Suki Summer may be a newcomer, but with her debut EP LOVESICK AND SICK OF LOVE, she proves she’s already fluent in the language of heartbreak, healing, and everything in between. Clocking in at six emotionally rich tracks, the project is a masterclass in indie-pop storytelling—lush, honest, and deeply resonant.
The EP opens with the dreamy shimmer of “Summer Crush,” a flirtatious and slightly awkward ode to queer first love. Its lightness is intoxicating: sticky-sweet synths, soft vocals, and playful lyrics that recall golden evenings and nervous laughter. There’s something deliciously cinematic here, like the first act of a summer indie film. Beneath the charm, though, there’s self-awareness—a knowing wink that says: this may be sweet, but it won’t last.
That sweetness dissolves quickly into “Marianne,” a gorgeous, grief-tinged ballad inspired by a summer abroad. The production here swells and softens like a fading memory. Suki’s vocals ache with longing, capturing the heartbreak of distance and romantic idealism that never quite meets reality. It’s a standout track—subtle and slow-burning, with storytelling that hits like a soft punch to the chest.
The title track is the emotional pivot point of the project. On “LOVESICK AND SICK OF LOVE,” Suki trades wistfulness for a world-weary wit, chronicling the fatigue of modern dating with razor-sharp lyrics and a lo-fi, detached tone. It’s a breakup song with bite, equal parts heartbreak and feminist frustration.
“used to you” slows things down, shifting inward. It’s about the slow erosion of love, the kind of heartbreak that doesn’t come from one dramatic event but from years of emotional neglect. There’s pain here, but it’s quiet—almost resigned. Suki’s voice floats above soft instrumentation, asking painful questions without expecting answers. It’s intimate, reflective, and emotionally razor-sharp.
If “used to you” is the moment of realisation, “i still want u” is the confessional that follows. Vulnerable and emotionally raw, this track stands as the EP’s emotional peak. The production is haunting, stripped back to let the ache of Suki’s vocals cut through. It captures the worst kind of heartbreak: the kind where you know someone’s wrong for you, but you still see them in everyone else. It’s devastating in the most beautiful way.
The EP closes on a quieter, more contemplative note. “outro (it’s nvr bye it’s jus c ya l8r)” feels like an exhale. Minimalist and acoustic-leaning, it’s the sound of emotional release—letting go not with fireworks, but with peace. It’s a perfect closer: soft, mature, and quietly triumphant.
