"The Capital Club" by Lacey Lune: Funny, Uncomfortable, and Unafraid to Ask Questions

Lacey Lune’s The Capital Club: Art Pop with Wit, Weirdness and a Point to Make.

Lacey Lune’s The Capital Club is a pop album that has quite a bit to say about the way we live today. Across 16 tracks, Lune takes aim at everything from self-care and therapy culture to branding, sex, sobriety, and the pressure to turn our personal lives into something people can consume. There’s humour in the way she approaches these subjects, but there’s also an uncomfortable side to it. Sometimes, the things we do to feel better about ourselves can become another way of selling ourselves to the world.

Musically, the album moves between indie pop, retro soul, bedroom pop, and stranger electronic sounds. Some songs lean into melody, while others feel closer to spoken-word performances or experimental pop. The shifts can be unexpected, but they fit an album that seems interested in questioning why music, identity, and even personal experiences need to fit into neat categories.

Lacey Lune’s The Capital Club: 16 Tracks About Identity, Image and Capitalism.

One of the more interesting things about The Capital Club is its take on empowerment and self-improvement. We're constantly encouraged to work on ourselves, set boundaries, heal, and become better versions of who we are. Lune looks at what happens when these ideas become part of our public image. When does being open about your struggles become a performance? And what happens when vulnerability starts feeling like something you have to package and sell? These questions run through the album without making it feel like a lecture.

“The Nurse with Wound List” is a highlight, offering a surprisingly catchy and tender moment amid the album's sharper observations. Its focus on listening feels particularly fitting within a record that questions how people communicate and present themselves. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for another person is simply pay attention, without trying to turn the experience into something about yourself.

“The Winners of Capitalism,” featuring Nada UV, takes a more biting approach. The title alone gives you a good idea of its attitude, and the song pokes at a culture where turning yourself into a product can feel like the only way to get ahead. There's something funny about that idea, but the humour has an edge. The song doesn't let you comfortably laugh at other people without considering how easily the same behaviour can show up in your own life.

Then there's “Sex Is Where We Hide Things,” which looks at intimacy as a way of revealing things about ourselves while also keeping other things hidden. It's an interesting contradiction, and one that fits the album's wider concerns. Even in our closest relationships, honesty isn't always as straightforward as we'd like to believe.

Lune's vocals help hold these different ideas together. The music can be playful one moment and uncomfortable the next, while the darker electronic production adds to the slightly off-kilter mood. Fans of artists like St. Vincent, Laurie Anderson and Fiona Apple may appreciate that willingness to mix sharp observations with unusual arrangements and personal writing.

There are moments when the album's ideas feel deliberately awkward, and not every listener will enjoy that approach. With 16 tracks exploring overlapping themes, The Capital Club also asks for a fair amount of attention. It's not necessarily the kind of record you'll put on simply to switch off after a long day. Some of its appeal comes from sitting with the lyrics and thinking about what Lune is getting at.

Lacey Lune is the musical alter ego of Jessica Rae Lundstrom, and the album's interest in identity makes that detail particularly relevant. The idea of an alter ego raises its own questions about the difference between the person we are and the version we present to others. On The Capital Club, that gap becomes part of the subject itself.

Ultimately, The Capital Club is an album for listeners who enjoy pop music with a sharper sense of humour and something to say. It's melodic, strange in places, and willing to poke at subjects that are often treated with complete seriousness. Lune's biggest strength here is her willingness to question the very things we're encouraged to turn into our identities.