Helena May’s new single, “Side Effects,” doesn’t just enter a room; it strides in with the kind of confident, hip-swinging swagger that makes you instinctively check your own posture. This is Brit-Funk with a capital F, built on a groove that feels less like a rhythm and more like a wry, talkative companion. It’s got that specific, indefinable warmth of an old analogue recording, that almost-smell of hot vacuum tubes and possibility.
Horns slice through the mix not as decoration, but as sharp, brassy exclamations. It’s the sonic equivalent of someone raising a skeptical, yet amused, eyebrow.
But beneath that groove is a stark, honest diagnosis. The song lays out two paths, two starkly different ways of breathing. One is paved with the small, solid bricks of genuine gratitude—the quiet hum of a job well done, the simple mechanics of a positive mind. The other is a hollow pursuit, a life lit by the flash of a camera for a victory no one else will remember tomorrow. The music video’s sterile white room and flickering television, broadcasting a highlight reel of questionable choices, gets this exactly right. It’s an intervention, but with a beat you can dance to.
May’s voice has this wonderful duality. It’s got the power to soar over the funk, yet it carries a texture of lived-in vulnerability. This isn’t just feel-good fodder; it’s more like musical spinach, something with grit and substance designed to fortify you. It’s a track that feels less like a sermon and more like a conversation you have with yourself in the mirror after a particularly strange day.
The song doesn’t offer a simple cure for these spiritual ailments. After all, the title reminds us that both the joy and the struggle are merely side effects of being human. The question it leaves you with isn’t about the path you’ve chosen, but whether you can feel the ground beneath your feet.
