The first time I played ‘Best Friends’, it was three in the morning and I was still half-drunk, sprawled across my couch with glitter on my thighs and my phone lighting up the dark. My heels were kicked somewhere near the door, my earrings on the counter beside a half-finished drink. The night had burned out hours ago, but my head was still buzzing. I hit play because silence felt heavier than noise.
TIARA & His Precious Gemstones had been showing up on my feed all week—clips from their festival sets, edits of crowds moving to that Future Funk groove they’ve made their signature. The project’s built around producer and drummer TIARA with two frontwomen, Ruby and Aqua, who trade vocals the way some people trade glances. The song opens with a voice clean and aching, cutting through the synth fog with “Thinking of you / Do you miss me too?” That line felt too real, like hearing your own voice on an old message you should’ve deleted. I stayed still, knees pulled in, letting it play again because it was saying what I’d been avoiding all my life.
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Behind them, TIARA builds the world—live drums wrapped in glossy French House shimmer, bass that moves in circles, and those little synth flares that hit like déjà vu. The song breathes like Future Funk, but with a pulse that feels closer to the skin than to machinery. You can hear the city pop nostalgia in the chords, the way everything glows soft pink around the edges, but there’s weight in it too. TIARA’s production always walks that line between fantasy and confession, and ‘Best Friends’ might be his most exposed work yet. It’s the sound of connection stretched thin by distance, still trying to stay beautiful even as it starts to hurt.
Those voicemail drops hit harder than any drop could. “Hey! You’ve reached my voicemail…” then later, “I made it to the party! But… I didn’t see you anywhere.” They slip through the song like little hauntings. They sound offhand, but the nerves spill through every pause. It’s the voice of someone trying to keep their cool while their heart’s already on the line. All those half-drunk messages we’ve sent and the ones we should’ve deleted live here, too. TIARA buries them inside a beat that refuses to slow down, like motion might keep the heartbreak from landing.
When the chorus lands, everything inside the room shifts. “Cause you know I’m ride or die till the end.” The chorus loops until it stops sounding loyal and starts sounding tired. Their voices tangle together, breath against breath, carrying that edge that comes when you’re running out of ways to pretend it’s fine. The beat never lets go, steady and thick, every kick dragging up what you were trying to bury. You keep moving because stillness makes the memories too loud. When the lights dim, the ache settles somewhere deeper, quiet but still there.
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TIARA & His Precious Gemstones built their name on spectacle—sold-out local shows, festival stages glowing under strobes, that blur of glitter, sweat, and funk that turns strangers into a crowd moving as one. Onstage, TIARA handles drums and direction, Ruby and Aqua run the front like dual sirens, and together they make every beat feel cinematic. ‘Best Friends’ carries that same pulse, but stripped of the flash, it hits harder. It’s the hour after the afterparty, when the music’s gone and you’re still awake for no reason. The question hits harder in the quiet—who actually shows up when everything else fades? The song catches that moment and doesn’t let go, the one where you’re scrolling through the mess, trying to feel something that isn’t regret.
Halfway through, the track softens. “It’s not too late / Meet me halfway” lands like a hand reaching out in the dark, asking for one more chance and meaning it. The synths bloom wider, TIARA’s percussion opens up, and everything feels suspended between hope and collapse. Later comes the line “Don’t make me raise that flag / You’re my best friend I’ve ever had,” delivered with the kind of honesty that comes out after the last drink, when you’ve already said too much but don’t care anymore. It’s friendship, love, and damage all tangled together, every word pressed against the rhythm until it gives in.
By the time the final “ride or die” fades, the hook dissolves into something heavier, something that sounds like a promise someone won’t keep but can’t stop making. TIARA leaves space for that ache, the same way silence hangs after a call ends. I just sat there again, phone glowing in the dark, replaying it one more time, because it sounded like every goodbye that never got said.
