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	Current EURO200
	New entries in the EURO200                                       Review for week 41 - 2025
	TATE MCRAE’s “TIT FOR TAT” arrives like a velvet punch—smooth, seductive, and quietly devastating. At just 21, the Canadian singer-songwriter has already carved a niche for herself as the voice of conflicted intimacy, and this new entry at #31 on the EURO200 only deepens that reputation. The track opens with a deceptively gentle synth line, but it’s the lyrical tension that drives the song: a push-pull between vulnerability and vengeance, between wanting someone and wanting to win. McRae’s vocals are breathy but deliberate, like she’s whispering secrets she knows will sting. There’s a theatricality to the chorus—“If you want war, I’ll give you that”—that feels both personal and universal, tapping into the quiet rage of anyone who’s ever been emotionally outmaneuvered. Production-wise, “TIT FOR TAT” leans into minimalist pop, with crisp percussion and a bassline that pulses like a restrained heartbeat. It’s not a banger in the traditional sense, but it doesn’t need to be. The tension is the hook. What’s striking is how McRae manages to sound both wounded and in control, a duality that’s become her signature. She’s not just singing about heartbreak—she’s dissecting it, reframing it, reclaiming it. Her entry at #31 is no fluke. It’s a testament to her growing pan-European appeal, especially among younger listeners who crave emotional nuance over bombast. “TIT FOR TAT” doesn’t scream for attention; it lingers, like a look you can’t shake. And in a chart crowded with maximalist production and viral hooks, McRae’s restraint feels radical. This isn’t just a song—it’s a strategy. And it’s working.
	OLIVIA DEAN’s “SO EASY (TO FALL IN LOVE)” glides into the EURO200 at #62 with the kind of understated elegance that feels like a warm breeze through a half-open window. The 25-year-old British singer has been steadily building a reputation for soulful, emotionally articulate pop, and this track is no exception. It’s deceptively simple—just a few chords, a gentle groove, and Dean’s voice, which carries both clarity and ache. But beneath that simplicity lies a quiet complexity: the song isn’t just about falling in love, it’s about the terrifying ease with which it happens, the surrender, the vulnerability, the thrill. There’s a retro shimmer to the production, evoking 70s soul and early 2000s acoustic pop, yet it never feels derivative. Dean’s phrasing is impeccable—she stretches syllables like silk, then snaps them back with a subtle rasp that hints at hesitation. The chorus lands like a sigh, not a declaration, which makes it all the more believable. She’s not shouting her feelings from rooftops; she’s whispering them into the void, hoping someone’s listening. What makes this entry at #62 so compelling is its refusal to chase trends. No trap beats, no TikTok bait, no overblown drops. Just a song that breathes. In a chart dominated by maximalist pop and hyper-produced club tracks, “SO EASY (TO FALL IN LOVE)” feels like a pause—a moment to reflect, to feel, to remember that music can still be intimate. Olivia Dean doesn’t need to shout to be heard. She just needs one line, one note, and suddenly you’re falling too.
	BOUSS makes his debut on the EURO200 at #107 with “BIFF PAS D'LOVE,” a track that feels like a late-night confession wrapped in neon haze. Hailing from France, BOUSS has been bubbling under the surface of the francophone rap scene for a while, known for his introspective lyricism and genre-fluid production. This song, however, marks a shift—a more melodic, almost hypnotic approach that blends trap rhythms with R&B textures and a touch of synth-pop melancholy. “BIFF PAS D'LOVE” isn’t just a clever title—it’s a thesis. BOUSS explores the transactional nature of modern relationships, where affection is measured in attention, and love is often mistaken for leverage. His delivery is subdued but deliberate, like he’s trying not to wake the ghosts he’s addressing. The beat is sparse, built around a looping guitar motif and a bassline that hums rather than thumps. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t demand your attention—it earns it slowly, like a story unfolding in reverse. Landing at #107, the song’s entry is modest but meaningful. It suggests a growing resonance beyond BOUSS’s core audience, especially among listeners who crave emotional ambiguity and sonic restraint. There’s no flashy hook, no viral gimmick—just a mood, a message, and a voice that refuses to be rushed. In a chart often dominated by maximalist pop and high-energy club tracks, “BIFF PAS D'LOVE” feels like a whispered rebellion. It’s not trying to be the loudest in the room—it’s trying to be the one you remember when the noise fades.
	SOSA LA M’s “HÄAGEN DAZS” melts into the EURO200 at #109 with the kind of swagger that’s both playful and razor-sharp. The German rapper, known for his offbeat charisma and genre-blurring instincts, delivers a track that’s as much about aesthetic as it is about attitude. The title alone—evoking luxury ice cream—sets the tone: indulgent, ironic, and unmistakably self-aware. But don’t be fooled by the sweetness implied; this is a song built on icy precision. The beat is minimalist but punchy, anchored by a trap rhythm that feels like it’s strutting down a Berlin side street at 2 a.m. SOSA LA M’s flow is clipped and confident, alternating between deadpan delivery and sudden bursts of melodic phrasing. There’s a sense of controlled chaos here, like he’s balancing on the edge of parody without ever tipping over. Lyrically, “HÄAGEN DAZS” plays with consumerist imagery and emotional detachment, painting a portrait of someone who’s both in love with the game and completely over it. Its debut at #109 suggests a bubbling undercurrent of support—likely driven by niche fanbases and regional streaming spikes. It’s not a mainstream smash, but it’s not trying to be. Instead, it thrives in the margins, where irony and authenticity collide. What makes the track stand out is its refusal to conform: it’s too weird for radio, too slick for underground purists, and too smart to ignore. SOSA LA M isn’t asking for your approval—he’s daring you to keep up. And with “HÄAGEN DAZS,” he’s serving something cold, strange, and strangely addictive.
	OLLY & JULI’s “BUON TRASLOCO” enters the EURO200 at #128 with the kind of theatrical flair that only they can pull off. The Italian duo—known for their genre-hopping eccentricity and emotionally charged storytelling—deliver a track that’s both absurd and oddly poignant. The title, which translates to “Happy Move,” might suggest a lighthearted ode to relocation, but the song is anything but mundane. It’s a chaotic celebration of upheaval, a sonic metaphor for shedding old skins and embracing the mess of reinvention. Musically, “BUON TRASLOCO” is a whirlwind. Accordion flourishes clash with distorted synths, while the rhythm section swings between cabaret and club. It’s as if the song itself is packing boxes, tossing memories into suitcases, and dancing through the dust. Vocally, JULI leans into spoken-word dramatics while OLLY croons with a kind of manic tenderness. The lyrics are packed with surreal imagery—“I folded my regrets into bubble wrap”—and the chorus erupts like a toast at a farewell party no one really wanted to leave. Landing at #128, the track’s debut is modest but unmistakably intentional. It doesn’t aim for mass appeal; it aims for cult resonance. Fans of OLLY & JULI know that their songs often operate on multiple levels—satire, sincerity, and sonic experimentation—and “BUON TRASLOCO” is no exception. It’s a song about movement, yes, but also about emotional displacement, about the strange joy of starting over when you’re not quite sure who you are anymore. In a chart filled with polished pop and algorithm-friendly hooks, this track feels like a handwritten note tucked into a box of mismatched memories. It’s messy, brilliant, and unmistakably theirs.
	MYLES SMITH’s “STAY (IF YOU WANNA DANCE)” pirouettes into the EURO200 at #136 with the kind of breezy defiance that feels tailor-made for twilight rooftops and impulsive road trips. The British singer-songwriter, whose rise has been fueled by a blend of folk sincerity and pop accessibility, delivers a track that’s both an invitation and a dare. There’s something deliciously contradictory in the title itself—“stay” and “dance” aren’t natural bedfellows, yet Smith makes them feel like twin impulses in a restless heart. The song opens with a jangly acoustic riff that recalls early Ed Sheeran, but quickly veers into more rhythmic territory. A syncopated beat kicks in, layered with subtle electronic textures that shimmer rather than shout. Smith’s vocals are warm, slightly husky, and full of that lived-in charm that makes even the simplest lines feel personal. He’s not pleading; he’s proposing. “STAY (IF YOU WANNA DANCE)” isn’t about desperation—it’s about choice, about the thrill of maybe. At position #136, the track’s entry is quietly promising. It suggests a groundswell of support from listeners who crave emotional resonance without melodrama. The lyrics are deceptively light, but there’s a melancholy undercurrent—like dancing is the last thing you do before goodbye. Smith captures that liminal space between connection and departure, and he does it with a wink and a sigh. What sets this track apart is its refusal to be boxed in. It’s not quite folk, not quite pop, not quite indie. It’s a mood, a moment, a memory waiting to happen. And in a chart filled with sonic maximalism, “STAY (IF YOU WANNA DANCE)” feels like a gentle rebellion. It doesn’t need to be loud to be heard. It just needs to be true.
	There’s a strange electricity humming through “QUE CE SOIT CLAIR,” the collaborative debut of PAUL KALKBRENNER and STROMAE, which enters the EURO200 at #139 this week. It doesn’t announce itself—it materializes, like fog rolling over a city skyline at dawn. Kalkbrenner, the Berlin-born techno architect, brings his signature pulse: clean, hypnotic, and emotionally ambiguous. Stromae, Belgium’s genre-defying poet, overlays that structure with vocals that feel like a sermon delivered through a vocoder—urgent, cryptic, and oddly comforting. The track is built on tension. A looping synth motif stretches like elastic, never quite snapping, while the beat marches forward with mechanical resolve. Stromae’s lyrics—half-spoken, half-sung—are riddled with existential riddles and social commentary. “Let it be clear,” he intones, but nothing is. That’s the point. The clarity promised in the title is elusive, buried beneath layers of sonic architecture and linguistic sleight of hand. At #139, this isn’t a chart-topper—it’s a slow burn. But its presence is unmistakable. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t chase virality; it builds cult status through repetition, through late-night radio spins and whispered recommendations. There’s a cinematic quality to it, like it belongs in a film that hasn’t been made yet. You don’t dance to it—you absorb it. What makes “QUE CE SOIT CLAIR” so compelling is its refusal to resolve. It’s a question posed in sound, a collaboration that feels less like a duet and more like a philosophical standoff. Kalkbrenner and Stromae aren’t trying to explain the world—they’re trying to mirror its contradictions. And in doing so, they’ve created something that lingers long after the final beat fades.
	SORRY BOYS’ “ABSOLUTNIE, ABSOLUTNIE” doesn’t so much enter the EURO200 at #143 as it time-travels into it. The Polish art-pop trio, known for their cinematic arrangements and poetic lyricism, originally released this track in 2019—but its sudden chart debut now feels like a ghost resurfacing with purpose. There’s something uncanny about its reappearance: like a letter arriving years late, but still perfectly timed. The song itself is a slow-burning marvel. Built around a haunting piano progression and Magda Łucyan’s ethereal vocals, “ABSOLUTNIE, ABSOLUTNIE” unfolds like a dream you’re not sure you want to wake from. The title—“Absolutely, Absolutely”—is both affirmation and obsession, repeated like a mantra that grows more fragile with each echo. Strings swell and recede, percussion tiptoes in and out, and the whole arrangement feels suspended in air, as if gravity were optional. Its placement at #143 is quietly radical. In a chart dominated by new releases and algorithmic momentum, this track’s delayed recognition suggests something deeper: a cultural moment catching up to emotional truth. Perhaps it’s a viral rediscovery, a sync in a Polish series, or simply the slow triumph of timelessness over trend. Whatever the reason, the song’s presence now feels like a necessary correction. What makes “ABSOLUTNIE, ABSOLUTNIE” so arresting is its refusal to rush. It’s a meditation, a lament, a love letter written in invisible ink. SORRY BOYS don’t chase the listener—they wait. And when you finally arrive, you realize they’ve been speaking to you all along. In a chart full of noise, this is silence made sacred.
	ERNIA’s “IL GIOCO DEL SILENZIO” doesn’t whisper—it prowls. Debuting at #149 on the EURO200, this Italian rapper’s latest offering is a masterclass in restraint, tension, and lyrical precision. The title translates to “The Game of Silence,” and that’s exactly what the track plays with: the spaces between words, the weight of pauses, the menace of what’s left unsaid. ERNIA, already a fixture in Italy’s hip-hop landscape, strips things down here—not to minimalism, but to emotional bone. The beat is skeletal: a slow, looping piano figure, barely-there percussion, and a bassline that creeps rather than thumps. It’s the kind of production that leaves room for breath, for dread, for reflection. ERNIA’s delivery is cold but intimate, like he’s recounting a memory he’s not sure he wants you to hear. There’s no bravado, no posturing—just a man circling his own thoughts, trying not to fall in. What makes “IL GIOCO DEL SILENZIO” stand out at #149 is how it refuses to play by chart rules. There’s no hook in the traditional sense, no viral bait—just a slow descent into a mood that’s hard to shake. The lyrics are dense, poetic, and laced with references to childhood games, emotional warfare, and the quiet violence of growing up. It’s not a song you sing along to—it’s one you sit with. In a week where the EURO200 is flooded with high-energy entries and glossy pop, ERNIA’s track feels like a shadow cast across the dancefloor. It’s not trying to be liked. It’s trying to be understood. And that, in itself, is a kind of rebellion.
	LACAZETTE X BUSHIDO’s “CCN” doesn’t ask for permission—it kicks the door in. Debuting at #153 on the EURO200, this track is a sonic Molotov cocktail hurled from the heart of Berlin’s concrete jungle. Forget subtlety. Forget nuance. “CCN” is pure combustion: a snarling, unfiltered manifesto of dominance, legacy, and street-coded loyalty. LACAZETTE, the younger voice in this duo, brings a raw, unpolished hunger that slices through the beat like broken glass. BUSHIDO, the elder statesman of German rap, doesn’t just rap—he looms. His verses carry the weight of a decade’s worth of battles, betrayals, and bulletproof myth-making. The production is brutalist: no melody, no softness, just a relentless stomp of industrial drums and a bassline that sounds like it was forged in a steel mill. It’s claustrophobic, aggressive, and unapologetically masculine. But beneath the bravado, there’s a strange kind of poetry—coded references to loyalty, legacy, and the cost of survival. “CCN” isn’t just a song; it’s a flag planted in hostile territory. Its entry at #153 feels like a warning shot. Not high enough to dominate, but loud enough to be noticed. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t need radio—it thrives in headphones, in alleyways, in late-night drives with the windows down and the volume up. You don’t stream “CCN” to vibe. You stream it to feel invincible. And maybe that’s the point. In a chart full of polished pop and algorithmic optimism, “CCN” is the sound of resistance. Of legacy refusing to fade. Of two artists reminding Europe that rap, at its core, is still a weapon.
	Imagine a song that shrugs at its own existence. That’s “COSÌ COSÌ,” the latest entry from OLLY & JULI, debuting at #158 on the EURO200. It doesn’t beg to be heard—it slinks in sideways, hands in pockets, muttering something about how everything’s fine, but not really. The title translates to “so-so,” and the entire track is built around that emotional grey zone: not quite heartbreak, not quite joy, just the strange middle where most of life actually happens. Musically, it’s a collage of contradictions. A toy piano riff loops like a broken carousel, while the beat stumbles forward with the elegance of someone trying not to cry in public. JULI’s vocals are half-sung, half-mumbled, like she’s reading diary entries she doesn’t fully believe anymore. OLLY, meanwhile, delivers his verses with theatrical detachment—he’s present, but only just. The lyrics are full of throwaway lines that sting: “I guess I’m okay / I guess you’re okay / I guess that’s okay.” It’s not apathy—it’s exhaustion dressed as indifference. What makes “COSÌ COSÌ” so compelling is its refusal to resolve. There’s no climax, no catharsis, no neat emotional arc. It just exists, like a mood you can’t shake. And that’s precisely why its appearance at #158 matters. In a chart full of declarations and dopamine, this track is a quiet sigh. A reminder that not every feeling needs to be loud to be real. OLLY & JULI aren’t trying to impress you. They’re trying to reflect you. And in “COSÌ COSÌ,” they’ve captured the poetry of being just okay.
	ERNIA’s “BERLINO” doesn’t want to be reviewed. It wants to be decoded. Slipping into the EURO200 at #165, the track feels like a postcard from a city that never existed—half memory, half mirage. There’s no grand entrance, no cinematic swell. Just a cold synth loop, a beat that limps rather than marches, and ERNIA’s voice, low and deliberate, like he’s narrating a surveillance tape. This isn’t rap in the traditional sense. It’s architectural. Every line is a brick, every pause a window. “BERLINO” doesn’t tell you what happened—it shows you the aftermath. The lyrics are sparse, almost evasive, but they drip with implication: border crossings, emotional checkpoints, the kind of loneliness that only comes from being surrounded by people who don’t speak your language. It’s not about Berlin. It’s about what Berlin represents: fragmentation, reinvention, exile. The production is icy, almost hostile. No warmth, no groove—just atmosphere. And yet, it’s hypnotic. You don’t nod your head to it; you hold your breath. At #165, the track lurks rather than climbs, like it’s waiting for the right listener to crack its code. It’s not designed to go viral. It’s designed to haunt. ERNIA doesn’t rap here. He sketches. He carves. He leaves gaps for you to fall into. “BERLINO” is less a song than a corridor—narrow, echoing, lined with flickering lights. You walk through it alone. And when it ends, you’re not sure if you’ve arrived or disappeared.
	“IL BRIVIDO DELLA VITA” doesn’t sound like a song—it sounds like a memory you forgot you had. OLLY & JULI’s latest entry, debuting at #172 on the EURO200, is a fever dream stitched together from fragments of old Italian films, half-read love letters, and the kind of existential dread that only hits at 3:17 a.m. The title translates to “The Thrill of Life,” but don’t expect fireworks. This is not a celebration—it’s a reckoning. The track opens with a warped string motif that feels like it’s been recorded underwater. Then comes the beat: irregular, almost broken, like a heartbeat skipping in panic. JULI’s voice is distant, processed, and strangely robotic, while OLLY delivers his verses with a kind of theatrical exhaustion, as if he’s narrating the final scene of a play no one stayed to watch. The lyrics are elliptical, full of contradictions: “I feel alive when I disappear,” “The thrill is in the fall, not the flight.” It’s poetry masquerading as pop, or maybe the other way around. What’s remarkable about its placement at #172 is how little it seems to care. This isn’t a track designed to climb—it’s designed to linger. It doesn’t chase attention; it waits for the right listener to stumble into its orbit. And when you do, it doesn’t let go. “IL BRIVIDO DELLA VITA” is the kind of song that makes you question whether you’ve been feeling anything at all lately. It’s not catchy. It’s haunting. OLLY & JULI have always flirted with absurdity, but here they dive headfirst into it. And somehow, in all the chaos and distortion, they find something painfully human. Something that trembles. Something that thrills.
	BUNGEE’s “FIKU MIKU” doesn’t enter the EURO200 at #182—it crashes through it like a cartoon character breaking the fourth wall. This isn’t a song. It’s a glitch. A joke. A dare. And somehow, it works. The Polish artist—whose previous work flirted with absurdism and hyperpop—delivers a track that feels like it was composed inside a video game console having a nervous breakdown. The title itself, “FIKU MIKU,” sounds like nonsense, and that’s precisely the point. It’s linguistic chaos wrapped in bubblegum bass. The production is a sugar rush: pitched-up vocals, distorted synths, and a beat that sounds like it’s trying to outrun itself. There’s no structure, no build-up, no release—just a constant barrage of sonic confetti. BUNGEE doesn’t rap, doesn’t sing, doesn’t even really perform. He detonates. Every line is a meme waiting to happen, every sound effect a wink to internet culture’s short attention span. It’s not trying to be timeless—it’s trying to be now, and maybe five minutes from now, it’ll be something else entirely. Landing at #182, “FIKU MIKU” is the kind of entry that makes chart purists twitch. It’s loud, it’s weird, it’s possibly brilliant. Or maybe it’s just noise. But in a landscape increasingly dominated by algorithmic polish and emotional earnestness, this track is a reminder that music can still be stupid. Joyfully, defiantly stupid. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need. You don’t listen to “FIKU MIKU.” You survive it. And when it’s over, you’re not sure what just happened—but you kind of want to hear it again.
	“PERCHÉ” by ERNIA & MADAME doesn’t unfold—it unravels. Debuting at #184 on the EURO200, it’s less a duet than a collision. Two voices, two emotional registers, circling each other like boxers in a ring made of regret. ERNIA, ever the architect of lyrical tension, delivers his verses like confessions he’s trying to forget as he speaks them. MADAME, meanwhile, sings as if she’s already left the room—her voice distant, spectral, laced with a kind of weary defiance. The production is sparse but volatile. A single piano motif loops like a broken promise, while the beat pulses beneath it like a suppressed panic attack. There’s no climax, no resolution—just escalation. The lyrics are elliptical, full of rhetorical questions and unfinished thoughts. “Why?” they ask, again and again, but never wait for an answer. It’s not about finding closure. It’s about naming the ache. At #184, “PERCHÉ” doesn’t scream for attention—it waits in the shadows, daring you to come closer. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t chart because it’s catchy, but because it’s necessary. A mirror held up to the kind of pain that doesn’t fit neatly into verses or choruses. ERNIA & MADAME don’t offer comfort here. They offer clarity. And in a week where the EURO200 is full of glitter and gloss, “PERCHÉ” is the bruise beneath the makeup. You don’t dance to it. You don’t sing along. You just listen. And maybe, if you’re honest, you flinch.
	We’re at #188, and the spotlight falls on “NOW OR NEVER” by TKANDZ & CXSPER—a debut that doesn’t knock, doesn’t whisper, doesn’t even ask. It just stands there, arms crossed, waiting for you to decide. This track feels like a countdown. Not the dramatic Hollywood kind, but the quiet, internal one—the moment before you quit your job, send the message, walk out the door. The production is sparse but tense: a low, humming synth that sounds like it’s holding its breath, paired with percussion that clicks like a ticking clock. CXSPER’s vocals are glazed in reverb, floating somewhere between resignation and resolve. TKANDZ, meanwhile, delivers his verses like he’s already halfway gone—detached, deliberate, and strangely magnetic. The lyrics don’t plead. They provoke. “If not now, then when?” isn’t just a rhetorical question—it’s a dare. There’s no romanticism here, no grand gestures. Just the raw calculus of risk and regret. The chorus doesn’t explode—it implodes, folding in on itself like a collapsing star. And that restraint is what makes it hit harder. At #188 on the EURO200, “NOW OR NEVER” is barely above the surface, but it feels like something brewing beneath. It’s not chasing the spotlight—it’s daring the spotlight to find it. In a week full of maximalist pop and theatrical heartbreak, this track is a quiet ultimatum. It doesn’t want your attention. It wants your decision. TKANDZ & CXSPER have crafted a song that doesn’t scream for urgency—it simmers with it. And if you’re not careful, you’ll find yourself answering its question before you even realize you’ve heard it.
	NINHO’s “5 BLEUS” doesn’t enter the EURO200 at #190—it detonates there. This is not a track that tiptoes into the conversation. It’s a siren, a flare, a coded message from the underbelly of French rap’s most mythologized corridors. NINHO, long regarded as one of the genre’s most prolific tacticians, returns here with a piece that’s both cinematic and claustrophobic. The title—“5 BLEUS”—is a reference that feels loaded: five cops, five bruises, five truths no one wants to say out loud. The beat is skeletal, built around a loop that sounds like a broken alarm clock and a bassline that drags like a body through gravel. There’s no polish, no gloss—just grit. NINHO’s flow is surgical, slicing through the track with a precision that borders on cruel. He doesn’t rap to entertain. He raps to document. Every bar is a snapshot: a street corner, a betrayal, a moment when silence wasn’t an option. At #190, “5 BLEUS” might seem buried in the chart, but its presence is radioactive. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t need high placement to leave a mark. It’s already pulsing through headphones, car speakers, and late-night group chats. The lyrics are coded, but the emotion is raw. There’s anger, yes—but also exhaustion, calculation, and a strange kind of pride. NINHO isn’t asking for empathy. He’s demanding recognition. This isn’t a song you hum. It’s a song you carry. Like a scar. Like a secret. “5 BLEUS” doesn’t want to be liked. It wants to be understood. And in a chart full of escapism and gloss, it’s a reminder that some stories don’t sparkle—they burn.
	“PO BLADY ŚWIT” by WIKTORIA KIDA & KSIĘGA ŻYWIOŁÓW doesn’t feel like a debut—it feels like a ritual. Entering the EURO200 at #195, this Polish collaboration reads less like a chart entry and more like a spell cast in slow motion. The title, “Until Pale Dawn,” sets the tone: it’s a song about thresholds, about the fragile space between night and morning, between memory and myth. From the first note, the track refuses to behave. A droning cello line stretches across the intro like fog, while ambient textures swirl in the background—wind, whispers, maybe even breath. WIKTORIA KIDA’s voice is not just a vocal—it’s an invocation. She sings with a kind of haunted clarity, as if she’s channeling something older than herself. KSIĘGA ŻYWIOŁÓW, whose name literally means “Book of the Elements,” adds layers of spoken-word and choral fragments that feel lifted from a forgotten forest ceremony. It’s not folk, not electronic, not classical—but something tangled in all three. At #195, “PO BLADY ŚWIT” barely registers on the surface of the chart, but its presence is seismic. It doesn’t chase attention—it casts a net for those attuned to its frequency. The lyrics are elliptical, full of elemental imagery: fire, water, stone, shadow. There’s no linear narrative, just emotional weather. You don’t follow the song—you surrender to it. What makes this track extraordinary is its refusal to explain itself. It’s not trying to be understood. It’s trying to be felt. And in a week where the EURO200 is crowded with polished pop and predictable structures, “PO BLADY ŚWIT” is a reminder that music can still be sacred. Not in the religious sense, but in the way it makes you stop, listen, and wonder what you’ve just witnessed.
	GLOCKENBACH & TOM WALKER’s “HOME” enters the EURO200 at #197, but it doesn’t feel like a debut—it feels like a return. Not to a place, but to a feeling. The kind you can’t name until it’s gone. This track doesn’t shout. It doesn’t sparkle. It breathes. And in a chart week full of maximalist gestures, “HOME” is a quiet inhale that somehow fills the room. The production is restrained, almost skeletal. A soft piano motif anchors the track, while ambient textures drift in and out like passing headlights. There’s a pulse, but it’s subtle—more heartbeat than drumbeat. GLOCKENBACH, known for their polished electronic touch, dial it way down here, giving Tom Walker’s voice space to ache. And ache it does. He sings like someone trying to convince himself he’s okay, layering hope over heartbreak with every syllable. Lyrically, “HOME” is elliptical. It’s not about a specific place—it’s about the absence of one. “I’ve been everywhere but nowhere feels like you,” Walker murmurs, and it lands like a gut punch. There’s no resolution, no tidy emotional arc. Just a slow drift through longing, memory, and the kind of loneliness that doesn’t need drama to be devastating. At #197, the track barely registers on the surface, but its emotional weight is undeniable. It’s the kind of song that finds its audience slowly—through late-night playlists, solitary walks, and quiet moments when the noise fades. It’s not built for virality. It’s built for resonance. “HOME” doesn’t try to be a hit. It tries to be honest. And in doing so, it becomes something rarer: a companion. Not for the party, but for the aftermath. For the silence. For the search.
	LOMIY’s “KLYANUSYA NEBOM” enters the EURO200 at #199 like a whispered vow in a crumbling cathedral. The title—“I Swear by the Sky”—already hints at something sacred, something desperate. But this isn’t a ballad. It’s a reckoning. A Ukrainian-language track that feels like it’s been carved out of silence, stitched together with longing and defiance. From the opening seconds, the production sets a mood that’s more atmosphere than arrangement. A single synth line hovers like mist, while distant percussion pulses like a heartbeat heard through a wall. LOMIY’s voice is raw, unfiltered, and drenched in emotion—not theatrical, but elemental. He doesn’t sing to impress. He sings to survive. The verses unfold like confessions, each line trembling with the weight of something unspoken. There’s no chorus in the traditional sense—just a recurring phrase that sounds less like a hook and more like a promise he’s trying to keep. At #199, “KLYANUSYA NEBOM” barely makes the cut, but its presence is undeniable. It’s the kind of track that doesn’t climb—it lingers. It’s not built for playlists or parties. It’s built for the quiet hours, for headphones and solitude. The lyrics—poetic, elliptical—speak of loyalty, loss, and the kind of love that refuses to die even when everything else does. There’s a political undertone, too, but it’s never explicit. The song feels like a personal anthem in a public crisis. What makes this entry remarkable is its restraint. LOMIY doesn’t reach for grandeur. He reaches inward. And in doing so, he crafts a track that feels timeless—not because it’s polished, but because it’s true. “KLYANUSYA NEBOM” is not a hit. It’s a heartbeat. And sometimes, that’s all you need.
	Look at last week's reviews here
	"The Hitmaster: mastering the rhythm of chart-topping hits."