Delaney Bailey - Conclave
- Samuel Stevens
- 4 days ago
- 3 min read
Out January 21, 2026, via AWAL, rising indie pop singer-songwriter Delaney Bailey will release her long-awaited debut album, Concave. The album tackles a palette that is rich with grief, anger, self-interrogation, and hard-won tenderness. It's not just the culmination of Bailey’s meteoric rise from bedroom uploads to hundreds of millions of streams; it’s the clearest, most immersive articulation of who she is as an artist.
Across its thirty-six-minute-long runtime, Bailey builds a world that feels vast and inward at once, pairing her ethereal yet piercing vocals with expansive, living soundscapes that ebb and swell like emotional weather systems. The result is an album that doesn’t merely invite listeners in—it surrounds them.
Bailey has long approached music like visual art, and Concave is steeped in the ethos of romanticism. Much like the movement’s towering landscapes and tiny human figures, the album emphasizes emotional magnitude over narrative neatness. Feelings loom large here: heartbreak caves inward, uncertainty stretches endlessly, and moments of clarity feel like brief openings in the clouds. Bailey’s voice—often stacked, warped, or hovering just above the mix—becomes both guide and focal point, grounding the album’s otherworldly production in something deeply human.
The record opens with “How To,” an understated entry point that immediately establishes Concave’s contemplative tone. From there, “Nightshade” stands out as one of the album’s most devastating and necessary moments. Addressing her complicated relationship with eating and self-erasure, Bailey frames the song not around body image, but around the instinct to make herself smaller—mentally, emotionally, existentially. The track’s restrained production mirrors its subject matter, slowly unfurling as Bailey reclaims space for herself, turning vulnerability into quiet defiance.
“Wake Up,” which was one of the album’s early singles, marks a turning point both sonically and thematically for Delaney. Built on layered, almost choral vocal stacks that nod to Bailey’s choir roots, the song captures the isolating realization that no one is coming to save you. It’s stark without being hopeless, landing somewhere between resignation and resolve. Bailey doesn’t dramatize depression here—she names it, sits with it, and then dares herself to move.
Elsewhere, Concave wrestles with the unease of growing older and knowing less. “Far Away” captures this tension beautifully, reframing uncertainty as both frightening and freeing. Bailey’s writing shines in these moments, where introspection doesn’t spiral inward but instead opens outward, allowing room for change, contradiction, and self-rediscovery. Songs like “Wound,” “Wither,” and “Know” further this emotional arc, drifting through loss and healing with a patience that feels intentional rather than indulgent.
One of the album’s most striking tracks, “Retainer,” zeroes in on a moment of painful self-awareness—the instant you realize something is wrong, but you’re not yet sure how to fix it. The song sits in that discomfort, its production subtly unsettled, as Bailey traces the line between anxiety and deeper reckoning. It’s a pivotal point on the record, where avoidance gives way to responsibility.
“Baby Dream” and the title track “Concave” bring the album’s themes of womanhood and expectation into sharper focus. Rather than offering up answers, Bailey leans into ambiguity, especially around the idea of motherhood and inherited roles. These songs feel suspended in time, mirroring the way such questions linger unanswered, shaping identity through their very uncertainty.
The album’s most confrontational moment arrives with “Lion,” a bold departure from Bailey’s earlier work. Set against a gothic house pulse, the track bristles with restrained fury as she addresses the societal pressure placed on women to want children. Her vocals are icy, hypnotic, and unflinching, floating above the beat with a sense of hard-earned anger. It’s not just a sonic risk—it’s a statement, signalling Bailey’s willingness to challenge expectations both personal and cultural.
By the time Concave closes, there’s a palpable sense of release. Not because everything has been resolved, but because Bailey has allowed herself to fully feel and articulate what once felt too heavy to hold. The album doesn’t offer catharsis through closure; it offers it through honesty.
With Concave, Delaney Bailey delivers an emotional masterpiece that honours complexity over clarity and feeling over form. It’s an album that understands pain as something expansive rather than isolating, and in doing so, creates space for listeners to feel seen within its vast landscapes. Like the romantic paintings that inspired it, Concave reminds us that even when we appear small against the enormity of our emotions, there is power in standing within them.
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