HAIM - I Quit
Romantic relationships are rarely simple — and everyone wrestles with them differently. For Haim, the answer lies in I Quit, their first full-length in five years, a bold reemergence wrapped in vulnerability, glitter, and bite.
The album’s promotional rollout leaves no ambiguity: frontwoman Danielle Haim — whose breakup forms the album’s thematic nucleus — is not just surviving, she’s winning. I Quit thrives on visual bravado: single covers that wink at iconic paparazzi shots, music videos starring buzzy young actors, and viral TikTok clips slicing through millions of views. The icing on the virality cake was the upcoming line at the band's concerts, which clearly and understandably tells the details of Danielle's breakup: the crowd's reaction to the Primavera festival in Barcelona also did not go unnoticed.
Danielle doesn’t merely look victorious; she sounds it. On the opening track “Gone”, her languid yet menacing delivery turns a kiss-off into a love letter to self-liberation. She’s done asking for permission — and she knows no apology is required.
That defiance sets the tone. On standout single “Relationships”, Haim rides a buoyant instrumental while Danielle coolly dissects the premise of even needing love at all. The tension between her rational detachment and the track’s breezy flair creates a striking, paradoxical charm. It's not heartbreak — it's retrospection, scored to guitar pop.
Aesthetically, I Quit feels like the alt-pop soundtrack to a mid-2000s indie rom-com that never got made. “All Over Me” channels Liz Phair’s early-aughts grit, both sonically and lyrically. Meanwhile, “Everybody’s Trying To Figure Me Out” bears the fingerprints of Red Hot Chili Peppers at their most confessional. Written in the aftermath of a panic attack, Danielle’s vocals teeter on the edge of collapse, raw and unforgettable.
Then there's “Lucky Star”, smoldering in shoegaze textures like My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. It’s a hazy ode to the beauty of what once was. But even reverie has a half-life. On “Million Years”, the sisters flirt with tempo like they’re chasing a train that’s already pulling out of the station — one of their most breathless, heart-on-sleeve moments to date.
Just when you think the record’s palette is set, Haim veers into disco-moment with “Spinning”, a curveball that gives Alana her vocal spotlight. The tonal swerve feels like a revelation. Then comes “Cry”, the first song lead by Este — a gut-wrenching purge of grief, vulnerability laid bare. The anguish spills over into “Blood on the Street”, where all three sisters rejoin the fray, uniting in fury.
Yet for all its sharp turns and candid disclosures, I Quit occasionally lapses into the familiar. At times, it leans too comfortably on Fleetwood Mac homage — a well Haim has drawn from before on “Something to Tell You”. Other moments feel like diluted echoes of Women in Music Pt. III. Even the strongest tracks sometimes lack that ineffable spark that once defined the trio’s best work.
Still, there’s something undeniably solid about this record. In its peaks, I Quit delivers viral-friendly hooks and crystallized Gen Z nostalgia for the Y2K era. But more importantly, it sounds like a release. These songs are letters never sent, truths too long buried. Haim finally say what they needed to say. Just don’t fall in love with them. They’re already gone.
7.2/10
