Platonic love, romantic relationships, queerness, and girlhood: Connie Campsie’s new EP, Now That I Know You, is a coming-of-age project that embodies just how it feels to live life in your twenties. Following her debut Still Talking To Myself, the sophomore body of work offers listeners more of the honest storytelling and dreamy melodies we’ve come to know and love the artist for — with a refined confidence and sense of self. Produced by Iain Berryman (Wolf Alice, Beabadoobee, Sam Fender) in his North London studio, with Freddy Sheed on drums, Now That I Know You can be summed up with three main themes, according to Campsie herself: “idealism,” “repetition,” and “gay shit.” But for more on what the project means, keep scrolling to read her track-by-track analysis.

Connie Campsie is playing a headline show at The Slaughtered Lamb in London on June 6th. Buy a ticket here.

Read Campsie’s track by track….

“This is a ridiculous song. How dare I compare a woman to the sunlight that pools on the floor? To a burn? How dare I wish that I was a wet bouquet of flowers dripping in her hands? Women have been muses for thousands of years and will continue to be because all women are a bit magical. However, I grapple with this concept in this song, saying that this woman is ‘not just a metaphor of mine.’ The adulation borders on objectification, and I ask myself am I just contributing to the manic pixie dream girlification of women? But then, I know there is a certain romance between people who identify as women, even when it’s platonic. I know when I’m suffering the effects of not being near female energy. And whilst this song is talking about queer yearning, idealisation, and mystique, it’s also my love letter to women.”

“I really did make a burner Instagram so I could see my ex’s profile. I saw them present their life in a gilded light and it pissed me off. I thought to myself, ‘I know you. This facade is a trap.’ And then all the memories came flooding back and I wrote them down like a report. Despite years of separation, the effects of our relationship had haunted me and I was so bored of it. Making the music video for this song felt like the final letting go. I don’t want to write one more fucking song about him.”

“This is a self doubt anthem born from a man telling me my music was wrong. I’ve really hit my quota on people getting in the way of my art, but I wasn’t there then. When I look back at it now I see it as a strength test of my inner compass and it only made me stronger and hungrier.”

“’Someone’s Daughter’ is the poster child for gay yearning. It always felt so visual in my head: the image of two girls kissing in a car, laughing in bed, swimming in the ocean. Iain (Berryman) and I would say how coming-of-age it felt, and I think that’s because I didn’t really have my queer coming of age. My sexuality around my teen years were shrouded in confusion, shame and sexualisation from others. I wrote this song to try and fill in the gaps with some magic and wonder. But I come up short because I’m not a teenager anymore, and I know that no one can be this divine image that we make of people in our heads, especially when we’re 17 and everything feels beautiful and terrible. At the end of the day she’s just someone’s daughter.”

“I wrote ‘I Wanna Stop Loving You’ before I broke up with a best friend. She understood me so deeply, was vividly intelligent and had a sense of humour as dark as mine. We would talk into the night about our deepest vulnerabilities and I always said she was like having another sister. But she hurt me consistently for a few years. We would talk about it and she would promise to never do it again, but she would. I loved her so much that she always got another chance, until she went too far. She did something that so blatantly showed she couldn’t have cared about her how I did. I knew she wouldn’t go down easy, and I was afraid to stop my relationship with her in case she did something reckless. But if someone has to threaten you to stay in your life, they shouldn’t be in it.”