Lisa Goldin’s Something I Used To Wear has landed on our lap, so lets take a look at it.. A shrugging off of old expectations, a flipping of the emotional wardrobe. This record feels like a slow exhale after years of holding it all in — and for better or worse, you hear every bloody breath.
Let’s not mess about — this is a pop album, polished to a mirror sheen and ready to soundtrack breakups, glow-ups, and solo kitchen dance-offs with equal measure. Think commercial pop sensibilities doused in dream-pop glitter and given just enough singer-songwriter vulnerability to keep it from floating into the realm of AI-generated blandness. Goldin’s got the pipes, the presence, and enough experience to steer this ship with authority. But is it a smooth sail from track one to fourteen? Not quite.
“Apparently” kicks things off in tight formation — all slick production and poised vocal delivery. It’s not reinventing the wheel, but it’s a strong opener with a hint of sass. The title track Something I Used to Wear is more interesting. There’s actual heart here, a sort of up beat melancholy under the glossy surface. You can hear the metaphor wrestling with the melody, and for once in pop, the metaphor just about wins.
“Three Days” leans a bit too close to soft-focus rom-com montage territory, but “Like That” comes swaggering in to lift things. It’s catchy. Even in the acoustic version later, it holds its own — stripped bare but still flirtatious. “How Love Can Start” deserves the leading single role — not necessarily because it’s the best, but because it’s the most palatable. The kind of song that could worm its way onto any playlist and offend absolutely no one.
“HeartBeat” is where Goldin really lets go vocally, belting with impressive control over a driving beat. There’s passion here, and it feels less like a studio decision and more like an artist getting shit off her chest. “Fallin” and “Tell Me” start to blend into each other a bit — by this point, the album’s slickness starts to feel more suffocating than seductive. Too many tracks springs to mind.
“Let It” and “Hope” start to bring the emotional depth back, the latter especially. “Hope” is the kind of track that has the potential to mean wildly different things to different people. It’s no surprise it gets three reimaginings. The acoustic version with Stoyanov is intimate and aching. The extended version with Xenai adds a little more cinematic flair but drags its feet a touch. The remix by Mark Stent is a better, thumping take that could hold its own in a Balearic sunset set — arguably the most surprising twist in the whole record.
“Kept in a Locket” is a strong contender for the album’s standout moment. There’s an understated elegance to it, the kind of tune that creeps up on you and stays lodged in your chest. That and the campy self-awareness of “Just Right (Goldilocks Theme)” are the closest the album gets to being properly fun. Goldin shines when she’s cheeky and sharp — there’s a hint of Lily Allen if she went to Dubai for a spiritual cleanse.
Sonically, it’s all well mixed, tightly performed, and undeniably professional — sometimes to a fault. There’s very little room for grit or imperfection, and while that might be a conscious decision, it can also make the listening experience feel emotionally padded. When the vocals do crack, or when a lyric actually cuts through the sugar coating, it’s electric. But those moments are fewer than they could be.
Lisa Goldin’s Something I Used To Wear is a carefully tailored, well-accessorised collection of pop tracks, stitched with themes of growth, self-worth, and the odd bit of romantic carnage. When it’s good, it sparkles — when it coasts, it’s still competent. But one can’t help wondering what might happen if she left a few seams unfinished next time and maybe dropped a couple of tracks from its length.
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