Some albums beg for candlelight and silk sheets. uLove: Rayhan’s Version isn’t one of them. No, babe—this one’s for smoke-filled bedrooms, mascara-streaked selfies, and the kinda 3 AM texts you swear you won’t send (until you do). It’s messy, horny, haunted, and utterly addictive. Toronto’s own Rayhan slides between hip-hop, pop, and electronica like it’s foreplay, fusing the cool of heartbreak with the heat of desire. This isn’t just music. It’s the soundtrack for your worst decisions—and maybe your best.
It all starts with Broken Heart Intro, and trust me, you feel that title. It’s not subtle—it is a spoken word track, poetic, but still hits like stumbling out of the club, half-high, dialing your ex who absolutely shouldn’t pick up (but does). “I can’t get you out my head” is stated in that poetic voice. There’s trauma, sure—but also art, music, drugs, sex. He talks about loving hard until he turns to Chrome. This one lingers, caught between the flashbacks and the regret. We’ve all been there: ghosted by the version of ourselves we swore we wouldn’t lose. Rayhan’s voice flips between pain and play as he confesses, “Still miss you tho.” Girl, SAME. When love breaks bad, sometimes all you can do is throw on a beat and dance through it.
No Tomorrow — the first sinful tease from this album — doesn’t just play, it detonates. This isn’t some polite heartbreak ballad, it’s chaos in stilettos, sweaty bodies grinding under neon, a love story soaked in toxins and temptation. The track kicks off already blitzed — She on ketamine, I’m on promethazine — and from that first dizzy hit, you know you’re spiraling. This is that relationship, the intoxicating mess that blurs the line between lust, love, and straight-up addiction. I’ve lived it. That dark academia-meets-club kid disaster I couldn’t quit? Yeah, we were red flags waving proudly at 3AM, fighting harder than we fucked and yet always ending up tangled together, eyeliner smudged and sanity shredded. Rayhan nails that hot mess energy — the beat struts like it owns the night, his delivery dripping swagger and that delicious brand of jaded vulnerability. Lines like we was more than friends, more than just a fuuuuuck are so real it hurts — because we’ve all played that game. And when he punches through with I work hard and I make a career move, you start getting competitive it hits deeper; tell me why glowing up always makes lovers insecure?
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Another track is Cold, which hits differently—like that numbing moment when even tequila can’t cut through the ache. Dreamy guitars swirl while Rayhan plays poet and predator, crooning about being a “bird of prey.” It’s vulnerable and vicious, gorgeous in that sadboy-who-fucks kinda way. This one isn’t about getting over them. It’s about pretending you’re already past it while you scroll their stories.
But don’t get too deep in your feels—RUNNING FROM LOVE snaps us back into fantasy. The synths pulse, the guitars burn, and suddenly, it’s hotter than August in a room with no AC. “Running from love” but running straight into temptation. The song flirts with the idea that wanting and running can be the same thing. It’s giving sweaty sheets, whispered names, and yeah—probably a few mistakes you’ll wake up next to.
Things turn deliciously filthy with Freak Hoes. This isn’t heartbreak anymore—this is pure, unapologetic release. It’s the girls-only group chat after shots. “Shake that ass, make ya knees touch yo elbows.” Babe, that’s not a suggestion, that’s a command. The room is hazy, the bass is deep, and inhibitions are fucking GONE. “Beans in a beamer drifting in the snow… Face down ass up, that’s just how it goes.” It’s trashy. It’s hot. It’s necessary. For every sadboy anthem, you need that song that makes you scream-sing while dancing on your bestie’s couch in borrowed heels.
Bands On My Lonely flips the script again. This is late-night confessional energy when you’re tipsy and texting that guy you swear you’re “just friends” with. “Luxury fabrics, intricate designs, but nothing compares to the girl that’s on my mind.” Stop, I’m blushing. Rayhan plays it coy, but the thirst is real. He’s witty, he’s got stories, and when he says “argue in Florence”? Babe, book the flight. It’s playful and horny without losing its melancholy. Perfect for those nights when you’re equal parts romantic and reckless.
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By the time Untitled Love rolls in, things get… tender. Kinda. Think Motown with a side of “let’s fuck in the jacuzzi.” It’s soft, but it’s also dirty. “Penthouse we disturbed all floors, butt naked & her face contoured.” I mean… chef’s kiss. Rayhan makes intimacy feel dangerous and irresistible. This isn’t clean, polished romance—this is the love where you leave bite marks and take selfies after.
FIRE ALIVE and G SHOCK are tracks near the end of this collection. FIRE ALIVE aches with loneliness and addiction’s seductive pull. G SHOCK punches back with swagger and resilience, reminding us Rayhan’s not down for long.
Sincerely Yours Freestyle closes it all out like a cigarette after sex—raw, breathless, and surprisingly honest. Over smooth sax and a beat that feels like a velvet drag, Rayhan drops confessions that sting in the best way. “Couldn’t get a wedding ring, I’m onto fuckin better things,” he spits, equal parts ruthless and real. He owns the damage, admits the love, and shrugs at the scars. “I’m still learning how to navigate being a man,” he admits, tender in a way that sneaks up on you. It’s not about endings—it’s about owning every jagged edge and still swaggering into whatever comes next.
By the end of uLove: Rayhan’s Version, I wasn’t just listening—I was in it. Drunk off the chaos, high on the honesty, turned on by the contradictions. This album isn’t tidy or tasteful. It’s raw, reckless, and exactly what we need when love stops making sense. Like any good night out, it leaves you breathless, messy, and plotting when to do it all over again.
