Halfway through my first play of it isn’t real, I had already written “confidence” twice in my notes and crossed it out both times, because the word made Lia Sky’s second EP sound far tidier than the music. Arriving July 31, these five guitar-led songs were written after a relationship and speak in the language of decisions, yet they repeatedly catch Sky a few seconds before those decisions settle. A chorus rises, the guitars widen, and her voice still carries some of the doubt heard in the verse. Recovery changes speed from song to song, sometimes inside the same track. That hesitation gives the larger pop-rock moments their credibility.
Spoken aloud, it isn’t real can carry disbelief, self-protection, or the moment when an old version of events finally loses its authority. The songs allow each meaning to take a turn. Sky begins by examining what happened, reaches the relief of saying it plainly, and finishes with a farewell that still contains movement. Her direct writing suits the title because these phrases often sound recently spoken, with the emotional consequences still arriving. Several hooks offer an answer before the surrounding feelings have fully caught up. The quieter passages restore that complexity and keep the EP connected to the uncertain period in which it was written.
photo by Aśya
Writing the track titles in sequence revealed an unexpectedly precise piece of grammar: a question, a judgment made in hindsight, a blunt declaration, a measurement of time, and a casual goodbye. I tried this on paper, which looked faintly ridiculous and proved useful anyway. The progression gives it isn’t real an internal order while preserving the messier emotions inside each stage. Sky earns the description “honest” through that arrangement. She allows frustration, relief, and lingering attachment to occupy adjacent songs, treating recovery as a series of changing reactions with their own tempos.
Isn’t It Funny and Should’ve Known establish the EP’s two main speeds during its opening stretch. The first moves from a lighter entrance into a driving rock chorus, giving Sky her broadest and most immediate invitation. Its lift arrives quickly, introducing the pop instinct that runs through the release. Should’ve Known leaves greater room around the guitar-led reflection before gathering firmer momentum. I prefer it by a small margin because its uncertainty remains active throughout the build. Sky sounds close to the event there, arranging her thoughts while the instruments gather force around her. The song reaches release while preserving the effort required to get there.
Glad He’s Gone carries the EP’s bluntest title and its brightest rush of energy, pushing the breakup into motion through a chorus designed for immediate recognition. Its directness suits the emotional stage it represents: relief has finally reached the surface and wants an audience. The calmer One Month changes the pace at exactly the right point. Its measured rock arrangement lets composure develop gradually, giving Sky space to examine what remains after the first burst of freedom. Placing these songs together expands the idea of choosing yourself. One response needs speed; the other needs time.
Throughout the EP, the guitars carry the hooks while also registering changes in Sky’s state of mind. Brighter choruses create release, quieter sections hold onto reflection, and the movement between them supplies the record’s central tension. The production favors clear builds and concise payoffs, placing the songs comfortably inside contemporary pop-rock. Their commercial clarity occasionally settles an emotion earlier than the writing has earned. One Month and See You Later hold greater interest because their moods continue developing after the initial melodic idea arrives. Sky already has a strong instinct for accessible choruses; these slower shifts reveal equal potential in the spaces around them.
The gradual rise of See You Later gives the EP an ending that respects everything still unresolved in the previous tracks. Its title carries several possible tones, from casual dismissal to a farewell with some future contact left inside it, and Sky keeps those readings active as the rock weight gathers. After the outward release of Glad He’s Gone and the steadier reflection of One Month, the closer brings both impulses into the same performance. Her voice carries resolve, while the pacing preserves a trace of hesitation. The farewell lands because it takes its time reaching the door.
Five songs give it isn’t real enough space to move from reaction toward choice while keeping the emotional timeline close to the breakup. Lia Sky understands how a strong chorus can announce confidence, and this EP becomes most persuasive when her phrasing reveals the work still happening beneath that announcement. By See You Later, resolve and hesitation occupy the same performance. Sky sounds strongest while holding both.
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