Invisible, the debut single from B Dayton’s upcoming EP At The End of the Day, is one of those rare tracks that doesn’t bother pretending everything’s fine. It’s not “vibes”; it’s emotional archaeology wrapped in synths. This is late-night-pop for when you’re not just crying in the club; you’re carefully disassembling the architecture of your unresolved grief on the dance floor.
The song was written after Dayton lost their father to addiction, which is already a sentence most pop songs would flinch at. But Invisible doesn’t flinch. It walks right into that wreckage and sets up a mirror. The lyrics aren’t loud or melodramatic; they’re surgical. They hint at all the pain we miss in people we love, not because we don’t care, but because we weren’t taught how to see it. It’s not a song about death, exactly. It’s a song about that slow, brutal realization that someone you loved was slipping away while you were looking elsewhere.
Sonically, it’s gorgeous. Think MUNA, Troye Sivan, and Tove Lo if they all got together and decided to write a synth-pop anthem about emotional invisibility at 3AM. There’s a kind of bright melancholy baked into the production with shimmering synths, a beat that feels like it’s trying to outrun something, and a chorus that lifts just enough to give you hope, before gently dropping you back into the ache. Dayton’s vocals are clean and devastating, like someone who’s been crying all day and now just sounds calm.
Invisible by B Dayton isn’t just a strong first single; it’s a statement of intent. It feels like someone trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at the time. It’s pop that’s doing actual emotional labor and that kind of honesty feels quietly radical.
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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.
