Moody Joody’s Debut Album 'Plain Jane' is a Glittering, Melancholic Pop Dreamscape of Becoming: Album Review
Stand-out tracks: "Heart Shaped Bed" "Loretta's Last Call" "Suburbia" "MAD!"
Our favorites: "Rosie's Party" "Average Joe" "Fantasyland" "Sweet Surrender"
Release date: October 30, 2026
Record label: Photo Finish Records
For fans of: Suki Waterhouse, Audrey Hobert, Royel Otis
There is a poetic ache in the desire to be somebody, in the yearning to leave a mark on the world while still longing for the freedom of being unknown. On their debut record, Plain Jane, released October 30 via Photo Finish Records, Moody Joody, comprised of vocalists Kaitie Forbes and Kayla Hall along with producer Andrew Pacheco, turn this contradiction into a glittering, melancholic dreamscape, one that explores the delicate evolution of selfhood, the nostalgia of who we once were, and the courage it takes to become who we are meant to be
Opening on a somber, rock note, Moody Joody’s Plain Jane begins with its titular introduction, a quiet unraveling of the fear of anonymity and the peculiar burden of being known. “I can feel the neighborhood going up in flames / I guess they liked me better when I went by plain Jane,” they lament, introducing the central contradiction that will follow throughout the album: the longing to be extraordinary and the tenderness of remaining ordinary, the romance of being adored and the freedom of being unknown.
On “Little Blue House,” Moody Joody finds glamour in the seemingly mundane lives of strangers, transforming the ordinary rituals of dinner parties, parked cars, and well-made martinis into something almost mythological. These are people who seem to have figured out the secret to being alive, who have traveled the world and returned home with stories enough to fill a lifetime. There is something aspirational about the way the song gazes into other people’s windows, imagining the extraordinary lives unfolding behind familiar doors. Perhaps the grass is always greener, and perhaps a life becomes glamorous simply because we have yet to discover its imperfections.
But it takes very little for Moody Joody to fall in love with a little more sparkle. On “Heart Shaped Bed,” romance arrives beneath a spinning disco ball, hazy and intoxicating, with all the reckless abandon of a night that refuses to end. One kiss becomes a vision; desire becomes a switch flipped in a darkened room. And after the glitzy, spinning high of Plain Jane’s opening run, “Loretta’s Last Call” brings the world back into focus. Its acoustic-pop softness feels like the familiar nostalgia of a dive bar where the last call always arrives too soon. That tenderness soon gives way to the groovy, bass-heavy seduction of “Rosie’s Party,” a disco-pop dream that feels like reclaiming the night for yourself beneath fluorescent lights, finding purpose in the right person finding you in the shadows.
Moody Joody takes an irreverent approach to heartbreak at the pinnacle of Plain Jane, finding catharsis in the comedy of “Average Joe” before abandoning the idealism of a life lived in moderation on “Suburbia.” As the album’s A-side draws to a close, the band leaves the fantasy of playing it safe behind, driving off into the sunset to the final crackle of a record. “You traded me in for the American dream / Right before you hit the silver screen, you traded your life for suits and ties / Settled down for a wife, maybe a secret life," they sing. With one final turn of this side of the record, Moody Joody leaves behind the neatly scripted ending, choosing instead the uncertainty of a life unwritten.
Then comes the “Plain Jane (Reprise),” opening the album’s B-side by turning its original lament inside out. Where the first iteration fears a neighborhood going up in flames, the reprise welcomes the destruction of suburbia itself. Where the original fears the consequences of being known, the reprise recognizes the danger of allowing other people to decide who you are. “For once I’m not level headed, they just need someone to blame,” Moody Joody sings, returning to the album’s opening sentiment with a new understanding of its cost.
“MAD!” arrives as a pop-rock rebellion against the picture-perfect promise of suburban life. Its frustration spills over in smudged mascara, black nail polish, and the exhaustion of being a people pleaser. There is something deliciously cinematic about the track, as though it belongs in the bedroom-destroying, mascara-running breakdown scene of a 2000s Lindsay Lohan film, a moment of beautiful, necessary chaos in which the protagonist finally stops trying to be good. Beneath the defiance, however, lies the familiar ache of someone who has spent too long trying to become what others want.
“OOPS!” carries that unraveling further, spiraling into the dizzying possibility of abandoning the picket fence altogether. The dream of domestic perfection gives way to late night dancing in a city whose name hardly matters, where strangers become temporary confidants and tomorrow can wait until morning. If Plain Jane began with the fear of being forgotten, these songs begin to imagine the relief of no longer needing to be understood.
And then, at last, everything seems to fall into place on “Fantasyland.” An effervescent synth-pop bubble, the song feels like the moment a long-held daydream becomes tangible enough to touch. “I got my head in the clouds, I’m never coming down,” Moody Joody sings, surrendering to a happiness that feels almost too good to be real. After spending so much of the album questioning the lives we romanticize, the identities we perform, and the dreams we inherit, they arrive at a place where fantasy no longer feels like an escape from reality but a reality worth choosing. “Summer ’09” looks backward with the tender clarity of someone who has finally made peace with the person they once were, where the name Plain Jane begins to lose its sting. What once represented the fear of being ordinary becomes an identity worn with pride, a reminder that the person who dreamed of becoming someone else was always worthy of being loved.
But even in the glow of a dream fulfilled, there is room for grief. Success has a way of turning us toward the people who helped us become ourselves, toward the faces we wish could be there to witness the moment everything finally makes sense. “Geraldine,” the album’s sole true ballad, offers a pause in the glittering rush of Plain Jane. Its bittersweet gratitude for those who are no longer here to share in the celebration feels all the more poignant against the album’s otherwise buoyant landscape. For all its disco lights and romantic escapades, Plain Jane understands that growing into yourself often means carrying the memory of those who helped you get there.
And what would the conclusion of Plain Jane be without one final, laissez-faire celebration? “Sweet Surrender” closes the album with a groove that feels less like an ending than the beginning of another beautiful, unpredictable night. Moody Joody arrives at a kind of peace with the many selves they have inhabited throughout the record: the dreamer, the romantic, the rebel, the heartbroken, the person who longs to be remembered and the person who would rather disappear. “Oh, I don’t even know if I want to be remembered,” they sing, offering one last surrender to the beautiful uncertainty of being alive. There is freedom in admitting that not everything needs to mean something, that not every moment needs to be immortalized, that a life can be extraordinary without anyone else bearing witness to it.
Ultimately, Plain Jane is not about choosing between being somebody and being nobody. It is about discovering that neither identity can contain the whole of a person. We are the dreams we chase and the homes we leave behind, the people who remember us and the versions of ourselves we are still learning to love. And perhaps the most romantic thing of all is realizing that we do not have to be extraordinary to live an extraordinary life.
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