Tamar Berk has always had a knack for turning chaos into catharsis, but her new 12-track album ocd feels like her most raw and fearless project yet. Released as her fifth studio album in just five years, it’s an intimate plunge into the spirals of anxiety, obsession, memory, and self-reflection, painted in shimmering synths, and Berk’s ever-vulnerable voice. Listening to ocd feels less like flipping through a playlist and more like tracing the contours of Berk’s mind—messy, tender, funny, devastating, and undeniably human.
The opening track, “Stay Close By,” sets the tone with a dreamy, cinematic atmosphere. It’s a slow unfurling curtain-raiser, with shimmering guitars and airy synths laying the groundwork for Tamar’s gentle yet striking vocals. Her lyrics about indecision and longing—“I don’t know why I can’t reply on time or can’t make up my mind … I’m always one step behind”—pull you in immediately. By the time she reaches the repeated plea, “I’ll be alright if you stay close by,” you’re not just listening, you’re invested.
From there, the album moves into its title track, “ocd,” a standout that leans heavily on lyrical vulnerability. Berk’s reflections on her own looping thoughts hit like a confessional journal set to melody. Lines like “I got OCD and that should explain … the things that I do, the words I replay” capture both the exhaustion and dark humor of living inside one’s own spirals. The mix of jangly guitars and layered textures makes the track feel heavy yet strangely uplifting—like finding beauty in the middle of a storm.
The third song, “You Ruined This City For Me,” switches gears into upbeat pop-rock territory, though the lyrics still simmer with panic and vulnerability. Then there’s “There Are Benefits to Mixed Emotions,” one of the album’s most memorable moments. With lines like “Ambivalence seems like such a nice place to be … would you go there with me?” it perfectly balances melancholy with a defiant chorus celebrating uncertainty, all set to the backdrop of Joy Division on the stereo.
Later, Tamar drops one of the record’s grittier anthems, “Indiesleaze 2005,” a midnight-drive track that mixes nostalgia with biting commentary on lost dreams. With its scathing lines about starting bands, wasted nights, and cigarettes with the neighbor’s wife, it feels both tongue-in-cheek and sobering—a snapshot of a generation caught between rebellion and disillusionment.
Through it all, Berk’s strength lies in her honesty. ocd doesn’t pretend to have all the answers; it’s a record that embraces the mess, letting the noise of anxiety and doubt turn into something strangely melodic. It’s reverb-heavy and emotionally unfiltered, but also deeply relatable. By the end, you don’t just hear Tamar Berk—you feel like you’ve lived alongside her spirals, and maybe even found comfort in your own.
Tamar Berk’s ocd is a fuzzed-out, fearless diary, vulnerable, and stunningly human. It’s an album inviting us to find beauty inside the chaos.
