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	Current EURO200
	New entries in the EURO200                                       Review for week 35 - 2025
	Olivia Dean has always had a knack for making vulnerability sound like strength. With “Man I Need,” she delivers a track that feels like a quiet confession whispered into the night — and yet it lands with the weight of a thousand unsaid truths. The London-born singer-songwriter, known for her soulful blend of pop and R&B, has been steadily building a reputation for emotional honesty. Her previous releases, like “The Hardest Part” and “Ladies Room,” showcased her lyrical finesse and warm vocal tone. But “Man I Need” is something else entirely: stripped back, introspective, and hauntingly beautiful. The song opens with sparse instrumentation — just a few piano chords and ambient textures — allowing Olivia’s voice to take center stage. She sings not about a man she has, but about the kind of man she longs for. It’s not a fairytale prince or a cinematic hero; it’s someone real, flawed, and emotionally available. The chorus aches with longing, but it’s never desperate. Instead, it’s contemplative, almost philosophical. Landing at #57 in its first week on the Euro 200 is a strong start, especially for a track that doesn’t chase trends or rely on flashy production. It suggests that listeners across Europe are craving something deeper — music that speaks to the heart rather than just moves the feet. “Man I Need” isn’t just a song; it’s a mirror. And Olivia Dean, with her quiet power and poetic clarity, holds it up with grace.
	When two titans of Francophone music collide, you expect fireworks — and “Tu Me Rends Bête” delivers, but not in the way you might think. Instead of explosive beats or aggressive bars, Maître Gims and Damso opt for something more cerebral, more brooding. The title translates to “You Make Me Stupid,” and the track explores the disorienting effects of love, lust, and obsession with poetic precision. Maître Gims, formerly of Sexion d’Assaut, has long been a master of blending pop sensibilities with urban grit. His voice — instantly recognizable, rich and dramatic — sets the emotional tone. Damso, the Belgian rapper known for his introspective lyricism and philosophical undertones, brings a darker, more introspective energy. Together, they create a sonic landscape that feels like wandering through a foggy Paris night, heart in turmoil, mind in knots. Musically, “Tu Me Rends Bête” is built on a hypnotic loop: a minor-key synth progression, subtle trap percussion, and ambient textures that swirl like smoke. The chorus is deceptively simple, almost mantra-like, but it lingers. Damso’s verse is a standout — cryptic, layered, and delivered with his signature calm intensity. Gims counters with emotional urgency, creating a dynamic tension that drives the track forward. Debuting at #86 on the Euro 200, the song is already making waves. It’s not a club banger, nor a radio-friendly pop hit — but it’s the kind of track that grows on you, that reveals new layers with each listen. It’s cerebral, sensual, and slightly unsettling. In other words: classic Damso meets evolved Gims.
	“Sure Shots” is not just a track — it’s a statement. A gritty, confident declaration from two artists who know exactly where they stand in the game. Luciano, one of Germany’s most prominent rap exports, has built his brand on slick flows, trap-heavy beats, and a global mindset. Thizzy52, a rising name from the underground, brings raw energy and streetwise lyricism that complements Luciano’s polished delivery with a sharp edge. The track opens with a cinematic intro — think sirens in the distance, a low rumble of bass, and then the beat drops like a hammer. It’s aggressive, but not chaotic. The production is tight, layered with eerie synths and punchy 808s that give it a sense of urgency. Luciano’s verse is pure swagger: he’s not here to explain, he’s here to dominate. Thizzy52 follows with a verse that’s more visceral, more unpredictable — like a boxer who fights with rhythm instead of rules. Lyrically, “Sure Shots” is about precision and power. The title itself evokes imagery of calculated moves, no wasted effort. It’s about hitting your mark — in life, in music, in hustle. There’s no romantic subplot, no introspective detour. Just two artists firing on all cylinders. Landing at #102 on the Euro 200, the track enters with a respectable debut, especially considering its unapologetically hard-hitting style. It’s not built for mainstream radio — it’s built for headphones, for late-night drives, for people who live by instinct. And that’s exactly why it works.
	Nina Chuba has never been one to shy away from boldness, and “Fucked Up” is no exception. Teaming up with Makko, she delivers a track that’s raw, restless, and unapologetically messy — in the best way possible. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t ask for permission; it kicks the door open and throws its emotions on the floor. Nina, who’s carved out a space in German pop and hip-hop with her genre-blending style, brings her signature edge here. Her voice is sharp, almost defiant, as she navigates the chaos of a relationship gone sideways. Makko, known for his introspective rap and melodic hooks, adds a layer of vulnerability that balances Nina’s fire with a touch of smoke. “Fucked Up” isn’t just about heartbreak — it’s about the aftermath. The confusion, the self-sabotage, the late-night texts you regret before you hit send. The production leans into that emotional turbulence: distorted synths, trap drums that stutter like a racing heartbeat, and a bassline that feels like it’s pacing the room. There’s a sense of urgency in every beat, as if the song itself is trying to outrun its own feelings. Debuting at #121 on the Euro 200, the track enters with a quiet bang. It’s not polished, and that’s the point. It resonates with listeners who’ve lived through the mess, who find comfort in songs that don’t pretend everything’s fine. It’s a sonic snapshot of emotional disarray — and it’s beautiful in its brokenness.
	Some songs don’t just chart — they time-travel. “Sparks,” originally released in 2000 on Coldplay’s debut album Parachutes, has quietly lingered in the background of countless lives: the soundtrack to breakups, late-night drives, and existential musings. And now, 25 years later, it reappears on the Euro 200 like a ghost with unfinished business. Why now? Maybe it’s the TikTok generation rediscovering the magic of minimalism. Maybe it’s the collective craving for something gentle in a world that feels increasingly loud. Or maybe — just maybe — “Sparks” was never meant to fade. Its entry at #177 feels less like a comeback and more like a quiet reminder: some emotions don’t age. Chris Martin’s voice on this track is barely above a whisper, like he’s afraid to disturb the silence. The guitar work is delicate, almost hesitant, and the lyrics — “Did I drive you away? I know what you’ll say…” — still sting with their simplicity. There’s no chorus that explodes, no beat drop, no grand crescendo. Just a slow burn. Just sparks. Its chart debut this week isn’t driven by hype or marketing. It’s driven by resonance. A new generation is discovering it, and an older one is remembering. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t need to be explained — it just needs to be felt. Coldplay may have evolved into stadium-filling giants, but “Sparks” is a reminder of where it all began: in the quiet corners of the heart, where the most powerful songs are born.
	“Kamikaze” doesn’t tiptoe into the Euro 200 — it crash-lands. Explosive, chaotic, and strangely poetic, this track feels like a musical Molotov cocktail hurled into the middle of a summer that was getting too comfortable. Mata, Poland’s lyrical provocateur, joins forces with Skolim, the flamboyant dance-pop disruptor, and Khaid, Nigeria’s rising Afrobeats star, to create a genre-defying anthem that’s equal parts reckless and calculated. The title isn’t just metaphor — it’s mission. “Kamikaze” is about diving headfirst into love, fame, danger, whatever — knowing full well you might not come out intact. The beat is a Frankenstein’s monster: part Eastern European turbo-folk, part Afro-trap, part EDM meltdown. It shouldn’t work. And yet, it does. Somehow, the chaos finds rhythm. Mata’s verse is sharp and cynical, delivered with the kind of smirk you can hear through the speakers. Skolim brings the party — his vocals are theatrical, almost operatic, like he’s narrating a nightclub apocalypse. Then Khaid slides in with smooth, melodic contrast, grounding the madness with a touch of soul. It’s a sonic rollercoaster, and you’re not allowed to get off until the final beat drops. Debuting at #178, “Kamikaze” is already stirring up conversation. It’s not a safe song. It’s not polite. But it’s unforgettable. And in a chart filled with polished pop and algorithm-friendly hooks, this track feels like a dare — to feel more, risk more, and maybe even lose control.
	Lady Gaga doesn’t release songs — she releases provocations. “How Bad Do U Want Me” is no exception. It’s not a question; it’s a challenge. A glitter-drenched, synth-soaked dare that struts into the Euro 200 at #183 like it owns the place, even if it’s fashionably late. This track feels like Gaga channeling her Fame Monster roots through a 2025 lens: dark disco meets cyber-pop, with a vocal delivery that’s equal parts seduction and threat. She doesn’t sing — she prowls. The verses slink along with whispered tension, and then the chorus erupts like neon confetti in a thunderstorm. It’s messy, theatrical, and absolutely magnetic. Lyrically, “How Bad Do U Want Me” toys with power dynamics. Gaga plays the object of desire, but she’s also the puppeteer. “I’m not your fantasy — I’m your test,” she croons, and suddenly the dancefloor becomes a psychological battlefield. The production leans into this duality: pulsing basslines, glitchy textures, and a bridge that sounds like a broken transmission from a love-sick satellite. Its debut at #183 might seem modest, but Gaga’s tracks often simmer before they explode. This one feels like it’s gathering cult momentum — the kind of song that DJs sneak into late-night sets and fans dissect for hidden meanings. It’s not built for mass appeal; it’s built for obsession. In a chart full of polished pop and algorithmic perfection, “How Bad Do U Want Me” is a reminder that Gaga still thrives in the shadows — where art meets chaos, and desire gets dangerous.
	Imagine a rainy afternoon in Suffolk. A guitar leans against the wall, half-tuned. There’s a cup of tea cooling beside a notebook filled with half-finished lyrics. That’s the world “A Little More” seems to come from — a quiet, introspective corner of Ed Sheeran’s creative universe where simplicity reigns and sentiment is king. This track doesn’t try to reinvent Ed. It refines him. “A Little More” is a soft-spoken ballad that feels like it was written in one breath and recorded in one take. The melody is gentle, almost lullaby-like, and the lyrics — tender, unguarded — speak of wanting just a bit more time, a bit more love, a bit more of someone who’s slipping away. It’s not dramatic. It’s devastating in its restraint. Ed’s vocal delivery here is stripped of bravado. He sounds tired, but not defeated. There’s a weariness in his tone that suggests the song wasn’t written for the charts — it was written because it had to be. The acoustic guitar is the only real companion, plucking out a rhythm that feels like a heartbeat trying not to break. Debuting at #185 on the Euro 200, “A Little More” enters quietly, almost shyly. It’s not a stadium anthem or a viral sensation. It’s a whisper in a crowded room. But sometimes, that’s exactly what people need — a moment of stillness, a reminder that vulnerability is still allowed. This isn’t Ed Sheeran chasing hits. It’s Ed Sheeran chasing honesty. And in that pursuit, he’s found something quietly profound.
	“Malibu” isn’t a place in this song — it’s a mirage. Rusowsky, Spain’s enigmatic alt-pop whisperer, conjures a sonic postcard from a beach that may or may not exist. The track, debuting at #186 on the Euro 200, feels like waking up in a sun-drenched fever dream, unsure whether you’re heartbroken or just hungover. Rusowsky has always danced on the edge of genre: part bedroom pop, part glitchy electronica, part whispered poetry. “Malibu” continues that tradition, but with a twist — it’s warmer, more fluid, like he’s traded his usual grayscale palette for soft pastels and ocean haze. The beat is lazy but deliberate, like waves lapping at the shore. Synths shimmer like heat off asphalt. And his vocals? Barely there, like a memory you’re trying to hold onto before it fades. Lyrically, “Malibu” is elusive. There’s mention of escape, of longing, of someone who might’ve been real once. But nothing is concrete. It’s the kind of song that doesn’t tell you what to feel — it lets you drift. You could be dancing in your kitchen or staring out a train window, and it would still make sense. Its chart debut is modest, but fitting. “Malibu” isn’t built for the spotlight. It’s built for headphones, for twilight, for the quiet moments between decisions. Rusowsky doesn’t shout — he murmurs. And somehow, that’s louder.
	Midnight isn’t just a time — it’s a mood. And “O Północy” (Polish for “At Midnight”) feels like it was born in the shadows of Warsaw’s backstreets, where neon flickers against wet pavement and secrets trade hands in silence. This track, debuting at #196 on the Euro 200, is a late-night confession wrapped in bass and bravado. Mata, Poland’s poetic provocateur, leads the charge with verses that feel like diary entries scribbled under streetlights. He’s not rapping — he’s unraveling. Kizo, ever the swaggering showman, counters with punchlines and presence, while Blacha 2115 adds the final layer: a voice that sounds like it’s been through too many nights like this one. The beat is cold and metallic, like a subway tunnel echoing with distant footsteps. There’s a haunting piano loop that drips like condensation, and the percussion hits like a heartbeat trying to stay calm. It’s not aggressive — it’s tense. Like something’s about to happen, but you don’t know what. Lyrically, “O Północy” dances between introspection and indulgence. There’s talk of fame, of loneliness, of fleeting highs and permanent scars. It’s not a party track — it’s the song you play when the party’s over and you’re walking home alone, replaying every moment in your head. Its low debut might seem quiet, but this is the kind of track that builds underground momentum. It’s cinematic, cryptic, and deeply Polish — not in language alone, but in spirit. “O Północy” doesn’t ask to be understood. It dares you to feel it.
	Look at last week's reviews here
	"The Hitmaster: mastering the rhythm of chart-topping hits."