Album Review: When All Is Said and Done by Amie Blu
When all is said and done, Amie Blu has delivered a debut album that finds strength in vulnerability, built out of songs that are as comforting as they are cutting.
At just 22, Amie Blu, the South East London singer-songwriter, had already carved a niche with her diary-like songwriting on the 2024 EP How We Lose, but this full-length project is a far more unfiltered portrait. Her music is confessional to its core, often evoking the feeling of reading someone’s private journal set to melody. That intimacy is immediate—Blu’s warm, unguarded vocals draw you in close, only to reveal heavy secrets just beneath the pretty surface. Her debut album, When All Is Said and Done, is a thoroughgoing introduction to a young artist unafraid to expose her bruises. The album doesn’t aim to be a polished escape. Instead, it’s drenched in messy, uncomfortable truths about love, loss, depression, and the tangled knots of human connection. In tone, it’s frank and unassuming yet assured in its vision, delivered with a candor that can stop you in your tracks as often as it comforts you.
From the outset, Blu establishes an emotionally open space where darkness and reluctant hope coexist. When detailing When All Is Said and Done, she outlined it as “such an honest depiction” of her lifelong feelings of sadness and struggle, and the candor is apparent in every lyric. The songs document depressive episodes, internal conflicts, and the faint glimmers of hope that sustain her. Writing these songs was clearly cathartic—after finishing the album, she realized, “It is so sad… lol,” a self-aware, gallows humor that actually helped her start feeling better in real life. That paradox of pouring out despair to make room for hope defines the record’s arc. Blu never sugarcoats her mental health battles—she often admits, “I struggle to find anything positive in my life… I want to get better… but despite all my efforts, I often still feel the same.” Yet by voicing these thoughts so openly, she transforms isolating pain into something communal. Her honesty turns vulnerability into connection, for herself and anyone listening. It’s as if sharing these diary pages creates a safe place for not only her survival but others’ too.
The album’s songwriting stays intensely personal and literal, which is both its main strength and a potential limitation. Blu writes in plain language that often reads like unfiltered journal entries—she even notes that she always writes for herself first, considering that others hear it as only a “privilege” afterward. This approach yields some beautifully earnest moments where her sincerity is heartbreaking, but it also means she can circle the same themes repeatedly. There’s a deliberate repetitiveness to some lines, a reflection of mental ruts and obsessive thoughts. If she occasionally sounds like a broken record about feeling broken (and she’s joked about this herself), it’s because these songs refuse to dilute the reality of depression. That directness can hit hard; lines like “what’s the point in having all that love just to keep it?” in the song “bite” land like a quiet gut-punch. Even so, the album strikes a balance between despair and subtle resilience. Blu’s voice, soft and smooth, has a way of making even the most wrenching confessions feel inviting—she lulls you in with a gentle melody, then crushes you with the truth. It’s a tricky tightrope of emotional songwriting that she walks with remarkable poise for a debut.
A major dynamic shaping this record is the distinction between bright, even buoyant musical arrangements and the vulnerable admissions in her lyrics. This juxtaposition is intentional, and Blu clearly relishes it. “I love when songs do that!” she enthuses about pairing deceptively upbeat sounds with heavier meanings. A perfect example of this can be found in “Missing Everything.” On its face, the track is an infectious alt-pop bop: all breezy grooves and an earworm chorus. You might almost miss that Blu is detailing a state of dissociation and emotional stagnation, feeling life pass by in a numb haze. She explained that she made this song deliberately upbeat “because I love juxtaposition”—it’s her way of sugarcoating the bitter pill, and also an effort to have a bit more fun amid the gloom. That tension between a danceable rhythm and lyrics about “going days feeling not present” gives the song a subtly wrenching quality: you could tap your foot to it and cry at the same time.
On the contrary, “Shadow” starts as a delicate, dulcet tune—just scanty guitar and Blu’s hushed vocals—and slowly swells into an epic conclusion. Orchestral strings creep in, each drum hit amplifies the weight, and by the climax, it’s goosebump-inducing. The arrangement’s brightness grows and shines, all while she explores crushing feelings of inadequacy, “laying in your shadow” of a loved one. It’s a powerful build that mirrors the song’s meaning: Blu gradually steps out from the shadows, finding power in her vulnerability, like a flower reaching for sunlight after dwelling in darkness. “Swimming in Pity” is another standout in this vein. As the opening track, it sets the tone with an intimate yet anthemic confession drawn straight from her struggles. Blu wrote it from an anxious, vulnerable state, admitting how she can almost find comfort in her sadness and “wallow” as a form of self-sabotage. Fittingly, the song is catchy in its own offbeat way—an “alternative anthem” with delicate vocals floating over a mellow groove. The hook “you and me, swimming in pity” is deceptively singable, even as it depicts two people drowning in their anxieties. This interplay of light and dark, present in these songs and others, profoundly shapes the emotional arc of the album.
For an album rooted in one young woman’s internal battles, When All Is Said and Done is surprisingly dynamic and collaborative in its execution. Blu created these songs in close collaboration with her friends, embracing a DIY spirit, and that camaraderie is evident in the music. The production spans a wider range of styles than one might expect from the singular focus on depression. There are soul-soaked confessionals, gritty lo-fi textures, and even a hint of breezy soft-rock optimism peeking through in places. “Bite,” for instance, blends a loose live-band energy with touches of soul and country, bringing a warm, organic feel to her self-reflective musings.
By comparison, “Legs”—the centerpiece of the album—is stripped-back and raw. Blu first unveiled this song in a COLORS session, just her voice and the bare essentials, and in studio form, it remains the emotional crux where all the album’s themes coalesce. The song was born from a moment when she “felt like I no longer had the will to live,” and it confronts that breaking point directly. There’s a quiet intensity to it; rather than a polished pop song, “Legs” feels like eavesdropping on Blu’s most private plea to keep going. Fittingly, she positions it as the turning point where survival itself turns from a “whispered thought into song.” You get the sense of an artist mustering the strength to stand up (as the title implies) after being emotionally flattened. Throughout the record, the instrumentation and arrangements generally serve the songwriting well—organic guitars, piano, and subtle electronic flourishes are deployed to mirror the emotional beats.
If a song needs to brood in quiet despair, it does; if it needs to burst open in catharsis, it isn’t shy about it. At times, the lo-fi touches (a bit of fuzz on a guitar, or a room ambience in the recording) give the sense of Blu and her friends huddled in a small studio, capturing real feelings in real time. That intimacy is one of the album’s greatest strengths. On the flip side, a couple of tracks don’t stand out as much melodically and can blend on first listen—a possible side effect of sticking to mid-tempo, introspective territory. However, when given a fair shot, they reveal distinct shades of her melancholy: some songs are angry or frustrated, while others are resigned, and still others are cautiously hopeful. The cohesion of tone is actually purposeful, painting a comprehensive picture of depression without ever wallowing to the point of monotony.
When All Is Said and Done’s visual presentation reinforces its honest portrait of survival in striking ways. The album’s surreal cover art (created in collaboration with Blu’s close friend and creative partner Alistair McVeigh) depicts a tiny, warmly lit room built on a flatbed trailer, parked in the middle of a bleak, wintry landscape. It’s an arresting image: a fragile sanctuary on wheels, literally a shelter from the storm of the outside world. This visual metaphor couldn’t be more apt—it’s as if Amie Blu built herself a safe space to contain all her vulnerabilities, and she’s towing it with her wherever she goes. The fact that the room is mobile hints at the transitory nature of healing and survival; you carry that cozy refuge with you, even through a desolate environment. Blu and McVeigh clearly put thoughtful intent into constructing a cohesive visual world around the album. Every shot, from press photos to the music videos, extends the album’s themes. There’s a sense of being exposed yet protected: Blu is often seen alone in empty or open spaces, bathed in gentle colors or soft light, visually emphasizing both her loneliness and her strength in that solitude.
At long last, When All Is Said and Done lands with a quiet sort of impact. It’s not the kind of debut that announces itself with bravado or flashy innovation, but it sneaks up on you, slowly enveloping you in its emotional atmosphere until you’re living in that little room with Blu, weathering the storm together. The album’s resonance comes from this unfiltered emotional truth. You feel you’ve read an entire chapter of someone’s life with a song pointedly titled “When There’s a Will There’s a Way,” an echo of hope if ever there was one (the ugly cries, dark jokes, desperate midnight thoughts, and all), and come out the other side with a surprising sense of comfort. The neutrality of the tone throughout—clear-eyed, unsentimental—keeps it from being a pity party. Blu is reporting from the trenches of depression with a wry smile and a tear in her eye, never asking for sympathy so much as understanding.
If there’s any gripe to offer, it’s perhaps that the album lives so intensely in its headspace of sadness that it rarely steps back to take a broader view; the catharsis is mainly in the act of expression itself rather than any grand revelation. But that in itself feels true to the subject matter. Depression often has no neat resolution, and When All Is Said and Done wisely doesn’t pretend to have one—it’s about finding a way to survive with honesty, not about being magically cured. In that regard, this record succeeds in expectations. It’s a richly human debut, one that confirms Amie Blu as a fearless new voice unafraid to document the hard stuff. Her candid songwriting and unguarded performances turn solitude into solace, inviting listeners to feel seen in their own struggles. When all is said and done, Amie Blu has delivered a debut album that finds strength in vulnerability—a shelter in the storm for anyone who needs it, built out of songs that are as comforting as they are cutting.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Missing Everything,” “Legs,” “Shadow”