Tuesday Love by Steph Sweet
Women of Trip-Hop
Steph Sweet feels daft romantic on her moody new single Tuesday Love. The singers robust timbre suits this brooding trip hop vibe. You can hear the genres connection to jazz lounge singers like Billie Holiday and Nina Simone. We love how Steph Sweet adapts that influence with modern industrial and electronic production ideas. That blend gives Tuesday Love nostalgic brilliance. Stylistically the minimalist contrast recalls the influence of Massive attack. We’re into it
“Sweet’s depictions of life contain with it, a sparkling pallet of feminine perspectives and social satire. Liz Lund - Waking Dream - NYC
“Thankfully Steph is still ploughing her particular esoteric furrow and has just released her new single Edie which is as good as anything she's released to date. It sounds like a darkly psychedelic theme from a long forgotten left field spaghetti western and it's absorbing and utterly enchanting. If the Velvet Underground had been commissioned to do the title track for the Good, The Bad and the Ugly, this is how it would sound.”
Steph Sweet embodies what it means to refuse definition, to exist beyond the pale of what is considered acceptable or safe. In a world that still struggles to understand women as creators of chaos and visionaries of the avant-garde, Sweet emerges as a figure who writes her own rules in the margins of a male-dominated musical canon.
To understand Sweet’s music is to confront a woman unafraid of her complexity. Her journey—leaving home at fifteen, carving her place in the punk scene, and growing into a voice that defies genre—is not the neat, palatable narrative of a prodigy groomed for public adoration. It is raw, unvarnished, and unapologetically difficult. She stands as a challenge to those who would demand linearity and ease from women who dare to create.
Her latest work, *Edie*, feels like a manifesto disguised as a record. Each track is a reclamation of sound and silence, of power and vulnerability. Songs like “A Wicked Man” do not simply indict—they dismantle. Sweet’s lyrics are steeped in a sense of knowing that is both deeply personal and profoundly political, exploring the intimate violence of patriarchy alongside the quiet acts of rebellion that mark a life lived authentically.
What is most striking about Sweet’s artistry is its refusal to conform. Her music doesn’t pander to the market or flatten its edges to appeal to the masses. Instead, it reflects the messiness of existence—the contradictions, the pain, the beauty. In an age of sanitization, where creativity is increasingly commodified, Sweet remains resolutely herself: complex, chaotic, and undeniably free.
This is not music for the faint of heart or those seeking easy comfort. It is music that insists you engage with it, that you allow it to unsettle you. It reminds us that art has always been a mirror and a weapon, a way to both see and reshape the world. Sweet wields her art like a sword, carving out space not just for herself but for all who have been told they don’t belong.
Steph Sweet’s work is a reminder that the act of creating, for women, has always been an act of resistance. Her music is not just a sound—it is a stance. In *Edie*, we hear the echoes of every woman who has dared to speak her truth and every woman who has chosen to exist as more than what the world expected of her.