Elijah Woods - Can We Talk?
- Samuel Stevens
- Oct 13
- 3 min read
Canadian pop powerhouse Elijah Woods has never been one to shy away from emotional honesty. Over the past few years, he’s carved out a lane all his own—an artist equally at home crafting sleek, modern pop bangers and baring his heart with disarming sincerity. With the release of his long-awaited debut album, Can We Talk?, Woods proves that his evolution from promising hitmaker to fully realized pop auteur has been well worth the wait.
After racking up over one billion streams, selling out headline tours across Canada and Asia, and even sharing stages with Niall Horan, Woods arrives at this moment with an album that feels like both a culmination and a confession. Can We Talk? is a tightly woven eleven-track journey through love, miscommunication, and the fragile beauty of human connection. Every song feels intentional—every lyric, a piece of an ongoing conversation between heart and mind.
The album opens with “So Good,” an undeniable rush of energy that instantly captures Woods’ knack for crafting arena-ready choruses. It’s euphoric and vulnerable all at once—a song about the kind of love that reframes your entire world. With its soaring melody and crisp, layered production, “So Good” is pure pop perfection, and a fitting entry point into the album’s emotional terrain.
From there, Woods dives into the complexities of love and longing with “Could You Love Me?”—a track that balances self-doubt with cathartic release. The production pulses with urgency, echoing the tension between wanting to be loved and knowing you deserve more. “Ghost On The Radio” follows, and it's one of the album’s standout moments. It’s glossy, rhythmic, and addictive, but underneath its polished surface lies a deep ache. Woods sings about being haunted by memories of someone who still lingers, even when you try to move on.
Nearing the mid-point of the record, songs like “Exercise Your Demons” and “Cutting The Grass” showcase Woods’ ability to stretch his sonic palette. The former leans into darker tones and introspection, while the latter injects humour and playfulness into heartbreak—a reminder that even the most painful experiences can come with levity.
The title track, “Can We Talk,” serves as the album’s emotional anchor. It’s simple yet devastating, capturing the quiet desperation of wanting to fix something before it slips away. Woods’ voice—tender, cracked, and real—feels like the embodiment of late-night vulnerability. It’s the moment where the album’s thesis crystallizes: communication, or the lack thereof, can define everything.
Elsewhere, “Stay Home” and “Slicked Back Hair” bring warmth and light back into the mix. The latter is particularly charming—a breezy, feel-good anthem about transformation and connection that glows with optimism. Woods describes it as “meeting someone who changes everything,” and that joy radiates through every strum of guitar, every synth line, and every beat drop.
As Can We Talk? approaches its conclusion, Woods turns inward again with “I Miss You,” a song about holding onto faith in love’s endurance, and “Dynamite,” which delivers a spark of emotional intensity that feels cinematic in scope. Then in his closing number, “That’s All Folks,” he ends things on a fittingly reflective note—a huge curtain call on a story that’s both deeply personal and universally relatable.
What makes Can We Talk? such a compelling debut isn’t just its polished pop craftsmanship—it’s Woods’ willingness to let his guard down. He writes like someone who’s lived through the highs and lows of connection and still believes in its worth. Every beat feels alive, every lyric is immensely intentional. The production—handled by Woods himself—strikes a perfect balance between glossy and grounded, offering space for his voice and his emotions to breathe.
In a landscape crowded with fleeting viral hits, Can We Talk? stands out as an album built to last. It’s honest, human, and deeply felt—a statement from an artist who’s no longer just a rising star, but one of pop music’s defining voices.