Your brain can have a beautifully reasoned argument for why you should never fuck this man again but your body would like to remind everyone that he does that thing with his tongue and suddenly the meeting has gone completely off the rails. This is the deeply inconvenient part of sexual chemistry nobody puts on the inspirational quote cards – the angel on one shoulder understands the problem perfectly while the devil on the other is making a compelling and fucking evil counterargument. Alivia Clark’s Dancing In Circles belongs to that horny little gap between knowing better and wanting more. She knows they should stop but she keeps negotiating herself into another round because being this close to him feels too fucking orgasmic. Sometimes your body gets the deciding vote and apparently the bitch is voting yes.
The uptempo dance-pop production makes the cycle feel good enough to repeat. The production on Dancing In Circles gives Alivia a pulsing backdrop that keeps returning to the same irresistible movement. That repetition matters because she isn’t standing outside this relationship analyzing her choices. She’s physically inside the attraction while making them. The beat keeps pulling her around again, which is precisely where she wants to be when good judgment starts losing the debate.
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Alivia tells us the arrangement immediately. “My love we’re dancing in circles / Don’t stop / But we shouldn’t do this again.” Girl. You haven’t even finished telling him this is a terrible idea before instructing him to continue. I’ve negotiated better boundaries while drunk in an Uber. The delicious part is how little time passes between recognizing the problem and volunteering for another round. By the pre-chorus, “we shouldn’t do this again” has already become “Well maybe just one more time / Cause oh it feels so right.” There goes the fucking exit strategy.
Her first verse puts the attraction firmly in the body. “I don’t have time / Still all I do is waste it / waste it with you,” she sings before getting to “lips are turning blue / I’m breathing in you like I’m dying too.” This man is apparently giving carbon monoxide with benefits. She knows he’s consuming time she supposedly doesn’t have, yet she describes wanting him with the physical urgency of needing air. That’s why the song works better as desire than regret. Alivia isn’t confused about the cycle. She keeps renegotiating herself into it because being this close to him feels too fucking good.
Then verse two starts removing any remaining innocence from the word “dancing.” “I just wanna feel the music slow / Roses scattered on the ground,” she sings before “Dripping sweat brush my neck losing all sense / Darling we do it best.” Sure, they could still technically be dancing. And I could technically invite a man upstairs at 2 a.m. because I desperately need his opinion on my throw pillows. The lyric leaves the bedroom door cracked, and the ambiguity makes it hotter. Sweat and a brush against the neck are already doing plenty of work. Then she drops “we do it best” and lets the rest of us decide precisely what it is.
That little bit of plausible deniability is where Dancing In Circles gets fun. The title can describe two people repeatedly returning to each other while the chorus gives them something literal to do together. Underneath both meanings is the same physical pull. This isn’t a woman staring at her phone wondering why she keeps answering him. She’s close enough to feel him grinding against her ass and actively losing her fucking senses. Sometimes chemistry doesn’t need a complicated psychological explanation. Sometimes he touches you in exactly the right place and suddenly your therapist’s entire body of work is in danger.
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Alivia has described the song as the push and pull of attraction with somebody you know isn’t good for you, while admitting that part of you doesn’t want the cycle to stop. The lyrics make that second part essential. “Don’t stop” keeps interrupting “we shouldn’t,” until restraint barely gets a full sentence before desire takes over again. She even returns to “Cause oh it feels so right” in the outro. There’s no dramatic morning-after reckoning waiting to punish her for enjoying herself. She ends exactly where she began, still dancing with him because apparently this particular bad idea has excellent rhythm.
Alivia Clark is a New Jersey-born singer-songwriter and actress now based in Miami whose background stretches across music and acting. Her performance history includes Carnegie Hall appearances from a young age, while her current original music has moved toward dance-pop and electronic territory. Dancing In Circles follows Breathless and makes that direction easy to understand. Alivia writes this attraction as something you experience physically before you can reason your way out of it. The club-ready production gives her somewhere to keep making the same choice.
Eventually your friends stop asking whether you’re really done with him. They’ve watched this movie. They know exactly how it ends, which is usually with you announcing that this was absolutely the last time while searching the floor for your underwear. Alivia knows the speech too. “We shouldn’t do this again.” Fine. Excellent boundary. Now his lips are near your neck and your body has apparently called an emergency meeting to overturn it. Dancing In Circles understands that sometimes going around again is the whole fucking point.
