There’s something disarmingly casual about Théa Marie’s and Kiriku’s “I’m Fine”. It doesn’t storm into the room or cry for attention — it glides in sideways, with a lopsided smile and a heartbeat you only notice when it skips. Théa Marie and Kiriku fold Leftfield Pop into Folktronica haze, keeping the groove lazily buoyant while the lyrics do the emotional heavy lifting. It’s the musical equivalent of telling someone you’re okay with red eyes and shaky hands — raw, but composed.
The hook repeats like a mantra you don’t quite believe yet, and that’s where the track finds its weight. The warmth of her voice — neither too polished nor too fragile — holds the contradiction of vulnerability disguised as strength. We’ve all said I’m fine when we weren’t, and the track doesn’t try to fix that contradiction. Instead, it turns it into melody, riding a rhythm that feels slightly out of time, like thoughts looping in your head when the room’s gone quiet.
There’s also this hypnotic quality stitched into the background — maybe it’s the way the harmonies bloom and fall, or the deliberate pace that never rushes to a climax. It reminded me a bit of early Sylvan Esso, or Lapsley if she’d grown up beside a canal with misted windows and an old guitar. What’s refreshing is how friendly it sounds despite the ache — like you’re confiding in someone who won’t try to fix you, just sit with you in it.
About Théa Marie:
Born in France, anchored in London, and living literally on water, Théa Marie’s world-building happens in the space between steel and stillness. Over one wild year, she released 52 songs — yep, one for every week — blending acoustic and electronic versions and collaborating with producers across the globe. That kind of prolific output could feel chaotic, but in her case, it’s distilled into intention. With “I’m Fine”, she’s clearly settling into a sound that doesn’t need to shout to be heard — one that invites you in, no pressure, no pretense.
About Kiriku:
Kiriku splits his time between London and Ibiza and his music stretches from groovy downtempo to sun-drenched organic house, always with a warm, human touch. Think laid-back vocals, jazzy drums that don’t colour inside the lines, bouncy basslines, and samples that feel like they’ve been dug out from somewhere personal. Whether he’s shaping full songs or dancefloor gems, his sets blend electronic and acoustic elements so seamlessly, you almost forget where one ends and the other begins. The result? Club energy with Balearic soul — and always a bit of that Kiriku unpredictability.
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