Rize Michael turns goodbye into growth on His Album “I can’t wait to know you, always.”
Rize Michael has released “i can’t wait to know you, always,” and the Atlanta artist turns farewell into a forward-facing ritual. Inspired by a rediscovered message that promised perpetual curiosity, the album proposes a simple but resonant thesis—love may not deliver a fairy-tale ending, yet it can tutor the future. Indeed, these thirteen songs feel like drafts of wisdom set to motion, a USA-born blend of Indie R&B and Indie Pop with glints of Rock that favors transparency over bravado and conversation over confessionals shouted into the void.
What makes the project unique is its architecture of air. The arrangements are light on their feet—pianos exhale into synth vapor, guitars thread through drum pockets that refuse to over-swing, and choirs appear not as spectacle but as soft lighting for the text. Moreover, the production—steered by talents like Parker Howard and Chris X—prizes texture rather than gloss: crisp, dry percussion; tactile guitar grain; bass that nudges rather than bullies. In fact, the record’s greatest pleasure is how rhythm and vulnerability keep shaking hands; the songs dance without denying their bruises.
The palette is porous and the arrangements move like diary entries that learned to groove—compact, motif-driven, and affectionate toward negative space. In fact, the record’s most original quality is how light it feels even when it’s telling the truth with a wince; the production carry the narrative’s small astonishments.
A lightning tour of the tracklist—brief, because the album prefers glances to lectures. “Freckled n flushed” floats on breezy synth filigree and a deceptively sturdy vocal, a first page that smells like morning. “Intropella” (ft. OGB) sketches the thesis in velvet strokes, a prelude that hums rather than declares. “Neptune” (ft. Byron Counts Jr) rides mid-tempo drums and plush harmonies: head-nod physics with heart-smart restraint. “Chattahoochee vampires” (ft. Parker Howard) slips Alternative R&B into pop’s well-pressed jacket—tasteful guitars, airy synths, a performance that grins without preening. “Do you do cry?” opens with a communal chant and pivots into UK-flavored swagger; the groove is elastic, the charisma audible. “things you wouldn’t say” (ft. Shaudie Man) braids sleek rap cadences with a high-toned topline, lively proof that almost-love can still sparkle. “Put me thru” (ft. MACTurnUp) detonates retro rock riffage into dance propulsion, melancholy outrun by momentum. “bye bye” (ft. Steven Joseph) restores intimacy—tender acoustics, mid-tempo R&B drumwork, a handshake of closure. “Circles” (ft. OGB & Ibo) relishes retro R&B warmth glazed with indie pop sheen. “Rockn roll it” begins at the piano, then a choral bloom and electric-guitar sprint turn the room bright. “Hope exists” spices poetry with funky riffs and flute flickers before evaporating into an ethereal hook. “Butterfly sneezes” gleams with ukulele-leaning strums and sleek drums—weightless euphoria bottled. “Where you go,” long tucked away and finally home, closes with lofi guitar drift and a vocal that feels handwritten.
Lyrically, Rize writes like someone talking to their past with a kind voice. The lines are conversational yet idiosyncratic, steering around cliché to land on details that feel lived-in rather than curated. Moreover, the stance toward love—romantic, vocational, familial—is revisionist without bitterness; the record keeps the curiosity, not the costume. In addition, the collaborations are judicious: features expand the color wheel without repainting the canvas, nudging mood and meter while guarding the album’s soft-focus clarity.
However, the project is not without limitation. At times the melodic line sits a shade too flat, especially in passages that hover between chest voice and falsetto; a few choruses yearn for a riskier contour. In fact, the mid-tempo bias can blur track borders in the album’s middle stretch, where a sharper dynamic zag might have deepened the arc. These are quibbles, yet they matter because the record otherwise handles space and sentiment with such care.
What I enjoyed most is the ergonomics of feeling: songs fit the hand, hooks arrive politely, and the drums whisper confidence rather than demand it. The vibe is liberating—like stepping outside after a long conversation with yourself and realizing the sky didn’t fall, it widened. By the final fade, “i can’t wait to know you, always” doesn’t insist you believe in destiny; it simply invites you to stay curious—about love, about craft, about the person you are becoming. Indeed, that invitation lingers like daylight on the note that started it all.
Enjoyed the read? Consider showing your support by leaving a tip for the writer
TRENDING NOW
CONNECT WITH US
FEATURED
From time to time, a song feels like a screenshot of bad decisions you haven’t made yet; for Savanna Leigh, “Nothing Yet” is that prophetic snapshot. Built on soft, chiming piano and a mid-tempo alt-pop pulse, the track begins with her raspy voice…