Beabadoobee Explores Distance and Connection on “Pylon”

Singer/Songwriter Beabadoobee. Courtesy of Saori Ninahuanca via Flickr.

Beabadoobee channels the sounds of 1990s rock on “Pylon,” a record about distance, longing and connection. 

For fans of the Filipino-British singer-songwriter, Sept. 18, 2026, marked the release of her fourth studio album. The 41-minute “Pylon” blends grunge rock and Midwest emo, with contributions from artists including Hayley Williams and Deftones vocalist Chino Moreno. 

Shifting from indie pop toward a heavier alternative sound, Bea delivers an intense record that contrasts with her softer, sweeter previous releases. Her most popular songs, such as “Coffee,” which blew up on TikTok in 2020, and “Glue Song,” featuring Clairo in 2023, are acoustic-focused and peaceful, and her sound had remained relatively consistent until “Pylon.” On her 2020 album “Fake It Flowers,” she dipped her toes into the rock world, but with “Pylon” she dove in headfirst. 

In an Instagram post announcing the album, she said it was “[m]ade and written in between tours and on tour, I missed home, I missed how people were and I’m still learning to accept the confusion within the uncertainty of being away.” 

The first of 14 songs, “Pylon,” sounds like a memory. Beginning with a slow acoustic guitar melody and distant chatter and laughter, she sings about her connection to an unspecified person, describing it as “And when I’m somewhere, at least we’re connected like a pylon on an open road.” The pace quickens as electric guitar intensifies the track before it fades out. 

“Sun Has Set,” the lead single released June 24, offered the first hint of the album’s heavier sound. Driven by electric guitars and her gritty voice, it is a vulnerable admission of an unspecified ending, as she declares “the sun has set.” 

“Estranged” is upbeat and pop-rock-adjacent, reminiscent of her 2022 album “Beatopia.” 

“Switchblade,” another single that was released in July, shares the grungy sound of “Sun Has Set,” but its anger builds more gradually. She describes herself as a “switchblade cutting through an open space,” and paired with the song’s authentic instrumentals, it feels like a commentary on self-defense versus confrontation. 

“Write Me a Letter” blends her past and new sounds, as she speaks on what can be interpreted as romantic avoidance, most notably in the line “Need you to stay, you make me better / Harder to say, but I’ll write you a letter.” 

“It’s Alright” begins with a confident guitar melody, which is ironic as she sings about accepting time wasted on someone. 

The melody of “In Motion” is initially slow and drowsy, but quickly explodes into a chorus carried entirely by Bea grungily screaming the lyrics “funny how the time starts going and going and going and going till it’s gone.” 

“Memories” is one of the strongest reminders of her past sound, a sweet and airy song about love that still follows her pursuit of indie-rock. 

“Nothing to Prove” features backup vocals from Paramore’s Hayley Williams, and paired with Williams’ iconic and unmistakable voice, it is reminiscent of Paramore’s 2007 “Riot!” in its upbeat pop-rock glory. 

“Radio,” “Spark” and “Despite That” sort of blend together even on the umpteenth listen. Her voice and ability to give each song a sense of completeness still shine through, but other tracks stand out more for their adventurous sound. 

“Powerlines,” which features vocals from Turnstile’s Brendan Yates, mirrors the message in the opening track “Pylon” in a way, with lyrics such as “Powerlines help me feel I'm close to you. Despite it all, I finally found the point of view.” Her use of infrastructure such as pylons and power lines to describe her own experiences with intimacy is striking and ingenious, with the last 30 seconds of the song ending in a rich and heavy guitar riff that sounds like the frustrating conclusion of a fight between two people. 

“Satellite” is a haunting and perfectly crafted finish to the record, with Chino Moreno of Deftones appearing in the backup vocals. The opening melody evokes the familiar childhood memory of watching rain fall from the backseat of a car, creating a sense of nostalgia. The chorus breaks through aggressively, as she screams the lyrics “I’m looking up under the stars, I’m split in two, sing to the moon, orbiting you like a satellite.” With one final metaphor pertaining to some sort of metallic object (pylons, power lines, switchblades and satellites), the album closes resolutely. 

“Pylon” as a whole feels like a journey on the road, figuratively and literally. As Medicine Box writes, “Powerlines” examines how ordinary objects can evoke a sense of connection with someone far away.