Girls, have you ever been that ditz at a concert filming thirty seconds of a song you supposedly love, then staring at the video while the actual fucking song is still happening six feet in front of you? I totally have! Somewhere along the way, going out became social media production with drinks. Sorana’s ‘E.T.’ catches that particular brain rot and responds with the kind of medical advice I am far more likely to follow. Put the phone down, bitch! Find the speakers and move your ass until whatever TikTok convinced you was wrong with your attachment style stops feeling urgent. She calls it electronic therapy, which sounds considerably more fun than opening another TikTok about what’s supposedly wrong with me at 1:14 a.m. while drunk in an Uber. Sorana wants us back inside our own nights, sweaty enough to forget where we left the fucking phone.
The hyperpop setting makes that prescription feel gloriously excessive. ‘E.T.’ comes from the shiny end of electronic pop where everything feels designed to overload your senses until thinking becomes temporarily inconvenient. Sorana has spent years understanding what makes enormous pop songs move, and here she turns that instinct toward pure physical release. The track feels built for the point in the night when your hair has given up and the bass is doing something indecent to your body below the waist. Her upcoming album is called Electronic Therapy, and this song turns the title into a treatment plan I would happily abuse my insurance for. Give me the loud room and enough bass to make tomorrow’s problems somebody else’s shit.
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Sorana opens the lyrical argument by announcing “E.T., electronic therapy, unleash the beat” before immediately firing her actual therapist. “So I just broke up with my therapist (Really?) / That bitch was fucking out of line (Damn) / How dare she tell me I need sedatives? (Yeah, you do) / Only a little out my mind (Mind).” I love how completely unserious she lets herself be here because doomscrolling has somehow convinced half the internet that every bad Tuesday requires a diagnosis. Sorana knows she is a little fucked up. She would simply prefer to process that information under strobes. The little background responses make the whole thing sound like your girlfriends roasting you while still helping zip the tiny top you are absolutely wearing out anyway.
Then she gives the philosophy straight with “Sometimes, you gotta take your mental health into your own hands / Some nights, all you gotta do is just dance.” That line could have turned into some painfully inspirational bullshit in somebody else’s hands. Sorana has already established that this particular wellness program involves questionable decisions and club lighting, so I am willing to enroll. Her own explanation for the song makes the point even better. She talks about concerts disappearing into camera rolls and dopamine being hunted through phones when it might be waiting on a dance floor instead. She even prescribes “a little twerking at the club,” which may be the first mental-health advice I have heard lately that makes me want to put on heels.
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By the time she sings “I just wanna drink and rage and black out / I wanna make out with the speakers somewhere on the ground / I wanna reach into the sound and never come down,” the fucking phone is dead to me. “Make out with the speakers” is such a hot little piece of writing because Sorana makes the music itself feel physical. I want the bass pressed against me hard enough that somebody nearby starts wondering if they should buy us dinner first. There is something sexy about surrendering that completely to a night, especially when every app on your phone spends the rest of your life begging you to observe yourself having experiences. ‘E.T.’ wants your body involved before your brain can turn the whole thing into another goddamn postmortem.
Sorana has earned the right to be this cocky about pop. The Transylvanian-born songwriter has already passed five billion streams through work for artists including KATSEYE and Doechii, after years spent helping construct songs other people carried into the spotlight. Classical piano came first, then a songwriting career that produced major international records before Sorana pushed deeper into her own artist identity. Her solo work has increasingly embraced digital culture as both playground and target, while the woman herself designs handmade costumes and those impossible light-up wigs. Even that feels relevant to ‘E.T.’. She understands spectacle intimately enough to know the difference between participating in it and watching it through glass. This album era sounds like Sorana choosing participation.
I will probably still take one video at the next concert because apparently personal growth has limits. But ‘E.T.’ makes me want to get the clip and shove the phone back into my bag before the chorus ends. Sorana is selling a version of nightlife where the memory gets a little blurry because you were actually fucking there for it. Maybe tomorrow I remember the bass and the guy I made out with near the speakers. My camera roll can survive without evidence. If electronic therapy means I leave the club sweaty enough to forget what TikTok diagnosed me with that afternoon, Sorana can book my next session.
