Desire, I Want To Turn Into You by Caroline Polachek

Caroline Polachek’s Desire, I Want to Turn Into You feels like standing on the edge of a kaleidoscope—right before you tumble in and get hit with an endless parade of colors and sounds. It’s an album that flirts with sensory overload but somehow always keeps you grounded. Polachek doesn’t just build worlds with her music; she folds them in half, crumples them up, and hands you something so weird and beautiful you’re not even sure how to react. But you will react.

This is Polachek’s second solo album under her own name, following the critically adored Pang (2019). And let’s just say, if Pang was a flirtatious glance, Desire is a full-on chase. It’s an eclectic mix of art-pop that manages to feel both meticulously crafted and delightfully reckless, incorporating everything from synth-pop and flamenco to bizarre sonic landscapes that could easily score a futuristic carnival. This album is a bold leap into the unknown, and you’ll love it for that reason alone.

Polachek’s sound palette is a buffet of genres that somehow work in harmony, thanks in large part to the immaculate production by Polachek and her frequent collaborator Danny L Harle. It feels massive yet never indulgent—think stadium pop mixed with niche internet weirdness. Tracks like “Blood and Butter” start out simple enough but surprise you with unexpected layers, including bagpipes, because why not? Then there’s “Billions,” where she mixes Indian tabla with swirling, otherworldly vocals to create something that feels both ancient and sci-fi. Even the minimalist “Bunny Is a Rider” feels fully alive, with each electronic chirp and bleep perfectly placed.

Lyrically, Polachek explores a spectrum of human desire—from the giddy, irrational kind that makes you do dumb things to the cosmic kind that feels bigger than you. The opener “Welcome to My Island” is practically a siren’s song, inviting you into her surreal, unfiltered universe. And yes, she knows how to write a metaphor that lingers in your brain. In “Butterfly Net,” for example, Polachek captures love’s elusiveness like someone trying (and failing) to catch light with a net. It’s romantic, absurd, and weirdly relatable.

If you don’t find yourself immediately hooked by “Sunset,” which blends Latin-inspired guitar with rapid-fire vocal acrobatics, you might be dead inside. “Billions” is another standout—sprawling, haunting, and full of contradictions, much like the love she’s singing about. And “I Believe,” with its soaring vocals and sleek production, feels like it could easily soundtrack a John Hughes movie or a lost Ray of Light B-side.

The album’s pacing is as fluid as a dream, with each track flowing into the next while still offering enough variety to keep you on your toes. It doesn’t adhere to a strict narrative structure, but somehow everything feels interconnected—like a series of sonic vignettes, each exploring different dimensions of desire. It’s cohesive in its chaos, which is a neat trick to pull off when you’re dealing with everything from flamenco guitars to electronic warbles.

Desire, I Want to Turn Into You feels like the soundtrack to falling in love with chaos. There’s a palpable sense of urgency throughout the album—Polachek isn’t just expressing emotions, she’s turning them inside out. Listening to this album is a bit like that one time you tried to follow your heart instead of your brain, and it mostly worked out but not without some strange detours. It’s exhilarating, disorienting, and, dare I say, cathartic.

This album isn’t for the faint of heart, but it’s also surprisingly accessible. Longtime fans of Polachek (from her Chairlift days to Pang) will find plenty to love, but it’s also broad enough to ensnare anyone who enjoys genre-bending pop. That said, it might not win over your average top-40 listener—this is pop music for people who like their pop a little spiky and unpredictable .

Desire, I Want to Turn Into You is an audacious, genre-defying masterpiece that cements Polachek as one of the most innovative voices in pop today. It’s an album that invites you to get lost, and frankly, you’ll be glad you did. Turn into desire. You won’t regret it.

Final thought: If you don’t at least appreciate the bagpipes on “Blood and Butter,” we can’t be friends.