A low-slung hush saturates the three tracks off the EP “Things That They Don’t Know” by Alt Pop artist Sarah Meyz, each note carving through silence like a needle tracing intricate patterns into fabric. Indeed, the project feels more like a nocturnal confession than a mere musical release—an ode to fragile truths, coaxed from shadowy corners of Sarah’s mind. This short but resonant body of work, released on November 28th, channels the raw sincerity of alternative-pop, all underpinned by Meyz’s deft multi-instrumental craft and her flair for blending intimacy with universality.

“F,” the opener, emerges as a tightly wound portrayal of professional façades and that stifling fatigue bred by constant politicking. Rather than drowning in cynicism, the track’s structure—lean guitar lines, steady drums, subtle synthesizer accents—swirls into a sonic sigh of resignation. It radiates a frank exhaustion, acknowledging the quiet toll of playing endless social chess just to stay afloat.

Next, “J” shifts into a softer heartbreak, where the ache of discovering false idols ripples through Meyz’s understated harmonies. The instrumentation here is sparse yet nuanced, allowing the disappointment in her voice to linger hauntingly. It’s not bitterness that drives this piece, but something more introspective. By confronting the shattering of illusions with delicate melodic contours, Meyz recasts pain as a strange teacher, whispering half-forgotten lessons into each chord.

The final act, “S,” lifts the veil entirely. Frustration sprawls into the spotlight, though this time it is self-directed—an internal wrestling match between ambition and self-doubt. The harmonica’s poignant breaths surface unexpectedly, weaving a nearly spiritual lament. Visually accompanied by a video that portrays Meyz awakening in a barren field, the track ventures into psychological territory many artists avoid. In “S,” Meyz doesn’t just critique external turmoil; she unmasks the restless energies firing inside her own psyche.

All three songs carry an unvarnished honesty, each letter revealing a profound emotional fracture while still inspiring empathy. The instrumentation, lovingly self-produced in her home studio, projects a sense of warmth and craftsmanship. Things That They Don’t Know stands as a testament to human vulnerability—an intricate mosaic of exhaustion, disillusionment, and frustration that, rather than pushing listeners away, invites them closer to truths too often left unsaid.

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