Saturn Return
Doesn’t get more honest than this. And don’t be fooled, this is about you too — actually, it’s about all of us. Anna Josephine taps into the collective glitch of a generation raised on dreams and now haunted by deadlines, decisions, and digital fatigue. In Saturn Return, she captures the surreal whiplash of being twentysomething in a world that feels both too fast and completely stuck. The kind of cultural vertigo where, as she puts it, “half of the people my age are getting married, having kids, buying houses… and the other half are still doing coke in the bathroom on a Wednesday. A small subsect of people are managing both.” This isn’t just quarter-life confusion, it’s a broadcast from the frontline of late capitalist identity crisis. Over woozy textures and a grounded vocal performance, Anna spins small domestic details into emotional landmines — cops at the door, missing friends, beef with the laundromat — all while her mind flies at 100 miles an hour: “Mind’s got wings and my heart’s in the clouds, 100 places to be, I can’t figure it out.” There’s humour here, but it’s the kind that masks deeper exhaustion. Adult life, she suggests, is either unattainable or absurd, and maybe both. The pull between freedom and failure is real, and so is the fantasy of just giving up and lying on your mum’s lawn. Saturn Return isn’t trying to fix anything. It’s just brave enough to admit the mess.