PinkPantheress—Victoria Beverley Walker if we’re speaking government—doesn’t just curate sound, she weaponizes nostalgia into something feverish and unplaceable. Fancy That does more than just follow up her earlier work; it melts it, folds it into vapour, and exhales it through a glittering, fractured jungle break. Call it UK garage if your tongue still works in genres, or call her a drum and bass priestess if you need ceremony. But this mixtape? It’s séance, it’s softcore time travel, it’s the echo of a ghost flirting through your walkman.

Fancy That arrives in the afterglow of Heaven Knows—Walker’s so-called debut album, though it wore the architecture of a mixtape like perfume. That project, polished internet-pop in glassy high-res, felt like a sketchbook made platinum. A flex, yes, but also a diversion. Fancy That, by contrast, feels less like a follow-up and more like a universe cracked open. It’s her glossiest effort to date, reading not only maximalist in scope, but precision-tooled in execution, trading bedroom murk for something diamond-cut and blissfully exact. 

“Stateside” finds her in lockstep with The Dare, trading drum and bass for a synth-soaked, post-Y2K stomper. Opener “Illegal” flickers with glimpses of house and sneering electroclash, meanwhile the project’s lead single “Tonight” struts like a Naomi walk through a warehouse rave—ballroom-coded, dance-ready, and dipped in nostalgic gloss. By the time “Romeo” sighs its string-y outro, it’s clear Walker isn’t chasing relevance—she’s lapping it in kitten heels. Fancy That doesn’t beg to be timeless; it couldn’t care less. It’s petulant, crisp, and unserious in the most serious way. If Heaven Knows was the girl-next-door with a Tumblr, Fancy That is her evil twin with a vintage Vivienne Westwood handbag, texting your ex from the club and leaving glitter in the Uber