksand-collapsing synths, all thick and grainy, the sludge of quarantine itself. On the bridge, she loses out to her malfunctioning mind stuck on the same robotic staccato loop: “Want a break from my brain / Insane, oh, forever.” But the payoff comes each time with the chorus as her falsetto floats among afternoon-dream guitar strums and four-on-the-floor drums, Sycco embracing even the smallest reveries: “My ways, they don’t feel the same.”