Breakup albums are a genre in their own right, just ask the likes of Fleetwood Mac, Amy Winehouse, Bon Iver, Adele and Marvin Gaye. Sarah Khatami has made a powerful entrance with her debut ‘stalemate‘. Drawing from the emotional depths of her first heartbreak, and recorded in the raw aftermath of a relationship split, this album reads like a private diary exposed to the world.
The opener, “save a lil daylight for me“, sets the tone with an upbeat vibe that belies the heartache underpinning the album. Khatami‘s vocal runs and unexpected melodic turns highlight her ability to infuse R&B with a fresh flavour. The 90s nods are evident, yet the track pushes the genre into new territories, making for a captivating start.
As the album progresses, “brain“ shifts gears with its slower tempo, sweet melodies, and harmonies. The acoustic guitar lends a comforting shoulder, complementing Khatami‘s contemplative and wistful tone. It’s a track that invites you into her introspective world, where every strum and note feels intimately personal, like reading a passage from her innermost thoughts.
“Smoke alarm“ stands out with its vivid imagery and subtle drum programming, capturing the listener’s attention. Khatami‘s lyrics transport you into her anxious mind, where the smoke alarm is both a literal and metaphorical presence, mirroring her inner turmoil. This track’s intensity is balanced by the ethereal “hope you know“, a hazy number reminiscent of Toni Braxton‘s best work. Here, Khatami‘s lower register shines, guiding us through her deepest regrets and reflections, as if she’s whispering directly to her former lover.
The album’s midpoint, the interlude “half-love“, introduces synthwave elements, marking a transition in the breakup narrative. The tone shifts towards defiance with “don’t make me laugh“, a minimalist production with cutting lyrics and a subtle flute outro that punctuates the track perfectly.
“Guilty“ follows, with silky vocals over a minimal beat, its chorus delivering a satisfying emotional payoff. The title track, “stalemate“, anchors the album with its floaty, ethereal feel and a guitar track that wouldn’t be out of place on a slow-tempo Michael Jackson jam. This track marks a turning point, where acceptance begins to dawn, hinting at the realisation that she’s better off without the heartbreaker. It’s like she is ready to close one chapter and start a new one.
As the album nears its conclusion, “rose water“ reintroduces the acoustic guitar, sounding splendidly instinctive and almost unrehearsed. Khatami‘s voice sounds up-close and personal, each word feeling like it is sung with purpose. The line, “God damn, this whole city reminds me of you,” captures the universal experience of heartbreak. I’ve been there, I know exactly what she means.
The penultimate track, “over you“, is a triumphant anthem of resilience. It’s a phoenix rising from the ashes, surveying the damage, and realising her self-worth. The album closes with the parable-like “I sold the couch (on and on)“. Late-night jazz bar elements give this track a hazy feel, with a prominent double-bass line, orchestral touches, and subtly brushed snare drums. It’s the perfect conclusion, not just to the album but to the relationship, and feels like the final page of a diary, filled with reflections and a sense of closure.
In ‘stalemate‘, Khatami channels her heartbreak into a sonic journey that is as cathartic for the listener as it must have been for her to create. Her candid storytelling and soulful vocals are a delight throughout. the album feels like an emotional journey that makes you feel like a close confidant, cheering for her from start to finish, hoping that the very act of creating this album has been as healing for her as it is moving for us.
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