Lily Kincade Finds Herself in the Quiet Between Scenes on her Debut Album 'Cinematic': Album Review
- Abby Anderson
- 1 day ago
- 4 min read
Stand-out tracks: "405" "Piano at Parties" "Mr. Hollywood"
Our favorites: "Cinematic" "Try to Run" "Let Me Leave"
Release date: October 24, 2025
For fans of: Lana Del Rey, Tate McRae, Sasha Alex Sloan
Lily Kincade’s debut album Cinematic is exactly what its name suggests: a vivid, emotionally charged feature film in sonic form. But more than that, it’s a behind-the-scenes confessional — a private script suddenly made public, where Kincade invites listeners to take their seat and bear witness to the most intimate reels of her emotional journey. With a delicate balance of grandeur and vulnerability, she stitches together a soundtrack for heartbreak, healing, and the hazy in-between with the keen eye of a director and the raw heart of its lead actor.
The album begins with “Behind the Scenes,” a haunting overture that sets the stage for everything to come. In it, Kincade questions the very act of exposure, wondering aloud what it means to let others into the sanctuary of her sorrow. It’s a stunning prologue, one that draws you closer while also lending an air of uncertainty, as if pressing play on an unseen movie you've only ever heard will break your heart.
From the outset, the title track of Cinematic blossoms with lush instrumentation and emotionally tuned arrangements. Kincade’s vocals ripple through “It was good, it was bad / It was ugly / Watching it back and it's all kind of funny," hitting every feature of a romantic comedy versus a romantic drama. Around her voice swells a soundscape of pianos, violins, and acoustic guitars, supported by a pop-leaning rhythm section that only enhances the emotional depth of the album's namesake.
When Kincade shifts fully into pop territory with “405,” the album turns a narrative corner. It’s the kind of track that feels like a scene change, the sun setting over the freeway, windows down, a fresh wave of clarity washing over old wounds. The album ebbs and flows with moments of pop gold, with “Nothing Like Me” shining as a glimmering echo of early-2000s pop and finding its mirror in “Crime Scene With No Evidence,” a track that drowns in the confusion of heartbreak that left no visible mark but every emotional scar. Together, they form a diptych of loss and resilience, where love’s absence feels just as sharp as its presence.
“Lesson to Learn” transitions seamlessly into the “Take Your Seat (Interlude),” an album production choice that offers a moment of reflection and quiet poise. It's choices like this that prove that Kincade crafted Cinematic true to its name, pausing for emotional effect without sacrificing the story. And “Subconscious” swirls with trap-influenced production and dreamlike lyricism that feels like stumbling through a memory you’re trying to forget, all while reaching backwards in the story with a lyrical nod to “Still in August,” proving Kincade’s gift for subtle storytelling.
Hitting its most stunning moments in the middle of the tracklisting like the exposition of a film, “Try to Run” and "Piano at Parties" emerge as the most emotionally intimate of the project. "Try to Run" leans more pop, but lands as a love song to love itself, written from a place of uncertainty. The verses lean into the soft ache of doubt, while the confident chorus surges forward, asking not for answers but for honesty. When Kincade sings, “You can try to go / But I promise you’ll feel something when you’re waking up alone”, it feels like both a warning and a promise. “Piano at Parties” mimics that feeling in pop-ballad form, capturing the solitary kind of heartbreak that you carry with you into rooms full of people. She confesses not to a friend, not to a lover, but to “all 88 keys / That I’m still in love with what we were.”
With “Let Me Leave,” the album finds arguably its most cinematic moment, a late-night drive with tear-streaked cheeks and a realization settling in like fog. And just like the top-of-your-lungs singing that happens in those kinds of moments, the single one-liner of "Projection is protection” begs to be screamed in a live setting as a group catharsis, with Kincade and her fans all reflecting on a truth we all wish we’d known sooner and a mantra for when walking away hurts more than staying ever could.
As the album moves into its final act, Kincade begins to reclaim her narrative. “Got Old” paints a relationship as something that aged too fast, a love that should have been easier but outgrew its promise. And with “Mr. Hollywood,” she takes her final bow, no longer playing the ingénue, but stepping off stage, wiser and unwilling to let past fantasies dictate her next scene.
What makes Cinematic so compelling isn’t just its orchestral pop sheen or its emotional resonance; it’s Kincade’s commitment to narrative cohesion. Each track is a vignette, a carefully placed scene in the larger story. The beauty of her debut lies in its universality, offering stories of the kind of heartbreak and healing we’ve all known, made vivid by her narrative instincts and a masterful attention to the smallest, most telling details. And in doing so, she reminds us that love, like film, is fleeting and eternal all at once - a moment we relive, again and again, until the screen fades to black.
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