On her second EP, the Swedish songwriter processes loss by learning to live alongside it. The results are direct and quietly assured.
ORKID’s first EP was a document of grief, raw and unprocessed. Her mother had recently died, and those songs carried the weight of someone still deep inside the shock. Now comes ‘In All Of My Tomorrows’, a follow-up that doesn’t pretend the pain is gone, but finds the singer learning to carry it differently.
The shift is audible from the opening track. Where the debut felt suspended in time, these songs have a forward pull. The production is cleaner, the melodies more insistent. ORKID’s voice, always clear, now carries a new kind of authority. She’s not singing from the bottom of the well anymore — she’s climbing out, slowly, with dirt still on her hands.
What makes this EP work is its refusal to force resolution. The lyrics don’t claim everything is fine. They speak about recovery and renewal, but also about the way the past stays active in our lives. “I still talk to you,” she sings at one point, and the line lands without sentimentality. It’s just a fact, stated plainly, and that plainness is what gives it weight.
The sequencing helps. The EP builds from cautious openness to something closer to hope, but never tips into cheap optimism. There’s a track in the middle that slows everything down, letting the listener sit in the quiet before the final songs push forward again. It’s a smart structural choice, one that respects the messiness of real emotional work.
ORKID’s ear for melody remains her strongest asset. These are pop songs in the best sense — hooky enough to stick, but built with enough space to let the feeling breathe. The production stays restrained, never overwhelming the vocals or the lyrics. Everything serves the song.
‘In All Of My Tomorrows’ doesn’t try to be a grand statement. It’s a short, focused project about learning to live after loss. That’s enough. In a genre that often mistakes volume for depth, ORKID understands that quiet persistence can be its own kind of power. The light she lets in here is real, but it’s also earned.
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