The arrival of Dan Devlin’s EP, “SCREAM,” feels less like a music release and more like discovering an exquisitely crafted, slightly alarming Fabergé egg on your doorstep – open it up, and a miniature, glittering opera of heartbreak and eventual, roaring triumph plays out. Devlin, who seems to juggle the roles of singer, songwriter, producer, and DJ with the aplomb of a seasoned circus performer, has bottled the bewildering journey from relationship rubble to reclaimed self across three alt-pop/electro-pop confessionals.
It begins with that head-shaking incredulity, facing a former partner’s sudden desire for a rewrite after they’d been so busy red-penning your very existence. Honestly, it’s like a pigeon trying to return a half-eaten croissant it previously scorned. Baffling.
Then the music plunges you into the thrumming, neon-lit cavern of actual heartache. This isn’t moping-by-the-fireside sadness; Devlin’s self-produced soundscapes evoke sleepless nights where the glow of the phone screen is your only moon, the pop hooks a desperate attempt to find a rhythm in the chaos. It’s the audio equivalent of wandering through a surreal art installation about loneliness, every beat a meticulously placed, poignant exhibit. One almost feels the air thin, that sharp intake of breath that precedes a wave of understanding just how thoroughly one has been left behind.
But “SCREAM,” true to its name, isn’t content to stay in the shadows. The turn towards empowerment is less a polite pivot and more a jubilant, defiant cartwheel into the sunlight. The dance elements surge, the lyrics sharpening into affirmations of self-worth. It’s the sound of someone not just cleaning out their emotional closet, but joyfully bonfire-ing the contents and dancing in the sparks.
This final burst of liberation isn’t just about moving on; it’s about realizing you were the main character all along, temporarily sidetracked by a poorly written supporting role. After the glitter settles, does such a potent, concentrated blast of emotional metamorphosis leave one feeling inspired, or merely slightly singed by its fierce, brilliant honesty?
