“Who said being sad is not a crime?” Shura asks on I Got Too Sad for My Friends. Regardless of the phrase’s origins, the English singer-songwriter seems blithely unafraid of any carceral ramifications. In the album’s opening song, she relays “crying in the backseat of a taxi in Tokyo”; later, she’s “out here in America/And I’m so sad that I am.” She wonders if “maybe I got too sad for my friends,” then, on the very next song, comes to a conclusion: “I got too down around my friends.” Occasionally, she looks on the bright side: “If I die,” she sings, “at least I don’t have to pick out a shirt to wear.” (And though she likely meant the question rhetorically: For the record, it was Arthur Russell.)
Perhaps it wouldn’t surprise you, then, to learn that Shura wrote her third album in the midst of a mid-pandemic bout of depression and anxiety: stuck at home after a canceled tour, isolated from family and friends. Nearly all the songs on I Got Too Sad for My Friends wallow in these particular doldrums. She’s no stranger to an album-length emotional throughline; her debut, Nothing’s Real, focused squarely on romantic yearning, and its follow-up, forevher, traced the head rush of new love. And while I Got Too Sad’s emotional tenor can occasionally feel one-note, its warm, lush sound offers a counterbalance to its gloomy lyrics.
Shura filled her previous two albums with bubbly synth pop, and some of that style carries over here: “World’s Worst Girlfriend” and “Recognise” are awash in ’80s-inspired shimmery synths and dramatic gated drums. But mostly, the album sounds earthier; dotted with woodwinds, keys, and organ, it leans more towards chamber pop than psychedelic dancefloor bops. “Leonard Street” is buoyed by a sauntering bassline and plucky keys; “America” is led by a gentle, wandering clarinet; on “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” a singalong choir of friends joins Shura on the chorus. She has retained, too, her ear for detailed production—consider the synth squiggles on “Online” or the layered harmonies of “Tokyo”—giving the record a rich, lively sound. The mature palette suits the reflective tone, though the overall atmosphere can start to feel a little too mood-stabilized, even when, in the album’s second half, she dips into groovy soft rock.
On the album’s cover, Shura sports armor, like a knight fending off the small army of illustrated goblins that surround her. The lyrics aren’t brash or defensive, though; they’re pensive and unguarded—often straightforwardly so, circling the same themes of isolation and depression. She mentions anger in the elegant, synth-led “Online” and the funk-lite ballad “I Wanna Be Loved by You,” but each time, the emotion is blown away on the song’s gentle breeze; there’s no outburst, no heat, as Shura’s voice barely rises above a whisper. When Cassandra Jenkins and Helado Negro—heroes of this strand of cosmic, contemplative melancholia—show up on a couple tracks, they serve as unfortunate benchmarks of the introspective depths Shura doesn’t quite reach. Being sad isn’t a crime—but, on its own, it’s not an entirely thrilling muse, either.
