by Amity Hereweard
Sydney’s merci, mercy makes her debut with Don’t Take It To Heart, an album of thirteen songs written with equal parts confessional and cathartic, vulnerable yet always pulsing with beats that demand to be moved to. Across the songs, she unpacks jealousy, insecurity, self-worth, and the ache of love’s contradictions. This is all done with melodies that stick and a vocal presence that carries weight of fragility and power.
The opener, “Inside Out”, is the thesis statement with a sardonic wit paired with naked honesty. When she sings “I got hobbies like crying on my couch / …like being super lonely”, her delivery cuts between irony and ache. The track’s production is playful as it has flipping moods with quick turns. Meri, mercy’s voice shifts from conversational grit with key falsetto bursts, grounding the emotional rollercoaster of the lyrics.
“Cigarettes In The Dark” is an emotive vocal wrapped in a beat designed to move. The lyrics, “So I take take take / Till it all falls apart / And I break break break / Till I’m something that you want,” frame self-doubt as a kind of tragic rhythm, reinforced by vocal effects that amplify her sense of distortion. The synths throb, the groove is relentless, and yet her voice keeps the human pulse alive. It’s a dance track, yes, but one that makes you dance your heartbreak out.
On “The Word Love,” merci explores her lower and middle register with ease, dipping into falsetto for flashes of vulnerability. The production gives her space, showing she doesn’t need to oversing to cut through. “Unrecognizable,” meanwhile, expands her range over a sleek dance beat. The bass synth is particularly sharp here—deep, thick, and addictive—while her vocal rides above with clarity and confidence. Together, these tracks show her as a vocalist equally comfortable whispering insecurities and belting catharsis.
“Angel” plays with contradictions with lyrics like “sad bad bitch” energy that embraces confidence without pretending away the sadness. “Shrine” paints jealousy with biting wit, a perfect example of her knack for combining sharp one-liners with confessional intimacy. Then “One of a Kind” goes for full spite, “I hope you see me on TV / And it gives you a heart attack and you die,” It’s savage, sure, but set to a beat that makes it almost gleeful. Few pop debuts balance venom and vulnerability with this much finesse.
After all the peaks and claws, closer “Port Royal (a love story)” arrives as a tender exhale. Stripped-down guitar and analogue warmth give merci space to end not in rage or self-doubt, but in quiet reflection. It’s a fitting close.
With collaborators Chris Collins, milku, and robby de sa behind her, merci, mercy crafts a record that doesn’t just ride on big hooks—it thrives on contrast. Vulnerability is threaded into every chorus; her singing carries both ache and humor, and the production ensures the album always feels like one seamless experience: a danceable break-up soundtrack for listeners who want to process pain without pressing pause on joy.
Don’t Take It To Heart is a set of pop songs not afraid to show the cracks. In fact, merci, mercy makes those cracks shimmer with synths, beats, and a voice that knows how to live inside contradiction. It’s a debut that leaves you sweating on the dance floor with tears still drying on your cheeks.
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