Sydney Rose’s I Know What I Want: An EP That Feels Like a Mirror
There’s something uniquely intimate about discovering an artist before the world catches on, when their music exists as a secret between you and your headphones. For a while, Sydney Rose was that for me. Her songs lived under my bed as my box full of memories does, fragile and personal, mine to cherish. But with the release of her EP, I Know What I Want, that quiet intimacy has bloomed into something shared, and I couldn’t be happier. Sydney deserves every bit of the recognition she gets.
The EP opens with the song 31, and I’m hit with a nauseating wave of nostalgia. The slow strum of an acoustic guitar frames Sydney’s reflections on growing up, the fear of getting it wrong, childhood love, and the gut-punch realization that you didn’t know the last time you petted your dog was the last time. She sings about craving adulthood only to ache for childhood once it’s gone. I had to pause after this one, letting the weight of it settle. I hear traces of different artists in Sydney, sometimes a little Phoebe Bridgers, sometimes Lizzy McAlpine, but there’s something undeniably her that I can’t quite pin down. But I do know that it's undeniable and magnetic.
The next song, Listen to the Birds, surprised me. The title felt gentle, but of course, Sydney delivered another soul-crushing, life-reevaluating masterpiece. Some say her songs sound the same, but I couldn’t disagree more. To me, each one has its own color. Her lyricism cuts deep in a way that doesn’t need a beat drop or catchy hook, just her words, her voice, and her guitar, and that’s art. That is what music is supposed to be.
Listen to the Birds feels like a plea to stay:
Listen to the birds, singing still the same. In the videotapes, they come back home when it's warmer. Listen to the songs, and do not be ashamed when things change. You're just seeing what the world has to offer.
Wow. I can’t even describe what this did to me. Stay. Let go of the old you. Change your perfume. You don’t have to leave; you never do. You can choose to stay.
Then comes 5 More Minutes, another gut punch of childhood nostalgia. Sydney just wants to rip my heart out, I guess. I’m fine. Definitely fine.
I got so old so fast.
Okay, maybe I’m not fine. I’m hit by the feeling of how I was just 16 yesterday; how am I 23 today? She sings about her stuffed animal being her first love, still holding it at 21. My eyes dart to the bunny plush on my bed. I pause the song and stare at the wall for a second. But continuing isn’t any easier. The outro pleads, “5 more minutes, please,” and suddenly, I just want to wrap myself in a blanket and cry myself to sleep. Sydney, I love you, but why? I’m every age I’ve ever been, I know that, but you don’t have to keep reminding me.
By the fourth track, Thank You for Trying, I was already bracing for impact. This EP is only 24 minutes long, but it took me an hour to finish because I kept needing breaks to question my entire existence.
I don’t see myself for loving but thank you for trying.
Excuse me?
When it’s dark outside, and it’s me and my thoughts and the moon, I romanticize a dream where I fall in love with you, and I get it right.
I’m just grateful no one was around to witness the way I folded over, like I'd just been punched in the gut. However, that was exactly how this one felt.
Dogs I Pass on the Street is the last new song (the sixth and final track, We Hug Now, has been out for a while - we’ll get to that). Just the title made me anxious; it immediately reminded me of Mitski’s I Bet on Losing Dogs, the ultimate song that makes you rethink your entire life. And, of course, Sydney delivered the same existential dread.
She sings about passing dogs on the street, envying how they never worry:
The phone line gets longer every night, and I've been chasing my own tail my whole entire life.
Again, I’m stunned by her lyricism, by how her voice reaches something deep inside me. Maybe it’s because every song is her; raw, real, and unbearably relatable.
I want them to know me like I know myself. Every day I'm learning to be someone else.
By now, my heart is exhausted in the most bittersweet way and I have this weird ache in my stomach, that I know will linger for a few more days after listening to this EP.
The EP closes with We Hug Now, a song that’s haunted me since its release the day before Valentine’s Day.
Sometimes, I go to sleep, and I'm still seventeen. You still live down my street. You're not mad at me.
What I love about this one is its universality, it could be about an estranged family member, a first love, a childhood friend. It captures that ache of leaving people behind and returning later, changed.
We will get coffee in Canton, and you'll nervously laugh when we hug 'cause we don't hug; we never used to do that. We don't do that.
We Hug Now feels like saying what you’ve always wanted to but couldn’t. And the bridge? Devastating. The first time I heard it, I was in the car and had to pull over to breathe.
I have a feeling you got everything you wanted, and you're not wastin' time stuck here like me. You're just thinkin' it's a small thing that happened. The world ended when it happened to me.
I’ll say it again: I’m so glad Sydney is getting the recognition she deserves. But I hope she never changes her style just to please the crowd, unless she wants to. For me, her, her guitar, and her incredible voice are more than enough. They’re everything.
I can’t wait to see what she does next while I cheer from the sidelines. Congrats, Sydney, on this stunning EP. I can’t wait to see you take over the world.
WRITTEN BY
Ilayda
The question of belonging always lingers in the back of my mind. As a diaspora child, I carry the weight of leaving and the longing to find home in every place I go. So I like to write about what moves me. Music that lingers, films that haunt, words that stay long after the page is turned. I chase the moments that make me feel something.
