Gracie Abrams Wears the Knife Dull on Daughter From Hell

Jade Read

Editor-In-Chief

July 24, 2026

Gracie Abrams has long been praised as one of pop's most vulnerable songwriters, but Daughter From Hell exposes the limitations of that reputation. Across seventeen tracks, Abrams spends nearly an hour circling the same emotional territory without ever finding a satisfying destination. The album is filled with songs about heartbreak, guilt, loneliness, self-doubt and fractured relationships, yet very few evolve beyond their initial premise. Rather than building toward climaxes or meaningful resolutions, many songs simply begin, linger and end.

The biggest issue with Daughter From Hell is that Abrams mistakes simplicity for depth. Throughout the album she keeps coming back to the same handful of ideas: heartbreak, broken relationships, guilt, loneliness and, especially, knives. The knife becomes her go-to way of describing heartbreak, almost as if every painful relationship somehow has to end with somebody getting metaphorically stabbed. The first time it works, the second time you understand what she's going for, but there are only so many times you can hear the same comparison before it starts losing what made it effective in the first place. Couple that with painfully basic melodies and songs that rarely seem interested in building towards anything bigger, and the album quickly falls into a cycle of introducing an idea, sitting on it for three minutes and then moving onto the next track before that idea ever has the chance to become anything more.

"Hit The Wall" tells you almost everything you need to know about where this album is heading. It is painfully basic, seeming more like a story that forgets it's supposed to begin, climax and conclude than an actual opening track. Instead, it relies on snippets of basic metaphors that tie into no greater meaning, ultimately amounting to three minutes of stagnant, uninteresting melodies topped off with faint vocals that sound more like Abrams is reading from the scratch paper she used to write the lyrics whilst those same uninteresting melodies play behind her.

Thankfully, "Death Wish" picks the album back up as a saving grace. Abrams sounds far more honest and sincere in her writing, production and vocals, slipping away from aspiring perfection and going back to what made people gravitate toward her music in the first place. The song centres around a relationship rooted in deep narcissism, and unlike the opening track, the lyrics explain that perfectly.

"Your eggshell floor is splintering now... You're everything I'll never be, you live to look for enemies... I have to bet that's lonely, could leave you with an empty house."

Her lyricism finally has somewhere to go, and that honesty serves as a much-needed pick-me-up from where the album began.

"The Knife" continues that run of stronger songs. The song stands as somebody holding onto the abuse that lingers after the conclusion of a relationship, living on through trauma and bad memories. The melody is still basic, but here it doesn't try to overcomplicate what the song is trying to say. The knife becomes a permanent pain that follows her long after the relationship has ended, and for now, the metaphor still carries enough weight to work.

Unfortunately, that consistency doesn't last for very long.

The title track should have been one of the emotional peaks of the album. An apology to her mother for acting out throughout her teenage years, how much more apologetically intimate can you get. Instead, it suffers the exact same fate as "Hit The Wall." The melody underneath is painfully basic, whilst the lyrics seem to reflect more of a royalty-free Christian song that triggers a singalong within a church crowd than a meaningful apology with any real depth behind the words she's singing. It never reaches the emotional weight the subject deserves.

Then comes "Look At My Life," which is easily one of the most frustrating songs on the album.

"Look At My Life" is one of the most painfully tone-deaf songs released in recent years, especially coming from somebody as blatantly planted into the industry as Abrams. To be clear, there is absolutely nothing wrong with being given opportunities through family connections. That has always been part of the music industry and always will be. The issue arises when it becomes difficult to recognise that privilege whilst expecting the audience to sympathise with the struggles that come alongside it.

Abrams spends the song dwelling over a self-inflicted journey that never comes to any sort of resolution. She tells us, "I got what I wanted, it doesn't sit right," but then what? What does she want now? What is she doing with everything she's been given? If you're going to spend an entire song asking those questions, surely there should be some sort of answer by the end of it. Instead, the song simply ends exactly where it started, only to be followed by a sixty-four-date tour that seems to go against the very thing she's yearning for throughout the song. Ultimately, it comes across as more tone deaf than self-aware.

By this point, another issue that's quietly been building throughout the album finally reaches its breaking point.

"Good Reason" opens with the lyric, "Took a sharp knife, more than once or twice," and by now I've become weary and tired of Abrams' bland obsession with using knives as an analogy for heartbreak. This is now the third song on the album to use that comparison, despite the third track literally being called "The Knife." The issue isn't that it's a bad metaphor because, on "The Knife," it works. The issue arises when Abrams keeps coming back to it instead of finding another way to describe the exact same emotion. At some point it stops feeling intentional and starts feeling like she's simply run out of material to write about. The melody itself is decent, almost reminiscent of a Mazzy Star throwaway, but the lyrics drag it straight back down into another piece of over-glorified pop that adds no innovation and ultimately leaves behind another song that'll probably spend the next few months lingering over the speakers of your local grocery store.

"Men Like You" is one of the most lyrically and poetically competent songs on the album because it isn't actually about men at all. On first listen, it sounds like another song aimed at an ex-boyfriend, but it's directed towards a woman who treats Abrams in exactly the same way the men in her life have. Rather than calling out somebody for stealing her boyfriend or another petty grievance we've heard countless times before, she's calling out a friend for quietly using her success as a meal ticket whilst talking behind her back. It's one of the few songs where Abrams has something new to say, and for that reason alone it comfortably stands as one of the better songs on the album.

"Sober" follows with another strong run. The song revolves around wanting somebody you can't quite reach whilst still finding yourself pulled back towards them, ultimately becoming sober from that person's love and affection. The idea is good, and the lyrics are some of the better ones on the album. Unfortunately, the melody falls back into the same safe formula that's followed Abrams from the opening track. It works, but it could've been so much more.

Gracie Abrams - Broke My Heart

"Broke My Heart" is comfortably the best song on the album. Everything that had been missing for the previous ten tracks suddenly turns up here. The piano immediately gives the song a personality that so much of the album had been lacking, whilst Abrams finally sounds like she's singing with conviction instead of whispering over another soft instrumental.

"Shine a light on it, give me a clue / No difference to you, but you just broke my heart."

The production finally works with the lyrics instead of getting in their way. Every note adds weight to what she's saying rather than simply filling space, making this one of the few songs where every part of it feels like it's pulling in the same direction. If there was one song I'd come back to after finishing the album, it'd be this one.

Unfortunately, Abrams falls straight back into the same problems afterwards. "Mews" is almost completely let down by its production. Her vocals are buried so deeply beneath effects that it genuinely sounds like somebody is moving the vocal sliders up and down halfway through the song. The lyrics become difficult to make out, meaning whatever point she's trying to make gets lost before it ever reaches the listener. The idea is there. The execution isn't.

"Minibar" is possibly the most pop-ridden song on the album. It reminds me of the outro to an early-2010s Disney Channel Original, the sort of song that would've been plastered over every trailer before disappearing six months later. The lyrics are derivative, cringe-worthy and, like so much of the album, they go nowhere. It introduces another idea, spends three minutes sitting on it and then ends before anything meaningful comes from it.

Then there's "Imaginary Friend," a song I genuinely couldn't hear without thinking of Busted's "Year 3000." Slow it down to Abrams' usual tempo and you're already halfway there. The concept had plenty of potential. An imaginary friend growing up beside you is something she could've taken in so many interesting directions. Instead, it becomes another song weighed down by vague lyricism and a melody that constantly reminds you of something you've heard before.

"Afflictions" doesn't do much to change that. Once again the production buries Abrams beneath effects she never needed, whilst the lyrics stay exactly where they started without ever digging any deeper. By this point, the album has become painfully predictable.

"Humming" follows exactly the same pattern. More basic melodies. More vague lyricism. More ideas that never become anything bigger. Rather than feeling like the album is building towards a conclusion, it feels like Abrams is simply ticking songs off a tracklist.

Thankfully, the final two songs give the album one last push. "What If It's Right?" is one of the best songs here. Bringing Marcus Mumford onto the track is a brilliant decision, with both artists singing the exact same lyrics whilst completely changing their meaning depending on who's delivering them. It's one of the simplest ideas on the album, but it's also one of the most creative.

"Cold Goodbyes" closes the album with considerably more honesty than much of what came before it. Unlike "Look At My Life," these thoughts don't feel manufactured or designed to make the audience sympathise with her. They feel genuine. Unfortunately, another plain melody stops the song from becoming the ending the album deserved.

Daughter From Hell is frustrating because every now and then Abrams reminds you exactly why she's become one of pop's biggest names. "Death Wish," "Men Like You," "Broke My Heart" and "What If It's Right?" show exactly what she's capable of. The problem is that they're surrounded by songs that settle for the first idea rather than pushing themselves any further.

By the end of the album, it feels less like you've listened to seventeen finished songs and more like you've listened to somebody's notebook before they've gone back and finished writing it. There are good ideas here. There are even great songs here. They're just buried beneath painfully basic melodies, repeated metaphors and songs that seem content introducing an idea without ever letting it become something more.

That's what makes Daughter From Hell so disappointing. Not because Gracie Abrams can't write great songs, but because this album constantly hints at one before settling for something much safer.

Edited by: Stephanie Rodriguez