Debby Friday’s The Starrr Of The Queen Of Life is a high-stakes plunge into desire, disruption, and self-reinvention, built on pulsing beats, whispered truths, and the thrill of walking the edge.
Debby Friday builds worlds from raw instinct. While touring Europe in the wake of her Polaris Prize-winning debut Good Luck, she stumbled across the story of Vega, the ancient star once revered by Babylonian astronomers. That cosmic symbol of creativity and courage lit the path for her second album, The Starrr Of The Queen Of Life, a bold step forward that refuses to repeat familiar patterns.
Friday opens the record with intention. “I want to be a starrr,” she says, stretching the word into something mystical. The album moves between pounding club tracks and intimate, late-night reflections. “All I Wanna Do Is Party,” for example, captures the wild edge of an all-nighter, while “Alberta” speaks to the kind of love that survives uncertainty and distance.
The pace of this past year forced Friday to slow down. After a long run of shows and a relentless schedule, she collapsed from stress-induced shingles. That moment became a turning point. Friday overhauled her team, her routines, and her priorities. The result is an album that feels urgent and grounded, restless and sharply personal.
She made the record alongside Australian producer Darcy Baylis, trading ideas from morning to midnight in London studios. Their sessions pulled from early M.I.A., the chaos of Death From Above, and the candy-coated pressure of SOPHIE. Together, they shaped something uniquely hers. Friday’s voice moves with range and clarity, from whispered verses to deadpan declarations to spell-like melodies that seem to hover in place.
Across eleven tracks, she explores the tension between control and chaos. “1/17” shifts from sensuality to self-reflection. “Arcadia” mixes French and English while asking questions that cut deeper than the beat. Everywhere she goes, she tests the edges of genre, language, and self-image.
The artwork shows her suspended upside down, caught between falling and rising. Like the myth of Icarus or the constellation Lyra, where Vega sits, the image captures the risk of wanting more. This album lives in that space. Every sound, every lyric, every choice is a step toward something unknown.