Puma June Confronts Visibility and Selfhood with Hypnotic Neo-Soul Defiance on “Nobody”
Velvet tiramisu for the bruised ego, Puma June’s “Nobody” drifts from speakers like 3 a.m. espresso steam—simultaneously restorative and narcotic. The Toronto chanteuse paints neo-soul progressions with R&B chiaroscuro, letting muted Rhodes, aqueous bass, and a snare that hisses like silk on granite conjure candle-lit rebellion; languor dissolves into an after-bite of sly defiance.
Director Arden Grier’s Los-Angeles tableau intensifies the flavour: tattooed brows crown hallucinated close-ups, substitute ladybugs skitter where rented ants mutinied, and a climactic shot captures Puma swallowing her miniature doppelgänger—a sumptuous body-horror wink at internalised censorship. The Janus pun “no body / nobody” stitches this couture fever-dream to verses that jab at waistlines, filters, and patriarchy’s measuring tape. Repetition of the mantra “Trust nobody” feels less paranoid than talismanic, a chant forging psychic armour against voyeuristic consumption. Its chilled swing leaves space for breathy ad-libs, yet never forfeits pulse.
Still, the confection harbours air pockets. The hook, though hypnotic, circles the runway once too often, flirting with monotony where earlier verses promised altitude; a judicious harmonic detour would sharpen the ascent. Production occasionally succumbs to playlist polish, smoothing textures that merit rougher grain. Yet when Puma purrs, “I’m a god, I’m a saint, I’m a nobody,” she bottles the modern dilemma—visibility without sovereignty—and the track burgeons like neon beneath midnight drizzle.
Ultimately, “Nobody” settles over the listener like lavender smoke, coaxing shoulders downward while igniting the mind’s quiet rebellion against imposed proportions, leaving a lingering ache both serene and catalytic—a sweet bruise that asks for replay.
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