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	Current EURO200
	New entries in the EURO200                                       Review for week 44 - 2025
	David Guetta, Teddy Swims & Tones and I land at #63 on this week’s EURO200 with "Gone Gone Gone", a track that feels like a slow-motion exhale after a long sprint. Guetta, the French DJ who’s been shaping the sound of European dance floors since the early 2000s, takes a backseat here—not in presence, but in restraint. Instead of his usual festival-sized drops, he opts for a more subdued production, letting the vocals breathe and the emotion simmer. Teddy Swims, the Georgia-born singer with a voice that sounds like it’s been steeped in heartbreak and honey, opens the track with a vulnerability that’s hard to fake. He’s not just singing—he’s confessing. His tone carries a weight that suggests this isn’t just another studio session, but a personal reckoning. Enter Tones and I, the Australian artist known for her quirky phrasing and unmistakable vocal timbre. She doesn’t smooth the edges; she sharpens them. Her verse feels like a counterpoint to Teddy’s softness, injecting urgency and a kind of chaotic hope. The song itself is a study in contrast: melancholy lyrics wrapped in a pop structure, soulful delivery layered over electronic textures. It’s not trying to be a club banger, nor a tearjerker—it lives somewhere in between, in that liminal space where you dance with your eyes closed and your thoughts wide open. That it debuts at #63 is telling. It’s not a headline-grabber, but it’s the kind of track that lingers. You hear it once, and it’s fine. You hear it twice, and it starts to echo. By the third listen, it’s part of your bloodstream. "Gone Gone Gone" doesn’t shout—it waits. And in a chart full of noise, that patience feels like a quiet revolution.
	Landing at #65 on the EURO200 this week is "Rücken an Rücken" by AYMO, AYMEN & AMO—a German-language track that doesn’t just arrive, it barges in. The title translates to "Back to Back", and that’s exactly how the trio moves: like a tight unit, shoulder to shoulder, pushing against the tide of generic pop formulas. AYMO and AYMEN, both emerging voices from the German rap and trap scene, bring a raw, streetwise energy, while AMO adds a melodic layer that softens the edges without dulling the impact. The production is sparse but effective: a moody synth line, a bass that creeps rather than thumps, and a beat that feels like it’s pacing rather than sprinting. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t need to shout to be heard—it just stares you down until you listen. Lyrically, it’s a mix of defiance and intimacy, with verses that speak of loyalty, survival, and the kind of brotherhood forged not in comfort but in conflict. There’s a sense of urgency here, but also control. These artists aren’t scrambling for attention—they’re claiming space. What makes "Rücken an Rücken" stand out is its refusal to compromise. It’s not trying to be pan-European, not chasing crossover appeal. It’s rooted in its language, its culture, its tempo. And yet, it resonates beyond borders. That it debuts at #65 suggests it’s already found an audience that values authenticity over polish, grit over gloss. This isn’t a song that asks to be liked. It demands to be understood. And in a chart often dominated by polished pop and algorithm-friendly hooks, that kind of artistic stubbornness feels like a breath of fresh, unfiltered air.
	At #87 on the EURO200 this week, ZAH1DE Kayaci makes her debut with "Uff Yaa", a track that feels like a sonic shrug—playful, irreverent, and oddly magnetic. ZAH1DE, whose name has been bubbling up in underground circles across Central Europe, brings a kind of chaotic charm to the table. There’s not much public info on his background yet, which only adds to the mystique. What we do know is that she’s a young TIKTOK-star and clearly not interested in playing by the rules. "Uff Yaa" is built around a hook that’s half exasperation, half celebration. The beat is minimal but infectious: a bouncing synth line, a trap-influenced rhythm, and vocal layering that feels more like a group chant than a solo performance. It’s the kind of track that could easily go viral—not because it’s polished, but because it’s weirdly relatable. The lyrics are a mix of slang, sarcasm, and emotional detachment, delivered with a wink rather than a tear. What makes this entry at #87 so intriguing is how little it tries to impress. There’s no grand narrative, no sweeping chorus, no attempt at universality. Instead, ZAH1DE leans into the absurdity of modern pop culture, crafting a track that feels like scrolling through memes at 2 a.m.—disjointed, funny, and somehow comforting. It’s not trying to be timeless. It’s trying to be now. Whether "Uff Yaa" is a one-off or the start of something bigger remains to be seen. But in a chart often dominated by calculated hits and industry-backed rollouts, this feels like a glitch in the matrix—and sometimes, that’s exactly what the system needs.
	At #90 on the EURO200 this week, Sam Fender & Elton John arrive with "Talk to You", and it feels like a generational handshake—one hand calloused from decades of piano ballads, the other ink-stained from scribbling lyrics in a bedroom in North Shields. It’s not just a duet; it’s a dialogue between eras, stitched together with sincerity and a refusal to overproduce. Sam Fender, 31, has built his reputation on bruised storytelling and Springsteen-esque grit, often painting working-class Britain with a palette of melancholy and defiance. Elton John, now 78, needs no introduction—but here, he doesn’t dominate. He listens. He harmonizes. He lets the younger voice lead, and that humility is what makes "Talk to You" so affecting. The song itself is a slow burn. No fireworks, no grand crescendo—just two voices navigating the terrain of emotional distance. The lyrics hint at missed chances, unspoken truths, and the ache of wanting connection without knowing how to ask for it. Fender’s vocals are raw, almost frayed, while Elton’s are smoother, like a well-worn coat pulled over a shivering frame. Together, they create a texture that’s both familiar and fresh. Landing at #90, the track isn’t storming the charts—it’s lingering. And maybe that’s the point. "Talk to You" isn’t built for virality; it’s built for late-night walks, for quiet reconciliations, for the kind of listening that doesn’t need a beat drop to feel something. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most radical thing you can do is speak gently—and mean it.
	At #114 on the EURO200, LACAZETTE makes his entrance with "H2K", a track that feels like it was carved out of concrete and lit with neon. There’s a rawness to this debut that doesn’t ask for permission—it just arrives, fully formed and unapologetic. LACAZETTE, whose name echoes both football fame and street credibility, is part of a new wave of French rap that blends drill aesthetics with emotional undercurrents. He’s not here to play nice, but he’s not here to play dumb either. "H2K" opens with a distorted vocal sample that sounds like a warning siren from a parallel universe. The beat is heavy, almost industrial, with a rhythm that stomps rather than swings. LACAZETTE’s flow is clipped and urgent, like he’s racing against time or trying to outrun something invisible. The lyrics—mostly in French—are a mix of coded slang, existential dread, and flashes of bravado. There’s a sense that he’s building a world, not just a song, and it’s one where survival is the baseline, not the goal. What’s striking about this track is its refusal to smooth itself out. There’s no melodic hook, no radio-friendly chorus, no attempt to soften the blow. And yet, it works. It’s magnetic in its intensity, drawing listeners into a soundscape that feels both claustrophobic and expansive. The production is tight, but the atmosphere is loose—like smoke in a locked room. Debuting at #114, "H2K" is not a chart-topper, but it’s a statement. It signals the arrival of an artist who’s not interested in fitting in, but in carving out his own lane. Whether LACAZETTE becomes a household name or remains a cult figure, one thing’s clear: he’s not here to entertain. He’s here to disrupt.
	At #115 on the EURO200, "Spaghetti" by LE SSERAFIM featuring J-Hope slides into the chart like a late-night whisper in a fluorescent-lit diner. The title alone is a curveball—playful, almost absurd—but the track itself is a masterclass in controlled chaos. LE SSERAFIM, the South Korean girl group known for their sleek choreography and genre-hopping ambition, team up here with BTS’s J-Hope, who brings his signature bounce and lyrical precision to the mix. "Spaghetti" isn’t about pasta. It’s about entanglement—emotional, rhythmic, maybe even existential. The beat is elastic, stretching and snapping like rubber bands around a restless mind. Synths bubble and glitch, while the vocals weave in and out like threads in a tapestry that refuses to lie flat. LE SSERAFIM’s delivery is sharp, almost staccato, while J-Hope glides through the verses with a kind of mischievous clarity. He’s not trying to dominate the track; he’s trying to destabilize it. There’s a sense of play here, but also precision. The song feels like it’s constantly on the verge of unraveling, yet never does. It’s pop, but it’s also performance art. It’s catchy, but it’s also cryptic. And that tension is what makes its debut at #115 so compelling. It’s not climbing the chart because it’s easy—it’s climbing because it’s strange, and strange is magnetic. "Spaghetti" is the kind of track that makes you question your taste. Do you like it? Or are you just fascinated by it? Either way, it sticks. Like sauce on a white shirt. Like a lyric you didn’t understand but can’t forget.
	It starts with a voicemail you never sent. A half-written text. A moment you didn’t seize. At #131 on the EURO200, Anne-Marie makes a surprise entrance with "Depressed"—a title that lands like a punchline and a gut-punch at once. It’s not subtle. It’s not poetic. It’s a word you don’t often see on a pop chart, let alone as the title of a song that dares to be both brutally honest and sonically infectious. Anne-Marie, now in her mid-thirties, has always walked the tightrope between vulnerability and bravado. From her karate-trained confidence to her confessional lyrics, she’s never been afraid to show the cracks in the pop persona. But "Depressed" feels different. It’s not a cry for help—it’s a deadpan admission. The verses are delivered with a kind of numb clarity, like someone who’s said the same thing too many times to still cry about it. The chorus, ironically, is catchy enough to hum in the shower, which only deepens the contrast between form and content. The production leans minimalist: a pulsing synth, a skeletal beat, and a vocal mix that keeps Anne-Marie front and center. There’s no dramatic string section, no overblown bridge. Just a voice, a beat, and a truth that’s hard to dress up. And yet, there’s something empowering in the flatness. By refusing to dramatize the emotion, she makes it more real. Debuting at #131, "Depressed" isn’t aiming for the top—it’s aiming for the gut. It’s the kind of track that might not trend on TikTok but will sit with you long after the playlist ends. In a pop landscape obsessed with gloss and glow-ups, Anne-Marie delivers a song that just sits down and says, “Yeah. Same.” And somehow, that feels like solidarity.
	At #182 on the EURO200, Olivia Dean returns with "Baby Steps", and it’s not a comeback—it’s a quiet continuation. The British singer-songwriter, known for her warm tone and lyrical intimacy, doesn’t shout her way into the chart. She tiptoes in, barefoot and unguarded, with a song that feels like it was written in the margins of a diary rather than a studio. "Baby Steps" is deceptively simple. A gentle piano progression, a heartbeat-like rhythm, and Dean’s voice—soft, but never fragile. She sings like someone who’s learned to live with uncertainty, who’s stopped waiting for clarity and started walking anyway. The lyrics don’t offer resolution; they offer motion. It’s about moving forward without knowing the destination, about trusting the process even when the path is blurry. There’s no grand production here. No dramatic key change. No vocal acrobatics. Just a melody that wraps around you like a cardigan and a message that lands somewhere between self-care and surrender. Olivia Dean doesn’t perform the song—she inhabits it. And that’s what makes its debut at #182 so quietly powerful. It’s not a hit in the traditional sense. It’s a companion. In a chart filled with maximalism and spectacle, "Baby Steps" is a whisper that cuts through the noise. It’s the kind of track that finds you when you’re not looking, that plays in the background while you’re making tea, folding laundry, or trying to forgive yourself. And maybe that’s its magic: it doesn’t demand attention. It earns it.
	A boot scuffs the pavement. A synth coughs. A voice mutters something that sounds like a warning—but it’s already too late. At #186 on the EURO200, Young Multi drops "Gdzie mój dom?" and it doesn’t feel like a song—it feels like a location that’s been erased. The title, Polish for "Where is my home?", sets the tone for a track that’s less about answers and more about absence. Young Multi, a figure who’s straddled the line between meme culture and serious rap for years, finally strips away the irony and delivers something that feels uncomfortably real. The beat is skeletal: a cold, looping piano riff, a bassline that sounds like it’s limping, and percussion that clicks like a broken metronome. There’s no warmth here, and that’s the point. Young Multi’s delivery is subdued, almost disassociated. He doesn’t rap like he’s trying to impress—he raps like he’s trying to remember. The lyrics drift between personal dislocation and broader social alienation, touching on themes of rootlessness, digital fatigue, and the illusion of belonging. What makes "Gdzie mój dom?" so compelling is its refusal to resolve. There’s no triumphant bridge, no cathartic drop. Just a slow, steady unraveling. It’s the sound of someone scrolling through old messages, revisiting places that no longer exist, trying to stitch together a sense of self from fragments. And in that fragmentation, something universal emerges. Landing at #186, the track doesn’t scream for attention—it waits for those who know what it’s talking about. It’s not a hit. It’s a haunt. And in a chart full of polished pop and algorithmic optimism, Young Multi offers a reminder that sometimes, the most honest songs are the ones that don’t know where they’re going.
	A siren in the distance. A bassline that doesn’t bounce—it stalks. A generation that doesn’t knock—it kicks the door in. "Génération Impolie" by Franglish & KeBlack claws its way into the EURO200 at #187, and it’s not here to charm you. It’s here to remind you that politeness is a luxury some can’t afford. The title alone—“Rude Generation”—isn’t just a label. It’s a manifesto. This is music for those who’ve been told to wait their turn and decided to rewrite the queue. Franglish, born in Ménilmontant, Paris, has always blurred the lines between French rap and Afrobeat, between swagger and sincerity. KeBlack, hailing from Creil, brings a melodic grit that’s unmistakably his own. Together, they don’t harmonize—they collide. The track pulses with defiance: autotuned hooks that sound like protest chants, verses that spit rather than flow, and a beat that feels like it was built from broken glass and late-night arguments. But beneath the bravado, there’s clarity. The lyrics aren’t just rebellious—they’re reflective. This isn’t rudeness for rudeness’ sake. It’s a response to being overlooked, underestimated, and over-policed. The production is tight, but the emotion is raw. There’s no attempt to soften the message, no chorus designed for easy radio play. "Génération Impolie" is a middle finger wrapped in melody. Landing at #187, the track doesn’t need your approval. It already has its audience—those who see themselves in the mirror it holds up. It’s not a hit. It’s a reckoning. And in a chart often polished to perfection, this song leaves the smudges in.
	At #189 on the EURO200, Annalisa steps into the frame with "Esibizionista", and it’s not a performance—it’s a provocation. The Italian singer-songwriter, now in her late thirties, has long balanced pop accessibility with lyrical depth, but here she leans fully into theatrical defiance. The title, meaning "Exhibitionist", is both a dare and a diagnosis. This isn’t a song about showing off—it’s about being seen, and what that visibility costs. From the first beat, "Esibizionista" feels like a mirror cracked down the middle. The production is angular, almost jagged: synths that stab rather than shimmer, percussion that feels like footsteps in a marble hallway. Annalisa’s voice is sharp, controlled, but never cold. She sings like someone who’s learned to weaponize vulnerability, turning every note into a challenge. The verses are tight, almost claustrophobic, while the chorus opens up like a trapdoor—inviting, then unsettling. Lyrically, the song dances around identity and performance. There’s irony in the delivery: lines that sound like confessions but read like critiques. Annalisa isn’t just singing about herself—she’s dissecting the gaze that follows her, the expectations that shape her, the applause that sometimes feels like surveillance. It’s pop with teeth, and it bites. Debuting at #189, "Esibizionista" doesn’t arrive with fanfare—it arrives with friction. It’s not designed to be liked; it’s designed to be felt. And that makes it more powerful than any chart-topping anthem. In a landscape where female artists are often expected to soothe or sparkle, Annalisa chooses to unsettle. She doesn’t ask for attention. She demands interrogation. This is not a song for the background. It’s a spotlight turned inward. And it dares you to keep looking.
	A match strikes. A beat flickers. A voice leans in—not to seduce, but to provoke. At #192 on the EURO200, "Ma Shawty" by JazeeK & Luciano doesn’t walk in—it slides under the radar, low-slung and unapologetic. JazeeK, a rising name in the German trap scene, teams up with Luciano, one of the country’s most consistent hitmakers, to deliver a track that feels like a late-night drive through neon-lit streets where nothing is quite safe but everything is alive. "Ma Shawty" isn’t trying to reinvent the genre—it’s trying to own it. The production is slick but minimal: a hypnotic loop, a bassline that hums like an engine, and percussion that clicks like a countdown. JazeeK’s delivery is laid-back, almost conversational, while Luciano brings his signature cadence—tight, rhythmic, and effortlessly cool. Together, they don’t build tension—they maintain it, like two figures who know exactly what they’re doing and don’t need to explain. Lyrically, the track is a blend of coded intimacy and streetwise bravado. It’s not about romance—it’s about possession, about loyalty, about the kind of connection that’s forged in silence and sustained in motion. There’s swagger, yes, but also restraint. The hook doesn’t explode—it lingers. And that’s what makes it stick. Landing at #192, "Ma Shawty" isn’t a chart climber—it’s a mood. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t need to be loud to be heard, doesn’t need to be fast to move. It’s built for headphones, for backseats, for moments when you’re not looking for answers but for atmosphere. In a chart full of declarations, this track is a smirk. And sometimes, that’s all you need.
	Look at last week's reviews here
	"The Hitmaster: mastering the rhythm of chart-topping hits."