Review

By Liam Hughes | 08/04/2026

Maren Morris’s *D R E A M S I C L E* arrives like a late-spring breeze, all pearlescent synths and sun-drenched optimism, yet laced with enough yearning to remind you she hasn’t entirely left her country-roots behind. Across 14 tracks, the Texan songsmith sheds her Nashville badge in favour of a pop-first approach, but never so fully that you forget the keen storyteller at the helm. From the outset, opener “Lemonade” feels less like a sweet quip and more like a knowing wink. Morris’s voice drifts effortlessly above a bed of chiming guitars and gently throbbing bass, setting up an album that feels as much about self-reclamation as it does about catchy hooks. There’s an air of defiance here—she’s reinvented herself, and she’s rather pleased with the outcome. Standouts such as “Carry Me Through,” courtesy of Greg Kurstin’s touch, deliver anthemic choruses that swell without ever feeling overblown. It’s the kind of song that would soundtrack the moment the clouds finally part—luminous, expansive, and undeniably radio-friendly. Meanwhile, the Jack Antonoff-penned “People Still Show Up” offers a more introspective turn, Morris reflecting on friendship and the quiet solace of those who remain, even when everything else has shifted. Yet for all its gloss, *D R E A M S I C L E* is at its most affecting when it allows Morris a moment of raw vulnerability. The EP-sourced “Cut!” (with Julia Michaels) crackles with nervy tension, while “Push Me Over” trembles on the brink of collapse before its triumphant chorus sweeps you back to safer ground. These interludes of fragility remind us that beneath the pastel sheen lies an artist still grappling with change, still keen to share her doubts as well as her victories. In the grand tapestry of 2025 pop, Maren Morris’s *D R E A M S I C L E* stands out not merely for its impeccable production, but for its warmth. It’s the sound of an artist at ease with escaping her own conventions, and of refusing to apologise when the sun finally breaks through. If 2025 needed a feel-good record with substance, here it is, served with a twist of lemon and a good dollop of Maren’s unmistakable honesty.