I first discovered Emily Clare through TikTok, and each new single has only reinforced the feeling that she’s doing something special.

What immediately stands out is how naturally she draws from older musical traditions. Jazz standards, Brill Building pop, 60s girl groups, soul, blues, disco, and even the sort of “granny music” Paul McCartney loved all become part of her vocabulary. But none of it feels like an exercise in nostalgia.

Instead, those familiar sounds become the setting for songs about uncertainty, loneliness, self-discovery, romance, and growing older.

There’s something wonderfully deceptive about her music. The melodies are lush, the harmonies comforting, and the arrangements often feel warm enough to wrap around you like a favorite blanket. Then you start paying attention to the lyrics and realize there’s far more happening beneath the surface.

The sweetness is almost a Trojan horse for emotional complexity.

“Girl Made of String” (2026)

This opens like an old standard, almost invoking Somewhere Over the Rainbow, before drifting into something dreamier and more psychedelic. The entire arrangement feels like an old music box slowly unwinding while a tiny ballerina spins inside. Even the instrumental break sounds as though someone is winding the mechanism back up before the melody begins again.

It’s an incredibly clever piece of musical storytelling.

As the song unfolds, that magical childhood world begins colliding with something far more uncertain. I found myself hearing it as a moment where youthful wonder gives way to adulthood. The magic doesn’t disappear, but it becomes harder to hold onto. It’s beautiful, unsettling, and emotionally rich.

“Wednesday Addams Code” (2026)

“Wednesday Addams Code” swaps the music-box intimacy for a sparkling disco groove that immediately made me think of Olivia Newton-John, Stevie Wonder’s bass playing, and the dreamy optimism of Xanadu. The chorus is ridiculously infectious. Then comes an unapologetically fun, cheese-filled guitar solo that somehow makes the whole thing even better.

Yet even beneath all that energy, I couldn’t shake a sense of isolation hiding underneath the nightlife. The music feels made for a crowded dance floor, while the lyrics left me wondering whether the narrator still feels completely alone in the middle of it.

“It Was Grand” (2026)

Beginning with echoes of jazz standards before gradually slipping into soulful pop, the song effortlessly moves between decades without ever feeling like imitation. Amy Winehouse came to mind, but so did the grand romanticism of Brill Building songwriting.

Lyrically it feels like someone observing the beginning and ending of a relationship from a slight distance. Rather than reliving every emotion, Clare seems to step outside the experience and quietly acknowledge that this is simply how love often works. The music mirrors that beautifully, balancing sweeping romance with gentle restraint.

“Cincinnati Blues” (2026)

Her latest single has an old-fashioned shuffle running through the song that immediately reminded me of the way Paul McCartney would borrow older styles of music before reshaping them into something unmistakably his own. The whistle solo only strengthens that comparison.

Yet beneath the blues foundation is another dreamy indie-pop song built around memory and longing.

The contrast between Madrid and Cincinnati becomes a wonderful metaphor. You can physically move anywhere in the world, yet emotionally remain somewhere else entirely. It’s funny, heartbreaking, and surprisingly relatable all at once.

“He Might Be” (2025)

Released the year before these songs, “He Might Be” already contains many of the qualities that I interpret from Clare’s songwriting.

A soulful blues riff gradually opens into lush indie pop while she explores the uncertainty that accompanies every new relationship. He might be the love of your life. He might be the next person to break your heart.

Either possibility requires taking the same leap.

I especially loved the subtle nods to songs like “God Only Knows” and “And So It Goes.” They quietly acknowledge that generations of songwriters have wrestled with these same questions about love, fate, and vulnerability.

What ultimately keeps bringing me back to Emily Clare is that her retro influences never feel like costumes.

They’re living pieces of musical history that she reshapes into something personal and contemporary.

The gorgeous harmonies, vintage arrangements, and familiar melodies invite you into a world that feels comforting and safe. Once you’re there, Clare quietly begins talking about loneliness, uncertainty, identity, and the complicated work of growing older.

Her songs never promise those feelings will disappear.

Instead, they suggest they’re simply part of the price we pay for living fully and allowing other people into our lives.

That coexistence of wonder and melancholy is what makes these singles linger long after they’ve ended, and it has me eagerly waiting to hear what Emily Clare does next.

Verdict: Great

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