EJAE’s Blackout, Charli’s Wuthering Heights, and Zayn’s Raw Comeback

Here’s a snapshot. EJAE: a name now firmly anchored in headlines, but still astonishingly human behind all the sparkle of a Golden Globe and sold-out shows. Ask her the secret to surviving the current blizzard of late-night sessions, interviews, and award shows, and it’s something delightfully un-cinematic. Hydration. “Genuinely, as a singer, you have to stay hydrated. That’s the 101 for singers.” The voice is earnest, free of PR varnish, as she explains how a steady stream of electrolyte packets dominate her rider. One shouldn’t find that endearing, but somehow it is. A reminder that, behind the glow, even the most luminous voices feel the weight: “Mental stuff affects your physical body, too. So, having that support system is so imperative. I got sick 7 times in the past six months. Bronchitis, twice. COVID-19 once.”

Perhaps it’s a universal trait—those who can spin their fragility into art. There’s something gently magnetic about hearing a pop star discuss her body’s betrayals as matter-of-fact texture, not cause for self-pity. And if there’s a best-of-reel moment, it might be the Golden Globes speech—a television blackout, literal and emotional. “I was so nervous! I remember watching the video [of the playback], and it was so weird and eerie because I just don’t remember that much. So it feels like it’s not me [up] there, if you know what I mean.” The honesty is almost awkward, like accidentally eavesdropping on someone’s internal monologue.

Not every story makes a neat trilogy, but EJAE’s arc sure tries. There’s the early heartbreak (rejected K-pop trainee), then the quiet hustle (writing hits for aespa and Red Velvet), finally, the current chapter—soaked in the spotlight, yet curiously focused not on hardware or headlines. Instead, it’s sisterhood. “Meeting the girls has truly been a blessing… for girl groups, it’s not easy. Sometimes there’s no chemistry, or it’s not good chemistry, but with them, we just got really lucky.” Watch HUNTR/X onstage, and awkward, forced chemistry never enters the conversation—it pulses more like chosen family than commercial collaboration.

Changing gears (because, honestly, there’s no graceful way to bridge bathroom concerts and blockbuster sequels): the band’s now tackling a Phil Collins track. The twist? The venue’s a literal bathroom—titled “Tiny Vanity Concert” for a reason—making for a setting more relatable than red carpet. And really, where else are pop anthems born and belted if not into bathroom tiles? Of course, what’s ahead is foggy. “For the sequel, I don’t really know much about [it]… I came as a songwriter, so I think it all depends on what [directors] Maggie [Kang] and Chris [Appelhans] come up with.” There’s no hint of frustration in that uncertainty, though. More like anticipation, or at least acceptance that sometimes, the next chapter isn’t for you to write until the page turns.

Elsewhere, the industry doesn’t sleep. Charli XCX, always one to keep the audience guessing, seems suddenly less “Brat” chaos, more windswept melancholy. Gone are the day-glo aesthetics; in their place, reverb-drenched yearning for Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” soundtrack. Her own words land somewhere between outsider and ghost: “I began to sink into this reimagined world… I was purely a voyeur and I was enjoying being one.” The effect is striking—almost as if even the most iconic pop disruptors are being called to walk a mile in someone else’s heartbreak for a bit.

Nostalgia, that old crowd-pleaser, refuses to retire quietly. Good Charlotte, whose brand of pop-punk once scored a generation, took their homecoming gig in LA as both eulogy and revival. There’s Joel Madden, voice creaking an inch past its prime as he declares his love for the city, and a crowd answering in a mix of fist-pumping bravado and misty-eyed gratitude. Turns out, the anthems of youth don’t care much for expiration dates.

On a different stage—think steely Vegas spotlights instead of West Coast haze—Zayn is quietly rewriting the rules for comeback residencies. No cheesy Elvis tributes. Not a whiff of manufactured nostalgia. Instead, what’s unfolding each night is something messier and better: reclamation, vulnerability, with a setlist that sidesteps cheap greatest hits in favor of the new and the now. “I've been in the studio a little bit,” he teases, his falsetto surfing clean over a lingering sinus infection. “I got a new record coming for you guys pretty soon… I’ll be playing some songs tonight for the first time. For you guys.” Anyone expecting the predictable learned otherwise—this Zayn isn’t afraid of risk, or of showing work in progress.

And hanging in the air over all of it—between Green Day’s Super Bowl halftime throwdown and Taylor Swift, with her mountainous iHeartRadio nominations (watch for Sabrina Carpenter and Bad Bunny nipping at her heels)—there’s something unfamiliar. Or maybe not so much unfamiliar as urgent. This isn’t just about racking up sales or TikTok clout. Not this year.

Time and again, what’s at stake isn’t about being first to raise a trophy or loudest to dominate a playlist. Listen to EJAE one last time: “To have that door open, not just for me—this is way bigger than me—it’s for that next generation.” That’s an energy not easily faked. There’s a sense that, win or lose, every career surge, every sold-out show, is measured in ripples made, doorframes widened. The goal is legacy—woven not just from individual ambition, but from the hope that someone else, possibly watching from the back row or back home, hears their cue to step forward.

So the curtain closes, for now, on another chapter of music’s ongoing transformation. The cracks in the industry armor only make the light show brighter. People stumble, forget their lines, lose their voices for a night or two. Yet it’s those quirks—those hiccups in perfection—that keep this unpredictable story lurching bravely forward. Against all odds, the show goes on, the chorus gets louder, and the next act is always just about to begin.