Album Review: I’m Only F**king Myself by Lola Young
Lola Young may be “only f**king herself,” but in doing so, she’s found a fierce new sense of purpose—flaws and all—and it’s damn hard to ignore.
Lola Young enters her third album, I’m Only Fucking Myself, riding the high of a breakout year. Her 2024 LP spawned the viral hit “Messy,” a chart-topping single that spent four weeks at #1 in the UK and even earned Young an Ivor Novello Rising Star award. On the heels of that success (along with her feature on Tyler, The Creator’s “Like Him”), the 24-year-old South Londoner hasn’t played it safe. Instead, she pivots inward with this new 13-track collection, shifting focus from romantic entanglements to internal battles. Young herself has called the album “my ode to self-sabotage, my chance to claw myself back from the edge of defeat,” setting the stage for a raw, unfiltered journey through her psyche.
I'm Only Fucking Myself album cover: Lola Young embraces a blow-up doll version of herself, reflecting the album’s cheeky self-deprecation. From the cover art onward, Young’s dark humor is on display—the sleeve literally shows her hugging a blow-up doll with her own face, a tongue-in-cheek nod to the title and to how she’s “fucking herself” in more ways than one. Fittingly, the record opens not with a bang but with a question: “how long will it take to walk a mile? (interlude)” sets a contemplative, introspective tone. Over sparse instrumentation, Young’s husky voice muses in a way that immediately signals this album’s inward turn. But the quiet rumination doesn’t last long—the serenity explodes into “FUCK EVERYONE,” a defiant pop-punk anthem that kicks down the door. Young gleefully lists her vices and desires with no filter, proclaiming she wants to “fuck guys who don’t like me” as a form of reckless catharsis. It’s a barnstormer of a track—brash guitar energy and shout-along chorus—that could light up rock-leaning radio even as it crackles with fear and self-loathing under the surface. The execution can be a bit chaotic (the cheeky attitude almost veers into snark for its own sake), but it sets the album’s uncompromising mood. Young is making it clear by airing out her darkest thoughts, and who fucking cares if it’s messy.
After that aggressive start, “One Thing” switches gears and shows another side of Young—grit and vulnerability coexisting. Built on a quirky hook and a slinky groove that nods to ‘90s alt-R&B, the song finds Young frankly asserting her sexual agency. “One Thing” is essentially Lola’s cheeky flip of a double standard: if a man can say he’s only here for one thing, so can I. It’s smooth and soulful, letting Young’s raspy vocals glide confidently over a laid-back beat. The production throughout the album strikes a balance between gritty alt-pop and soulful R&B, utilizing punchy beats and often sparse instrumentation that amplify Young’s emotive, sandpapery vocals. On “One Thing,” that formula works: her voice carries equal parts swagger and soul, coming off a bit like a modern Amy Winehouse—brutally honest and unbothered. Much like Winehouse, Young infuses her lyrics with unfiltered candor and belts with a lived-in rasp. Growing up in South London and even attending the same BRIT School as Winehouse and Adele, Young brings a distinctly British punk irreverence to pop and a deep well of soul, a combination that gives her songs a compelling edge.
If the first couple of tracks hint at an album of attitude over substance, Young quickly proves otherwise. The moment “d£aler” (stylized with a pound sign) kicks in, it’s clear why this track was an early standout single. With a pulsating, skeletal beat and moody synths, it's catchy and harrowing—essentially a dark road-song about the alienation of addiction. Young’s voice oozes weariness here, drawling through verses about chasing highs and hitting new lows. The chorus’s hook is deceptively funky, but the grit in her delivery screams self-sabotage. It’s a prime example of how she turns the mirror on herself; even as the song struts with cool confidence, the lyrics lay out a cycle of dependency and loneliness. In fact, Young has described this whole record as confronting her own vices, and “d£aler” embodies that mission statement. It’s hauntingly effective, and one of the album’s best moments.
The following tracks continue to walk the tightrope between cheeky defiance and painful self-reflection. “Not Like That Anymore” is a bright, ironically upbeat tune where Young delivers some of her darkest, most darkly humorous lyrics. Over a bouncy indie-rock beat with a hint of ska swing, she opens by confessing, “I’m a dumb little addict, so I’ve been tryna quit the snowflake (cocaine), I guess life sucks dick but especially if you sniff it all away.” The blunt imagery is jarring and funny all at once—classic Lola. As the song progresses, she spirals through calamities of her own making (punching an ex, getting locked out, losing her phone) yet finds a twisted peace in the chaos. By the refrain, she proclaims she’s “fucking myself, but not like that anymore,” poking fun at her own tendency to ruin things while hinting she’s trying to change. It’s an earworm with attitude, marrying self-deprecation with an oddly triumphant, sing-along spirit. After that, “Can We Ignore It?” lets the instrumentation breathe—a mid-album breather where the band jams out in an extended bridge.
The album’s emotional centerpiece arrives with “SPIDERS,” a slow-burning epic that stretches past four minutes. It begins in a delicate, eerie hush—sparse piano notes, a distant beat—as Young croons about paralyzing fear and insecurity. The haunting textures set a mood of creeping dread, befitting the title. But it doesn’t stay small, as it builds and builds until Lola erupts in a cathartic belt, her voice cracking with urgency. The controlled tenderness of the first verse gives way to a powerhouse climax, like a nightmare conquered by sheer will. She uses the fear of spiders as a metaphor for deeper anxieties: fear of losing someone, fear of not being enough. In the context of the album, it’s a showstopper that underlines Lola Young’s ability to turn vulnerability into high drama. “Penny Out of Nothing” then flips the script, offering a scrappy underdog anthem. Young sings about pulling something out of nothing, refusing to accept defeat. It’s the closest the album comes to a feel-good moment, celebrating resilience in the face of feeling worthless.
Still, Lola Young isn’t done examining her darker impulses. “Walk All Over You” is all venom—a searing kiss-off likely aimed at someone who hurt her. She sings with a snarl, dripping disdain as the beat stomps behind her. It’s cathartic in its anger, even if the bitterness leaves a bit of a sting. By contrast, “Post Sex Clarity” finds Young turning the anger inward, navigating the hollow feeling after meaningless intimacy. It’s a slow jam with woozy synths, capturing that post-party emptiness; you can almost see her staring at the ceiling at 3 A.M., wondering what she’s doing to herself. There’s a rawness to how she delivers the title phrase—as if the revelatory truth just hit her when the high wore off. The ironically titled “Sad Sob Story! :)” continues the self-examination with a sardonic smile. Over a plucky guitar, Young half-pleads, half-mocks her own tendency to wallow in misery. It’s a clever little song, simultaneously genuine in its pain and cheeky in its self-awareness. Perhaps the most brutally honest of this batch is “why do i feel better when i hurt you?”, a question that Young delivers over a bluesy, minimalist loop. She confronts her own toxic behavior: admitting that causing someone else pain can perversely make her feel in control, even “better,” and hating that part of herself. It’s a tough-love gut punch of a track—uncomfortable in its candor, but impressively bold. By laying her flaws bare, Young offers no easy resolution, just an unflinching look at the cycle of hurt people, hurt people.
After all that turbulence, Lola caps things off with an irreverence and reflection. The 53-second “ur an absolute c word (interlude)” might be the most on-brand interlude title ever. (Who is she calling an absolute cunt? Perhaps an ex, possibly herself, maybe the whole world.) Either way, its very presence on the album shows Young’s commitment to being unapologetically herself—crude, blunt British slang and all. It’s a moment of dark comedy that somehow also feels like a cleansing exhale. What one might forget, amid the wear and tear of constant exposure, is that the success of “Messy” (from her last album) was thoroughly deserved: a great pop song with refreshingly open lyrics, beautiful instrumentation, and that unmistakable hit factor. And also a reward for two albums full of equally good songs that were finally getting their moment in the sun. While it certainly makes sense to ride the wave, there's still some lingering doubt as to whether the previous quality can be maintained across these records. Indeed, the 24-year-old’s third album is a bit of a crash landing.
“At least I’m not fucking myself
Not anymore.”
As a complete package, I’m Only Fucking Myself is an album that turns vulnerability into a form of magic, albeit a rough-around-the-edges magic. It’s messy (in fact, gloriously so at times), but that messiness is exactly the point. Young is reshaping modern pop conventions here by refusing to sanitize her flaws or fit neatly into a single genre box. One minute she’s belting a soulful ballad, next she’s spitting punkish profanity—and the wild swings in tone somehow come together as an honest portrait of a young artist in turmoil. The production ties it together with its punchy beats and restrained instrumentation, giving her voice and lyrics the spotlight. There are certainly flaws: a couple of tracks don’t land perfectly (the brash “FUCK EVERYONE” might be more attitude than substance, and the meandering jam of “Can We Ignore It?” could have been tightened). The album’s abrupt tonal shifts might feel jarring to some, and not every experiment works on the first listen. But even in its weaker moments, Young’s personality burns through—and that raspy, passionate voice never lets you forget she means every word. Lola Young’s willingness to lay herself bare is refreshing and beguiling in a pop landscape that often prizes polish over validity.
Solid (★★★½☆)
Favorite Track(s): “d£aler,” “Penny Out of Nothing,” “Not Like That Anymore”