‘Baby” by Dijon: Finding His North Star in Love and Family
Baby album cover.
Dijon’s second full length album, Baby, sounds like destiny. Inevitable, even. You can truly hear how every moment of his career, and really his life, led to this release.
The heartbreak-laced songs of his debut, Absolutely (2021), with their cycles of endings and reconciliations, have stretched into something more grounded. In the four years since, he’s moved with the likes of Bon Iver, Justin Bieber, Mk.gee; become a husband, a father. But he’s also moved deeper within himself, and you can hear it.
He’s lived more life, and so has his sound.
This new record holds that growth close and without an apology. His life is reflected from a steadier, almost domestic lens, yet the songs themselves are still jagged, insisting that he's not smoothed out the grit of his voice or his production, but he’s just found a new pull. Gone is the whiplash of “Many Times” where he deteriorated between wanting to be heard out and refusing to talk it through. Gone is the drunken mix of nostalgia and distress of “Rodeo Clown.” This time, its less volatile, no more mental tug-of-war. Clarity replaces chaos.
As a whole, Baby is the balanced sound of an artist who has finally centered, with his family as his true north star, his true guiding light.
The album opens with “Baby!,” an emotional cornerstone, it's a lullaby to his firstborn child woven with lived moments and milestones. It moves through first dates, late nights, and small intimacies, landing in the delivery room, where life suddenly shifts. The lyrics are a moment of tenderness: “Tried to laugh with my baby / But you made that face / I said, ‘If I could take your pain / You know I would, you know I would.’” It's not manhood dressed as heroism, but the honest version of meeting the moment where you can. Watching and wishing you could do more. It's the record's opening gesture; love songs to his new family through lived-in memories.
“Yamaha” follows as a heart-on-sleeve love letter with a merge of desire and devotion to a glittery and kinetic rush. He leans into the feeling, “Baby, I’m in love with this particular emotion / Can you see me in this particular emotion?” where love is almost tangible. The layered vocals give the impression of a 10-person choir backing him, all of them folding in a confession that's just as caught up in the spirit as he is. The kinetic production turns every note into a vivid revelation that's as urgent as it is sincere.
The exclamation points matter in “Higher!” and “Fire!” as they arrive as declarations. “Higher!” is gratitude delivered in a gospel-esque package, the exclamation point acts a flash of pride, a symbol awe. A jubliant rhythm lifts the chorus, framing the song as a celebration, the refrain connecting with mutual joy. “Cause you bring it all higher / That’s easy,” reflects a moment of awe and the reflection of a love that raises him. Profound in nature, and a positive counterbalance to some of his other work, showing off a true evolution of life and sound.
“Fire!” expresses the same feeling, emphasizing his support system that steadies him. “Even when I’m not myself / She tells me that I’m fine.” Its reassuring, but it pivots at a sharply delivered and devastating line: “Even if I kill myself right now / Well, the last laugh’s all on me.” The line is deeply introspective and that stands out like nothing else on the record. A stark duality lies in this song; even if you can rely on someone so completely, it can only go so far. Love can be a lifeline, so absolute, but the consequences of your own actions are yours alone. It's ironic, but it's a weight to bear.
At only a minute long, “(Referee)” could get tossed into the margins of Baby. But to dismiss it would miss the point: these restless tangents are the foundation of his songwriting. The hook “She had the time/ She gets to call it/ She referees/ It’s flags and all whistlin',” shows the sentiment of letting someone else call the shots, a concession of just being a player in the game. The bass of the song rattles with a powerful sensation as the music intensifies, it's messy in the best way. With its half-shouted lines and quick cut-off, it's essential to Baby's architecture.
Dijon has always been the master of that in-between, where usually he would give it negative space, in Baby he’s filling every gap with a cadence of something that’s more than a tangent.
“Rewind” is one of the more vulnerable admissions. One of the only moments on the record where a single, windswept guitar is beneath his line of self-interrogation: “Will his love lack light like mine?/ Will his brains back him be kind?” He psychoanalyzes himself as a father, a partner, a man. He leaves nothing but a trail of doubt and thoughts of insufficiency and even questions the fact that he’s questioning it. Each verse comes with its own anxieties, a range of memories to legacy, all before a quaint collapse. Rhetorical questions and open-ended sighs create a burden where the last line of the song is unresolved, “cause thats a lot.”
“My man” is quietly complex, exploring dependency, disappointment and placing trust in someone else. It sounds soft while simultaneously being insistent and targeted. Dwelling in half-formed frustrations that can not be fully controlled. “Loyal & Marie” is a companion to that feeling, detailing an active participation of fulfilling someone else's needs. More lines of self doubt with a push-and-pull navigation of closeness and presence.
There are still frisky and playful detours: “Another Baby!,” “Freak It” and “Automatic” keep up his streak of candid considerations of sex and intimacy. Those moments feel assured, grounded in long-term love. But the record comes to a close with true warmth. “Kindalove” is as straightforward as we’ve heard, a slow-dance in the kitchen track at its core. He accepts the peace that comes with opening your heart to “super elite kind of love,” with lines so plain and true that it feels right.
Baby feels like Dijon at his most complete. It’s not a singular mood, but a spectrum, presenting the full range of what it means to love and to be loved. The dedication coexists with his doubts, and the accountability goes hand-in-hand with joy and companionship. Its overflowing with euphoric releases, and more than anything it’s a collection of musical ecstasy. Sublime in sound, but rooted in quiet truths and contentment.
