Debut albums often function as calling cards: an artist laying out their influences, sketching out their voice, and signaling where they might go next. Chikit’s Pretty Like A Devil doesn’t just hand over a business card. Rather, it slams the whole binder down on the desk. Written, tracked, and produced entirely by Chikit alone, the record is a deeply personal alternative rock project that uses the genre’s many dialects from emo-adjacent pop-punk to folksy balladry to swaggering experimental rock as tools for telling stories of love, heartbreak, and self-revelation.
At its core, Chikit’s Pretty Like A Devil is an album about vulnerability and bravado. Its songs are threaded with the tension between opening oneself up and putting walls back up again, between romantic sincerity and the armor of irony. The result is a debut that feels raw, eclectic, and quietly ambitious.
The album opens with its lead single, “Guard Down Baby,” a track that could easily slot into the tracklist of a mid-2000s Yellowcard record. It’s a jangly, earnest slice of alternative rock with just enough grit on the guitars to keep it from floating away into pop-punk sweetness. Lyrically, it’s about that terrifying and exhilarating moment of letting someone past your defenses, and Chikit delivers the vocals with just enough crack in the edges to make the fear feel real. As a mission statement, it works: here’s someone ready to tell you exactly how it feels to risk heartbreak, guitars turned up loud enough to drown out the doubt.
From there, “Pretty Lil Devil” takes a turn into something more playful; a track that sounds like a lost Weezer cut from their Green Album days. It’s bouncy, wry, and self-aware, leaning into a kind of tongue-in-cheek portrait of a dangerous crush. The guitars are crunchy but never overbearing, and the chorus is one of the album’s most immediate earworms. There’s a hint of irony in the delivery, but it doesn’t collapse into parody. Instead, it channels that slacker-rock energy into something sharp, fun, and deceptively smart.
A personal favourite amongst the record is “Opened Eyes (In Another Life),” a duet that softens the palette considerably. Imagine Semisonic collaborating with The Civil Wars: harmonies intertwining over restrained guitars, creating an intimate, aching ballad. It’s a song about parallel lives; about the kind of love that might have worked if timing, circumstance, or fate hadn’t gotten in the way. The track is delicate but never flimsy, and the interplay between the two voices gives it a resonance that lingers long after it ends. It’s a testament to Chikit’s range as both a songwriter and producer, demonstrating that the project isn’t confined to just riff-heavy rockers.
If the first half of the album is about grounding the listener in familiar alt-rock territory, “Greek Gods & Television” is where Chikit swerves. It’s a swaggering, slightly psychedelic experiment: “imagine if Ed Sheeran made a Sound & Fury-era Sturgill Simpson track” is the best shorthand, but even that doesn’t quite capture its odd charm. The song marries mythological allusions with modern ennui, riffing on the absurdity of seeking transcendence while glued to a screen. The production leans into fuzzier guitar tones and heavier percussion, creating a wall of sound that’s more abrasive than anything else on the album. It’s messy, weird, and exactly the kind of risk-taking you want from a debut.
Across Pretty Like A Devil, the throughline is emotional honesty. Even Chikit’s rough-hewn quality is part of the album’s charm; it feels less like a polished product and more like a direct transmission.
Sonically, Chikit isn’t reinventing the wheel, but they’re clearly drawing from a deep well of alt-rock touchstones and recombining them in ways that feel fresh. Yellowcard, Weezer, Semisonic, Sturgill Simpson; these are reference points, not blueprints. The record nods to all of them and more without collapsing into imitation.
That said, the album does occasionally show its seams. Some chord progressions veer toward the predictable, and a couple of choruses feel like they could use one more melodic twist to elevate them fully. But even at its weaker moments, the conviction in the performances carries it through. Chikit’s knack for vocal phrasing, in particular, makes even familiar lines hit with weight.
What’s most striking is the confidence. For a debut, there’s very little hesitation here. Chikit isn’t hedging bets or soft-pedaling emotions; the songs are direct, often brash, and unafraid to shift tone from track to track. That boldness pays off in replay value; each listen uncovers a new detail, whether it’s a subtle guitar flourish or a lyrical turn you missed the first time.
Pretty Like A Devil is a debut that wears its influences proudly while carving out a voice of its own. It’s messy in the ways a first record should be; full of experimentation, bursting with ideas, sometimes sprawling, sometimes strikingly precise. But it’s also cohesive, tied together by themes of love, heartbreak, and the contradictory ways we armor and expose ourselves in relationships.
If you’re looking for a debut that plays it safe, this isn’t it. Chikit has built something more ambitious: a record that swings for multiple fences, sometimes missing, sometimes connecting squarely, but always taking the risk. It’s an album that makes you want to stick around for the follow-up, because if this is the starting point, the next chapter could be something explosive. Pretty Like A Devil is a promising, eclectic debut that proves Chikit isn’t afraid to make noise, make mistakes, and make something that matters.
Follow Chikit
About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for various publications around the world, the former lead writer of review blogspace Atop The Treehouse and content creator for Manila Bulletin.
