There’s a softness at the heart of “ocd“, even as it swirls with dizzying layers. Tamar Berk folds Wurlitzer chords, trumpet lines, and teasing synths into something both groovy and claustrophobic, like being gently held while the room slowly tilts sideways. Her voice cuts through with a calm, poetic clarity, keeping the whole thing anchored. That balance—the tension between beauty and unease—is what makes the song so magnetic.
The poem is almost hypnotic: the repeated phrases circling back again and again like thoughts you can’t shake. It’s easy to hear how the song was built from the very same spirals it describes—memory, control, regrets, perfectionism. And yet, instead of sinking into the heaviness, Tamar finds humour and a kind of sideways charm in the chaos. There’s a playfulness to the synths, a wink in the trumpet, a reminder that even spirals can be danced through.
I also love how “ocd” manages to be both deeply personal and easy to slip into. The textures are lush but never overwhelming, the melodies stick without shouting for attention. It has those soft indie-pop sensibilities I can’t resist, paired with a chill-rock ease that makes it addictive. And because the theme of looping thoughts is all too familiar to me, it lands not just as a song I like, but as one I feel.
About Tamar Berk:
For those just meeting her, Tamar Berk is no stranger to crafting music that sits between rawness and beauty. With roots in classical piano and a love that stretches from Bowie to Liz Phair, she’s carved a path that’s fiercely her own. After years moving through Chicago, Portland, and San Diego’s indie scenes, she struck out solo—writing, recording, and producing on her own terms. Her five albums, including “The Restless Dreams of Youth“, “Start at the End“, and now “ocd“, have drawn praise from tastemakers like KCRW and FADER, while her sound keeps shifting between catharsis and confession. If anything, this latest record feels like the sharpest reflection of her inner world yet.
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