Modern alt-R&B too often gets lost in its own aesthetic. The pastel tones, the hushed soulful vocals, the cozy textures, the lazy guitars that feel tailor-made for a glass of wine at dusk — they all have their place, but somewhere in the haze the actual songs too often tend to disappear.

Which is why I was blown away when I heard Jordan Corey’s new album The Tunnel + The Light, released September 19. The imagery here doesn’t feel like it’s been dreamed up in some writing camp — the late-night drives, the dimly lit rooms, the sense of moving through different spaces — they’re lived-in and believable, drawn from her own experience. Jordan worked on the album while caring for her mother through cancer, and, as a result, "it captures the feeling of being in transition—of not quite arriving, but sensing the light ahead". That realness is what gives the record its weight: the familiar alt-R&B atmosphere isn’t decoration, it’s how Jordan got through a life-changing time.

Opening track Friend Like Me balances slick production with pointed, personal lyrics. The hooks stick in your head the way TLC’s did, but the track is far from a retro pastiche — bubbling basslines and funky synth leads ring familiar, but the dense vocal pads create a textured space that almost obscures the pop elements beneath, like bright light or ringing in your ears.

Lines like “All I ever wanted was a friend like me / But how can I make nice / A measured sacrifice” carry a raw mix of frustration and longing, cutting through the layered sound. The groove nods to the classic Organized Noize approach behind TLC and OutKast, but Corey fills it with small, lived-in details — the way the vocals bend, the pauses between phrases and her own field recordings — making it feel immediate, tense, and unmistakably her own.

Do the Thing creates a disco-infused pulse that makes your hips and feet move before your brain can catch up. Sharp electric piano chords slice through the mix, giving the track a kinetic edge, while her vocals curl and twist like incantations, playful and a little mischievous, as though she’s casting a spell over the rhythm.

Somethin Somethin is a song that’s practically bursting with melodic hooks. Each instrumental layer — from the insistent bassline to the playful synth touches — carries its own mini-melody, and then there’s that whistle, sharp and bright, that sticks in your head like bubble gum. Over it all, her vocal melodies feel equally memorable, shapeshifting with the kind of catchy unpredictability that makes the song feel electric at every turn.

Dopamine feels like a warm blanket, built from the inviting tempo, the soft hiss of a vinyl record, gentle guitar chords, and fractured synth lines that hint at classic soul records but sound modern and full-bodied at the same time. Corey’s vocals are strong but close, almost whispering directly to you, layered with call-and-response backing lines that add texture and movement. The track blends the spirit of traditional ballads with a sharper contemporary edge, at times recalling the emotional weight of Adele.

The lyrics of One capture a gentle, almost meditative wandering — moments of observation, playful curiosity, and a quiet desire to be present. Lines like “Laugh often, don’t forget to breathe / Enjoy the moment it’s about to recede” carry a relaxed, reflective tone and a sense of fleeting joy. Musically, the track mirrors that calm immersion: the sun, clouds, and turquoise waves seem to wrap around you, the sand whispering under bare feet. Lazy guitars, spacious vocals, and unhurried drums with a gentle swing create a warm, flowing rhythm that feels like the soundtrack to a perfect seaside moment.

Try Me is woven from familiar elements, but it still rings fresh every time. Hazy guitars set a laid-back foundation, paired with transparent electric piano and crisp, precise drums. Corey’s intimate vocals curl around you in smoky loops, filling the room and wrapping you in a delicate embrace.

Feel Me hits like a quick, experimental shot in the album, injecting a spark of unpredictability into Corey’s world. Reversed guitars (or are those pianos?) and other hard-to-identify textures twist through the track, while pulsating 80s-style electronic basslines and pitched-down vocals add a subtle sense of disorientation. Layered on top is her signature super-soulful voice, delivering melodies that feel effortless yet precise.

Lines like “Sometimes I wanna know what you’re all about / Speaking from the heart, let your feelings out” channel curiosity and intimacy, a conversation unfolding in real time. The combination of adventurous production and warm, soulful melodies recalls the playful tension of classic Aaliyah tracks produced by Timbaland, blending experimental sounds with deep groove and emotional immediacy.

Go to Bed is – again – layered with a wealth of textures that give it a distinct, almost magical feel. The synthesizer lines intertwine with reverberated tails on the vocals, creating a sense of extra space and depth. Beneath that, subtle rustling undercurrents — whether field recordings, synth effects, or something in between, it's hard to tell — shift and move throughout the track. All these layers interact in a way that feels alive and slightly unpredictable, producing a hypnotic, immersive effect. A similar approach is carried over into the short interlude Canadian Rockies, where layered textures and atmospheric reverberation continue to create that same sense of depth and motion, making the brief track feel larger than its runtime.

The lyrics of 647am capture a restless, late-night longing — the push and pull of desire and absence, the repeated checking of a phone, the taste of a “sweet divide,” and the oscillation between numbness and sudden intensity. Lines like “It’s the worst in the morning / I need a hit by the afternoon / Almost forget in the evening / But in the late night you come through” create a hypnotic loop, a rhythm of anticipation and fleeting satisfaction.

The arrangement leans into an airy, spacious sound reminiscent of Nordic electronic atmospheres, where each keyboard chord and echoing effect seems to stretch into the void, giving the song a sense of open, cold space. It’s hard not to be reminded of Royksopp’s Melody A.M.here — that same feeling of mystery, of cosmic distance reflecting back on the familiar world, as if the track itself is a small planet suspended in a vast, observing universe.

The slow-burning ballad The Story radiates warmth and a cozy, intimate glow, like the soft light of a lamp in a quiet room. Jordan’s vocals are rich and rounded, with a slightly raspy texture that evokes Macy Gray at her most reflective. She sings about not waiting for time to dictate her life, about living fully in the present, and about crafting her own story — recurring themes throughout the album.

Earthbound feels like classic alt-R&B viewed through a cosmic lens, bringing to mind Nao’s Orbit in its spacious, otherworldly energy. Resonant keyboard notes float over a round, present bass, and the arrangement has a dense, cohesive quality, where every element seems to stick together, wrapping around each other in a way that’s simultaneously layered and unified — like a bar of nut-studded chocolate, each piece distinct but melting into a single texture. Jordan’s vocals glide effortlessly over this sonic landscape, blending introspection with playfulness, as in “I take it too seriously / Gotta laugh more / Gotta play more”.

What makes The Tunnel + The Light stand out isn’t just the neo-R&B textures or the effortlessly soulful vocals — it’s how Jordan Corey uses those familiar elements to tell stories that actually feels like they happened to you. The album moves between playful grooves, late-night ballads, and experimental sounds, but it never feels like a checklist of trends. Even when the songs are catchy or groove-forward, there’s a sense of intimacy and honesty — you can tell the music was made in response to real moments, not just ideas of what an album should sound like. It’s thoughtful, layered, and textured in a way that gives it personality beyond the usual alt-R&B blueprint.