EP Review: Cillë – , but you can call me silly!
Danish-born and now rooted in New York, Cillë returns with the flamboyant and melodically rich but you can call me silly!. The title playfully nods to a familiar Danish nickname for Cecilie, while the unlikely umlaut tips its hat to the metal icons she grew up idolizing.
Cillë describes the opening track Neon Trooper as “a bit of a manifesto.” The song first took shape in Copenhagen, where she co-wrote it with her friend Camilla. “I had a demo with dreamy synths and those drum hits going; I had the first verse, but I felt stuck,” she recalls. The breakthrough came during what she calls “an entire improvisation exercise,” looping the chorus fragment again and again until new ideas began to surface. “That’s a tool I’ve carried with me ever since. I like to shoot from the hip and see what comes out—it’s all about feeling free.”
That theme of freedom threads through the song’s message as well: “Just like the song is about feeling free to be myself, and remembering that we’re so much more than human. It’s a little rocket ship ride to another place.”
The production went through multiple versions before settling into its final form. Cillë cites Andrew W.K. as a touchstone, admiring the way he pairs euphoric lyrics with an overloaded, wall-of-sound approach: “I’ve been inspired by him for years. Of course, with my voice, it comes out as something entirely different in the end.”
As a listening experience, Neon Trooper strikes a careful balance between density and clarity. The synths perfectly set the mood, while the pulsating guitars add tons of energy. What ultimately carries the track, though, is Cillë’s vocal line—flexible, unforced, and cutting through the production with a distinctly human presence.
There’s also something unmistakably Scandinavian in the melodic sensibility: the earworm phrases echo the bittersweet, soaring contours of Swedish pop traditions, the lineage that runs from ABBA’s crystalline hooks to Robyn’s anthemic melancholy.
With Reckless Hearts, Cillë reaches back to her earlier days in the band Taras for inspiration. She explains that the chorus is rooted in an older track, “Love Song,” released a decade ago. Its bridge carried the line:
The higher we fly, the harder we fall.
That idea of soaring before the fall still resonates with Cillë today. “We ‘fall’ in love, but we don’t actually fall until it starts to hurt—it’s this great big soar, and then reality kicks in,” she reflects. “Now, that can also be beautiful, but it’s not the big rush I grew up craving. So, we risk a lot, getting close to each other. That’s what I’ve tried to capture here.”
Reckless Hearts sidesteps melancholy by channeling it into something exhilarating. The track is — again — powered by sticky, unforgettable melodies and guitar riffs that lodge themselves in your head after the first listen. The brightness of the arrangement underlines the bittersweet lyric, creating a tension between vulnerability and sheer pop immediacy. And the guitar solo here is worth a special mention!
Cillë describes Champagne Punk as “a second manifesto—why not?!” The track is built around the idea of embracing duality, of holding contradictions without apology.
“Several things, even things that seem to cancel each other out, can still be true,” she explains. “The older I get—I’m not that old, but hey, I’m also not 22 anymore!—the more I grow into being more than one thing, and the more I accept my own multitudes. It’s not always easy though. In the song, I admit I’m my own worst enemy. That’s still kinda true… but at least I’m trying not to be.”
Musically, Champagne Punk leans into that push-and-pull energy. Its rollicking, rock-’n’-roll piano chords drive the song forward, while layers of rich vocal harmonies add warmth and lift.
“All the Haters Are Dead” began with a dream. Cillë explains that she often mines her vivid, sometimes unsettling dream-life for material—something she’s done before on “Half a Heart.” This time, she imagined herself as the last person on Earth. “At first, I was writing it from this sad angle—completely alone,” she recalls. “But then I thought, maybe I could flip it. Even though I lost everyone, I also lost people I won’t miss. There’s both sadness and relief in there—I hope both come through. It’s like a song to cheer myself up, in a weird way.”
For me, it’s a standout—my favorite track on the album, thanks in large part to the melody, which has a sentimental, slightly nostalgic quality. At moments, it calls to mind the effervescent pop sensibility of Ace of Base—sunny in-your-face hooks carrying bittersweet undercurrents.
Taken as a whole, but you can call me silly! feels like both a declaration and an invitation—an album that doesn’t shy away from contradictions, whether it’s turning loneliness into levity, folding bittersweet reflections into glittering pop hooks, or pairing maximalist production with melodies that nod toward Scandinavian traditions.
Across its songs, Cillë shows a knack for balancing honesty with humor, depth with immediacy. It’s her openness—about dreams, doubts, multitudes, and messy humanity—that gives the EP its staying power. It’s playful on the surface, but beneath the jokes and umlauts, this is serious pop craft.
Cillë describes the opening track Neon Trooper as “a bit of a manifesto.” The song first took shape in Copenhagen, where she co-wrote it with her friend Camilla. “I had a demo with dreamy synths and those drum hits going; I had the first verse, but I felt stuck,” she recalls. The breakthrough came during what she calls “an entire improvisation exercise,” looping the chorus fragment again and again until new ideas began to surface. “That’s a tool I’ve carried with me ever since. I like to shoot from the hip and see what comes out—it’s all about feeling free.”
That theme of freedom threads through the song’s message as well: “Just like the song is about feeling free to be myself, and remembering that we’re so much more than human. It’s a little rocket ship ride to another place.”
The production went through multiple versions before settling into its final form. Cillë cites Andrew W.K. as a touchstone, admiring the way he pairs euphoric lyrics with an overloaded, wall-of-sound approach: “I’ve been inspired by him for years. Of course, with my voice, it comes out as something entirely different in the end.”
As a listening experience, Neon Trooper strikes a careful balance between density and clarity. The synths perfectly set the mood, while the pulsating guitars add tons of energy. What ultimately carries the track, though, is Cillë’s vocal line—flexible, unforced, and cutting through the production with a distinctly human presence.
There’s also something unmistakably Scandinavian in the melodic sensibility: the earworm phrases echo the bittersweet, soaring contours of Swedish pop traditions, the lineage that runs from ABBA’s crystalline hooks to Robyn’s anthemic melancholy.
With Reckless Hearts, Cillë reaches back to her earlier days in the band Taras for inspiration. She explains that the chorus is rooted in an older track, “Love Song,” released a decade ago. Its bridge carried the line:
The higher we fly, the harder we fall.
That idea of soaring before the fall still resonates with Cillë today. “We ‘fall’ in love, but we don’t actually fall until it starts to hurt—it’s this great big soar, and then reality kicks in,” she reflects. “Now, that can also be beautiful, but it’s not the big rush I grew up craving. So, we risk a lot, getting close to each other. That’s what I’ve tried to capture here.”
Reckless Hearts sidesteps melancholy by channeling it into something exhilarating. The track is — again — powered by sticky, unforgettable melodies and guitar riffs that lodge themselves in your head after the first listen. The brightness of the arrangement underlines the bittersweet lyric, creating a tension between vulnerability and sheer pop immediacy. And the guitar solo here is worth a special mention!
Cillë describes Champagne Punk as “a second manifesto—why not?!” The track is built around the idea of embracing duality, of holding contradictions without apology.
“Several things, even things that seem to cancel each other out, can still be true,” she explains. “The older I get—I’m not that old, but hey, I’m also not 22 anymore!—the more I grow into being more than one thing, and the more I accept my own multitudes. It’s not always easy though. In the song, I admit I’m my own worst enemy. That’s still kinda true… but at least I’m trying not to be.”
Musically, Champagne Punk leans into that push-and-pull energy. Its rollicking, rock-’n’-roll piano chords drive the song forward, while layers of rich vocal harmonies add warmth and lift.
“All the Haters Are Dead” began with a dream. Cillë explains that she often mines her vivid, sometimes unsettling dream-life for material—something she’s done before on “Half a Heart.” This time, she imagined herself as the last person on Earth. “At first, I was writing it from this sad angle—completely alone,” she recalls. “But then I thought, maybe I could flip it. Even though I lost everyone, I also lost people I won’t miss. There’s both sadness and relief in there—I hope both come through. It’s like a song to cheer myself up, in a weird way.”
For me, it’s a standout—my favorite track on the album, thanks in large part to the melody, which has a sentimental, slightly nostalgic quality. At moments, it calls to mind the effervescent pop sensibility of Ace of Base—sunny in-your-face hooks carrying bittersweet undercurrents.
Taken as a whole, but you can call me silly! feels like both a declaration and an invitation—an album that doesn’t shy away from contradictions, whether it’s turning loneliness into levity, folding bittersweet reflections into glittering pop hooks, or pairing maximalist production with melodies that nod toward Scandinavian traditions.
Across its songs, Cillë shows a knack for balancing honesty with humor, depth with immediacy. It’s her openness—about dreams, doubts, multitudes, and messy humanity—that gives the EP its staying power. It’s playful on the surface, but beneath the jokes and umlauts, this is serious pop craft.