Malcolm Todd’s second album, Do That Again, presents the rising singer-songwriter as an artist more interested in emotional honesty than pop-star fantasy. Rather than leaning into the larger-than-life image often attached to new pop acts, the Los Angeles-based musician keeps his focus on close-up, bedroom-pop storytelling. His sweet, lilting voice and understated production give the record a soft, intimate feel, while his lyrics balance romance, self-awareness, and small but vivid observations about modern life.
Todd first signaled that perspective on his 2025 self-titled debut, where he worried aloud that he might never break through because he was “not a Harry Styles.” On Do That Again, that kind of self-comparison gives way to a more confident, grounded voice. Songs like “I Saw Your Face” and “Breathe” show him navigating attraction, uncertainty, and emotional risk with a mix of sincerity and wit. “Breathe” pairs subtle bass movement and faint Chic-like guitar touches with a scene that suggests a hookup complicated by feeling, capturing the tension between desire and hesitation.
The album’s sound places Todd alongside a generation of genre-blending artists such as Omar Apollo, Mk.gee, and Steve Lacy, performers known for folding R&B, indie, and pop into a single, personal style. Like them, Todd works at a human scale, using minimal arrangements to make big feelings feel immediate. “Jean Skirt” uses loose, watery guitars to frame a sweaty, intimate image. “Free99” is a hazy ballad about innocence slipping away. “Difficult Love” rides a plush, hip-hop-leaning groove while leaning into the complexities of the only kind of love the singer seems to know.
One of the album’s most striking moments is “Malcolm in the Middle,” a song that references the early-2000s sitcom of the same name, on which Todd’s father worked as a writer and in which Todd appeared as a child. Rather than turning that background into a simple joke about near-fame, the track uses it as part of a more layered reflection on relationships and power dynamics. Its lines are fragile and plaintive, delivered with a kind of quiet emotional force that makes the song feel more personal than nostalgic.
Across Do That Again, Todd often sounds like a songwriter modernizing classic pop emotionalism. There are touches that may recall the warmth and melodic ease of Hall and Oates or the theatrical sparkle of Prince, but the record never feels like imitation. Instead, Todd reshapes those influences into a contemporary, homespun style, where everyday loneliness can sit beside romantic confession and where a throwaway detail can carry real weight. On “Lonely Song,” he jokes that his doorbell only rings when food arrives, turning a mundane fact into a sharp expression of isolation.
That balance of humor, vulnerability, and carefully crafted simplicity gives Do That Again its appeal. Malcolm Todd may not be chasing the image of a pop superstar, but he is building something more durable: a voice that sounds sincere, observant, and ready to turn ordinary feelings into memorable songs.
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