Delaney Bailey Turns Inward on her Debut Album “Concave”

Photo by Alexa Viscus

Last week, Chicago-based singer-songwriter Delaney Bailey released her debut album Concave. It’s a vulnerable work, chronicling loss, desire, anger and joy across eleven songs. The record unfolds gently but deliberately, enveloping you in warmth and comfort and making it easy to get swept up in the gentle rhythms of each track.

The emotions throughout Concave can be felt as much as they are heard. Bailey’s expressive vocals sit at the center of each track, while the production swells and recedes around her, often feeling expansive without overwhelming the intimacy of her songwriting.

Concave cover

 There’s a cinematic quality to the album. Perhaps what adds to that feeling is Bailey’s tendency to approach music like visual art. “To me, paintings look like they have sounds, and music sounds like it could be a painting,” she explains. The album is steeped in romanticism, celebrating nature and emotion while rebelling against itself. Bailey weaves together her past and present with large feelings and even bigger sentiments. Brooding at times, wistful at others, Concave creates a world that feels both introspective and outgoing; a world that you can’t help but want to stay in.

The album opens with “How To,” a contemplative introduction that immediately establishes the album’s core. Inspired by Bailey’s fear of memory loss and the inevitability of change, the track wrestles with anxiety about the future while urging presence in the present. Her voice drifts through hazy instrumentation, creating a reflective opening that grabs you before you even know what’s happening.

A calm runs through much of Concave, even when the subject matter is heavy. Songs like “Wound” and “Wither” sit with grief, longing, and self-doubt without rushing toward resolution. “Wither,” in particular, confronts queerness and repression with striking tenderness, acknowledging the futility of running from yourself.

“Know” and “Retainer” reflect on endings and transformation, capturing the discomfort of change while acknowledging its necessity. Although Bailey delivers these hard truths, it doesn’t feel preachy. Perhaps it’s the ambient, rock-twinged instrumentations – think Phoebe Bridgers or Clairo – or perhaps it’s the softness in her vocals, but Bailey’s acute sense of self-awareness is nothing short of enchanting.

“Lion” is a standout, both sonically and thematically. A pulsating, slinky track, it marks a step away from Bailey’s more familiar sound, drawing influence from house music while embracing independence and self-possession. What begins with restraint gradually builds in power, with Bailey’s hazy vocals gliding over the beat as the song asserts itself. It’s an understated anthem about autonomy and rejecting expectations placed on her body and future. Visually, the track leans darker and more assured than much of the album, reinforcing its sense of control and intention. Its brevity – like many songs on Concave which hover around the two-to-three-minute mark – feels deliberate, even if it leaves you wanting more.

The album closes with its title track, “Concave,” a fitting conclusion that brings the record inward once more. It’s about learning to hold yourself gently, and about the ongoing process of self-acceptance rather than its completion. Bailey doesn’t offer closure so much as reassurance: that growth is possible, that fear doesn’t have to dominate, and that knowing yourself fully and honestly is worth the discomfort.

With Concave, Delaney Bailey proves herself to be a thoughtful and emotionally precise songwriter, unafraid to linger in complexity. It’s an album that rewards patience, inviting listeners into its quiet moments and trusting them to sit there for a while.