ILENE’s “Exactly” is a sweaty, glittery breakdown in a nightclub bathroom, soundtracked by insomnia, hormones, and hot chips. This is what happens when you’re too tired to cry, too bloated to dance, and too creatively wired to sleep. The result? A glitchy, unhinged, hyperrelatable bop that sounds like your brain at 3am arguing with itself under fluorescent lights.
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“Exactly” is mentally unstable house meets glitch-pop delirium. The beat pulses like a panic attack in heels. Vocals drift between clarity and chaos, sometimes conversational, sometimes sarcastic, often muttered like ILENE’s trying to convince herself she’s fine (she’s not). The production is messy in the most intentional way: think strobe lights, cramps, and chocolate cravings colliding in a neon haze.
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The lyrics are part diary entry, part group chat, part voice note confession. PMS, bad skin, insomnia, overstimulation “Exactly” captures the uniquely feminine experience of spiraling in style. And when ILENE whispers “Don’t fucking talk to me”? That’s poetry.
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