On Friday, Dominic Fike released his new album “How to Quit Smoking.” He brings back his fusion of sun-drenched guitar, indie and conversational R&B for a 15-song project containing singles such as “White Keys” and “Pangea.” Throughout the album, his upbeat instrumentals clash with the ideas hidden in his abstract lyrics, creating a listening experience that is not only deeply nostalgic but thoroughly thought-provoking.
The album’s title meets its opening track, “Wallflower,” right where it stands. Fike introduces the album’s central tension between wanting personal change and fearing the loss of meaningful relationships. He criticizes someone for their passivity while expressing how much he needs their support to change. He masks his vulnerability with insults and accusations, while wondering, “If I could die and come forth, would you let me?” The song establishes the opening theme: The difficulty of changing when so much of your identity depends on the people around you.
“Small Town” and “PANGEA” continue exploring the album’s recurring ideas of relationships and emotional dependency. In “Small Town,” Fike reflects on a past relationship, remembering conversations in New Orleans. He uses the metaphor of being unraveled like a thread to show his emotional dependence despite wanting to move on. “Pangea” introduces a brighter energy that feels very carefree. Underneath this aloof song lies the uncertainty about intimacy and the stability of a relationship.
The next section of the album explores nostalgia and intimacy, with “White Keys” standing out as one of its most recognizable tracks and one of my personal favorites. It brings a bittersweet atmosphere, reflecting the warmth of past relationships while admitting they could never remain the same. He captures the conflicting emotions of appreciating the past while coming to terms with its fleeting nature.
The album’s later songs shift away from romantic relationships and toward personal growth and maturity. “Doomsday” captures the difficulty of letting go of our bad habits. The song has an ethereal yet chaotic vibe that mirrors the disorienting experience of falling into these habits, as days begin to blur together and time loses meaning. This shift suggests that change also extends to the relationships we have with ourselves.
He ends with “Spotlight / Inner Child,” which features an abrupt interruption as Fike begins speaking over a nostalgic track. He admits that he is trying to quit smoking, recognizing it as one of the last vices he has yet to leave behind.
At 30, with a child of his own, he tells us that he is growing up and his priorities are changing. Unlike the rest of Fike’s album, this last track is not shrouded by cryptic metaphors and irony. It is a remarkably honest note that beautifully concludes the album’s exploration of change, dependency and maturity.
The album features an extensive guest list that does not disappoint. They perfectly complement the vibe Fike sets out to create. The production similarly balances moments of lightheartedness and vulnerability, creating moments that are both engaging and emotionally complex. Dominic Fike provides yet another album that allows us to live across two worlds.
Either we choose to immerse ourselves in bliss, listening to his nostalgic tunes, or we look beyond and find pieces of our own experiences in his lyrics. To me, that is the album’s greatest strength: The ability to mean something different depending on how we listen to it.
4/5