Nobody does sadness and melancholy quite like Lykke Li. So it was surprising when she described her sixth and apparently final album, The Afterparty, as a major thematic shift from her earlier work. Speaking to NME, Li explained she had “been twirling around in love addiction for all those albums” and was now “going into [her] existential era.” Rather than embracing modern self help culture, Li told The Line of Best Fit: “We’re in an era where everyone is talking about, ‘My higher self’. Fuck that,” later expanding to Pitchfork that the album instead deals with “your lower self: your need for revenge, your shame, despair.” Not a complete shift in tone, perhaps, but certainly in perspective, and a welcome one all the same.
So Happy I Could Die encapsulates much of what makes The Afterparty feel distinct from Li’s earlier records. There’s still romance and intoxication, “I hope you’re wasted too / I’m drunk enough to say I love you” could sit comfortably alongside the emotional recklessness of Wounded Rhymes, but here it’s framed by a much deeper awareness of impermanence and mortality. The repeated question, “How long can it last? / We’re just slipping through the hourglass,” transforms what initially sounds like euphoric devotion into something far more fragile and existential. Even the title, So Happy I Could Die, exists in that uncomfortable space between ecstasy and oblivion that runs throughout the album. It mirrors what Li told Nylon about lead single Lucky Again being “samsara in a song. The wheel of life; winning, losing, living, dying,” where joy and loss constantly coexist. The song also reflects Li’s wider comments about The Afterparty representing the emotional comedown after “the messy freedom of youth”, moments of happiness made overwhelming precisely because you know they cannot last forever.
Sonically, the record remains as lush as Li’s previous work, but noticeably busier; every track feels layered with tiny details humming beneath the surface. It’s an intentional reaction against the sparse intimacy of her recent material. Speaking to Vogue, Li explained: “I wanted to make something super maximalist, over the top, and use every instrument I’ve ever been curious about.” She accomplishes this beautifully throughout. Happy Now pairs restless percussion with a smattering of glitchy synth, while the album constantly shifts between orchestral swells, electronic distortion and a bit of somber acoustic moments without ever feeling overworked.
Euphoria closes The Afterparty with something more familiar: a slow, melancholic ballad built around soft guitar and light strings. Rather than offering resolution, the track leans fully into the album’s recurring themes of impermanence and emotional fragility, with “Though it won’t last, hallelujah / Least we knew ya, euphoria” framing happiness as something fleeting but still worth holding onto while it lasts. In many ways, that sentiment defines the album itself. At just nine tracks and 25 minutes, The Afterparty is Li’s shortest record to date, yet there’s never a dip in quality or emotional impact. If anything, it leaves you wanting more, which given the possibility this really is her final album, only makes the experience feel even more bittersweet.
4.2/5
