Ravyn Lenae’s 2022 debut, HYPNOS, established her as a chameleon, adept at blending cushy R&B with her own futurist styles. While this approach placed the 25-year-old singer-songwriter among this generation’s innovators, her follow-up, Bird’s Eye, is a deliberate shift toward a more boundless exploration. For this album, Lenae and executive producer Dahi looked to create something new and formless, pivoting if the music ever felt, as he explained, “too R&B.” While HYPNOS showcased the fluidity of R&B, Bird’s Eye is more varied: Lenae experiments like she’s an alchemist in an R&D lab, trialing new combinations of downtempo guitar, gentle reggae-pop, and even a stuttering, Brainfeeder-esque beat.

On Bird’s Eye, Lenae isn’t abandoning R&B altogether but rather discovering and rediscovering pockets for her evolving emotions. The production spans greasy electro zaps, swirling pop, and taut rock, like on opener “Genius,” where her signature, sage-scented falsetto pierces through a strutting rhythm that’s like a distant cousin to “Billie Jean.” Lenae sings as if she’s whispering from another lifetime with the gift of perspective, explaining, “Paradise takes a little patience/Give it time.” Her music is contemplative, and Bird’s Eye reflects the slow-going part of her self-discovery journey. She’s still deciphering anxieties around love, grief, and self-doubt, but feeling more unconfined than ever.

Realistically, growth happens in increments, with build-ups and setbacks. Along the way, Lenae challenges her partners and her loved ones to join her in pushing past discomfort. On the tough, grungy “Love Me Not,” she attends to her romantic desires, waffling between feelings for an ex (“Oh no, I don’t need you, but I miss you come here”). Its softer counterpart, “Love Is Blind,” floats over a supple drum beat and climactic sitar solo, elevating her voice into a pitch that sounds like a lonely witch casting a spell. On “One Wish,” a warm, lush ballad, she tries to blot out the stains of her father’s absence with clarion reflection: “Called me on my birthday/I thought you’d be on your way,” she sings, her wispy vocals drifting amid woozy strings as she speaks for her 10-year-old self. Childish Gambino steps in as a surrogate, crooning from her father’s perspective in brief Frank Ocean-coded blurts, offering a strange sense of comfort. The song is a gorgeous, tender paean to stolen connections, and her dad didn’t hear it until he filmed his appearance in the music video—a testament to Lenae’s willingness to allow her vulnerability to unfold in real time.

Even in the album’s meekest moments (the slightly too slack “From Scratch”), it’s easy to get lost in her expansive soprano. On “Bad Idea,” she swats at a sweet-talker in speedy run-on sentences reminiscent of Bow Wow and Ciara’s “Like You.” Her sleek purrs sync beautifully with Ty Dolla $ign’s assured rasp on “Dream Girl,” like she’s Catwoman creeping through a field of glistening keys. The coy, ’80s-tinged track captures summer weekend-in-the-park bliss with slick, watery strings and guitar licks, while “Candy” pairs her lithe, cackling vocals with a lilting lover’s rock groove. Transitioning from those lighter moments into the deeper introspection of “Pilot,” the album’s penultimate track, Lenae searches for belonging beside a crackling fire, lamenting, “Maybe I’m contagious/The way that I can push anyone away.” These shadows of doubt give the album its quaint, mercurial feel, deepening Lenae’s quest for understanding. Bird’s Eye situates her as a consummate thrill-seeker with limitless curiosity, restricted only by the uncertainties in her own mind.