Alemeda transforms frustration into a fierce, high-voltage release on the blistering “Broken Record,” a punk-fueled pop-rock anthem about being taken for granted and finding the strength to walk away and reclaim your self-worth.

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Stream: “Broken Record” – Alemeda

Being taken for granted leaves a mark – a slow-building frustration that eventually snaps into a louder, sharper, impossible-to-ignore breaking point.

Alemeda’s “Broken Record” turns that breaking point into a full-throttle release, a loud, unabashedly loud pop rock explosion that rushes and roars through its two-and-a-half-minute runtime with ferocious intent. Fueled by larger-than-life guitars, pounding drums, and a vocal delivery that cuts straight through the noise, the track plays like a cathartic outburst set to distortion – fierce, biting, and completely unfiltered as it barrels forward without hesitation.

Why do you only love me when I leave?
Wait ’til I disappear to say things I wanna hear
Why do you only love me when I’m gone?

F*** the boombox and the roses
Skip the cheap talk, can’t afford it
Does a broke heart get you horny?
Do you, do you find real love boring?
Don’t know what you got
’til it’s drivin’ out the lot

Released February 20 via Top Dawg Entertainment / Warner Records, “Broken Record” marks Alemeda’s first single of 2026, arriving on the heels of her sophomore EP But What The Hell Do I Know – a project that cemented her as one of alternative pop rock’s most fearless and uncompromising new voices. Raised between Ethiopia and Arizona, Alemeda has steadily built a reputation for channeling personal truths into explosive, genre-blurring anthems, blending pop instincts with rock muscle and sharp-edged lyricism. “I’m excited to be a part of the movement of alternative representation for black women,” she says, a mission that underscores both her presence and her impact. Over the past five years, she’s carved out space on her own terms, pushing against expectations while opening doors for broader representation in alternative music.

“I wrote ‘Broken Record’ about being taken for granted. It’s about not feeling appreciated until you’re gone,” she shares. That sentiment pulses through every second of the song, where absence carries more weight than presence and frustration spills over into a combustible release. “Just the general feeling of your absence is more appreciated than your presence,” she adds, distilling the track’s emotional core into a line that hits with blunt, undeniable force.

That tension drives the song’s sonic identity, where everything feels dialed up to its most extreme setting.

The guitars rip and snarl with a theatrical edge, recalling arena-sized rock grandeur while staying rooted in raw, garage-born grit; the rhythm section surges forward with relentless momentum, never letting the track settle or soften. Alemeda’s delivery matches that intensity beat for beat, her voice riding the chaos with confidence and bite, turning assertive, confrontational lyrics into moments that feel both personal and universally resonant.

Alemeda’s inner fire is unleashed with particular fury in the verses. “F*** the boombox and the roses / Skip the cheap talk, can’t afford it / Does a broke heart get you horny?” she spits, stripping away romance’s clichés and exposing the emptiness behind them. Every line lands with pointed precision, each image dismantling the gestures that once passed for care. There’s no room for illusion here – only the blunt reality of a connection built on convenience rather than commitment. Even the offhand phrasing carries weight, the way she tosses off each line making the dismissal feel earned rather than impulsive.

That refusal to dress things up gives the song its inescapable sting. The verses don’t just set the scene; they confront it head-on, peeling back layers of affection until there’s nothing left to hide behind. By the time the chorus hits, the groundwork has already been laid – the frustration defined, the pattern exposed, and the truth sitting in plain view, impossible to ignore.

The song’s resentment crystallizes into its most devastating truth in the chorus. “Why do you only love me when I leave? / Wait ’til I disappear to say things I wanna hear / Why do you only love me when I’m gone?” Alemeda isn’t asking for reassurance here; she’s exposing a pattern. Love arrives late, only once it risks losing access. Care shows up in retrospect, once presence has already been ignored. There’s a brutal clarity in that repetition, the way each line circles the same wound from a slightly different angle until the full shape of the hurt comes into focus. The chorus doesn’t plead for better treatment – it names the emptiness of affection that only appears on the verge of absence.

Why do you only love me when I leave?
Wait ’til I disappear to say things I wanna hear
Why do you only love me when I’m gone? (Woo)

That’s what gives “Broken Record” so much of its force: The hook is as catchy as it is condemning. It lands with the immediacy of a singalong, but each return cuts deeper, sharpening the song’s central grievance into a rousing, raucous anthem. Even the verses’ biting details feed back into that refrain, stripping away romance’s gestures and exposing their hollowness. By the time the chorus comes back around, it no longer feels like a question so much as a verdict.

This charged, hard-hitting spirit carries through the song’s sound, where Alemeda blends her raw, unrestrained, and unfiltered energy into a style that feels entirely and authentically her own.

“I took some inspiration from Alabama Shakes and the Dragon Ball Z Kai theme song,” she says of the track’s sound. “I also watched The Sound of Music the night before and that inspired the chorus melody.” That collision of influences lands exactly as you’d hope – bold, unpredictable, and completely singular, merging cinematic sweep with punk urgency in a way that feels instinctual rather than calculated.

No, you won’t get another chance to crawl,
you’d just dance around it
Opened up my mind and take a peek,
just to live without it
Guess you never knew me
like you thought, you’re clueless
Your broken record
playing with my heart,
let you do it all the time

What makes “Broken Record” hit as hard as it does, though, is the clarity behind its anger. Alemeda doesn’t just vent – she draws a line, reclaiming space and self-worth in the process. “I hope that listeners can take away a sense of confidence to walk away from situations where they’re not being appreciated,” she says, grounding the track’s explosive energy in purpose and empowerment. It’s that balance – between fury and intention, chaos and control – that gives the song its staying power long after its final note fades.

With “Broken Record,” Alemeda doesn’t just make noise – she makes a statement. This is pop rock at its most explosive and unrelenting, a fierce, dynamic anthem that refuses to shrink itself or soften its edges. In turning frustration into fuel and absence into power, she delivers a track that doesn’t just demand to be heard – it dares you to listen, louder every time it plays.

Alemeda recently connected with Atwood Magazine to talk about the raw energy and unapologetic honesty behind “Broken Record” – and why sometimes the clearest answer is knowing when to leave. Read our conversation below, and turn “Broken Record” up loud.

Why do you only love me when I leave?
You wait ’til I disappear to say things I wanna hear
Why do you only love me when I’m gone?

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:: stream/purchase Broken Record here ::

:: connect with Alemeda here ::

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Stream: “Broken Record” – Alemeda

A CONVERSATION WITH ALEMEDA

Alemeda: I’m a cat mom and I pride myself on healthily hating.

Alemeda: Hayley Williams and Arctic Monkeys. I’m excited to be a part of the movement of alternative representation for Black women.

Alemeda: Just the general feeling of your absence is more appreciated than your presence.

Alemeda: I took some inspiration from Alabama Shakes and the Dragon Ball Z Kai theme song. I also watched The Sound of Music the night before and that inspired the chorus melody.

Alemeda: I actually don’t love writing. I have ADD so it feels like an impossible puzzle. But I love doing melodies and I’m really big on writing how I would speak about things in real life, and that keeps it enjoyable for me.

Alemeda: I think those songs symbolize the time before I put the EP out, meaning I’ve moved on from a lot of those situations. They all hold the same messages I believe in now, I just have a different perspective on them.

Alemeda: Definitely “Don’t Call Me” and “Gonna Bleach My Eyebrows.” I think those are my favorite songs I’ve done.

Alemeda: I hope that listeners can take away a sense of confidence to walk away from situations where they’re not being appreciated, because that’s kind of what those songs meant for me.

Alemeda: Just putting out more music.

Alemeda: I’ve been listening to a lot of Hemlocke Springs, Love Spells, and Dominic Fike.

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:: stream/purchase Broken Record here ::

:: connect with Alemeda here ::

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Stream: “Broken Record” – Alemeda

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 © Marika Rose Gold

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