Edie Yvonne calls herself delusional before anyone else can on “Delusion”
The closing chapter of a 15-year-old LA songwriter’s high-school trilogy turns hallway gossip into a jangly, bass-driven hook — gone in under two and a half minutes and back in your head a moment later.
“She gets the word “delusional” in first, before anyone can use it on her.”
The smartest thing about “Delusion” is who gets to say the word. Edie Yvonne closes the high-school trilogy she began with “Girl Code” and “Queen Bee” by aiming the hallway whisper at herself first — if someone’s going to call her delusional, she’ll beat them to it and make it the hook. Written diary-style during her first year of high school, the song treats the gossip economy as raw material instead of a wound to nurse.
The production keeps everything moving at hallway speed. Jangly guitars ride a pushy bassline, the structure escalates in clean steps from verse to bridge to hook, and at 2:28 the song is built like a rumor — in, devastating, gone. The momentum trick that makes it work is the muttered aside about how delusional she is, which snaps into the full chorus like a door slamming: the insult literally becomes the launchpad.
Her vocal identity is already legible, which at fifteen is the rarest thing on the checklist. There’s theatre-kid projection in the big moments — she came up through stage musicals, and you can hear it — but she keeps pulling back to a conversational, eye-rolling intimacy that sells the diary framing. The harmonies stacked behind the hook add lushness without losing the bedroom-demo nerve.
The writing dresses self-doubt in witchcraft — potions and spells standing in for the feeling of not trusting your own read on a friendship, or on your own direction. It’s a good costume because it admits the truth underneath: doubt really does feel like being enchanted, like someone else briefly has the wheel. Second-guessing has rarely sounded this certain of itself.
The caveats are the honest kind. The influences hover close — some Olivia Rodrigo in the eye-roll, some Electra Heart-era Marina in the theatre of it — and the song sketches its idea more than it develops it; you can hear the better, weirder song she’s circling. The replay value rides on the hook rather than on depth. But replay value carried by a hook is still replay value, and a great chorus is a fact, not an opinion.
Final take: “Delusion” is a sharp, self-aware teen-pop sketch that turns gossip into a hook and doubt into a spell — a vocal identity arriving early and on its own terms. The depth will come; the instincts are already here.
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