Clearly Cursed

Why It Matters

Clearly Cursed showcases how indie acts can blend nostalgic pop‑punk with mainstream polish, signaling a broader shift toward genre‑fluid, commercially viable indie releases.

Key Takeaways

• Album blends pop‑punk with bright synths
• Lyrics remain vague despite darker themes
• Sound reminiscent of Carly Rae Jepsen
• Band rejects $1500 psychic cleanse
• Tracks maintain catchy choruses throughout

Pulse Analysis

PONY’s Clearly Cursed arrives at a moment when indie rock is increasingly flirting with mainstream pop aesthetics. By marrying fuzzy guitar riffs with polished synth textures, the band taps into the current appetite for retro‑infused, radio‑friendly tracks that still carry an underground edge. This hybrid approach not only broadens their audience but also positions them alongside acts like Charly Bliss and the resurgence of 80s‑inspired synth‑pop, illustrating how indie musicians are leveraging nostalgia to stay relevant in a crowded streaming landscape.

Beyond the sonic shift, the album’s backstory—a rejected $1,500 psychic cleanse—adds a quirky narrative layer that resonates with today’s culture of personal branding and storytelling. Artists increasingly use off‑beat anecdotes to differentiate themselves, turning personal myths into marketing hooks. For PONY, the “curse” motif serves both as lyrical fodder and a tongue‑in‑cheek commentary on the pressures of artistic authenticity, reinforcing the band’s image as self‑aware yet unapologetically pop‑centric.

Critically, Clearly Cursed demonstrates that lyrical ambiguity can coexist with emotional depth when paired with strong melodic construction. While Bielanski’s verses hover around vague self‑reflection, the soaring choruses deliver immediate catharsis, a formula that appeals to both casual listeners and discerning fans. This balance of accessibility and introspection underscores a broader industry trend: indie acts are crafting records that are instantly catchy yet layered enough to invite repeat listens, a strategy that drives streaming numbers and solidifies long‑term fan engagement.

Clearly Cursed

By Marissa Lorusso · Reviewed February 12, 2026

I’ve never seen a psychic, and not because I’m a nonbeliever; if anything, I think I’m too credulous, an easy target for a wannabe mystic with a convincing tone of voice. Not so for Sam Bielanski, singer‑songwriter of the Toronto band PONY and no such easy mark. The title of their band’s third album comes from something a clairvoyant once said: that Bielanski harbored a “dark spirit attachment,” of which the expert could cleanse them for (and here’s the catch) a cool $1500. Not unconvinced but lacking the cash, Bielanski declined, deciding to coexist with their alleged curse instead. I could take a cue from them.

Even if the psychic was right about that dark energy, you wouldn’t guess it from PONY’s sugar‑rush sound. On their first two albums, they cranked out fizzy songs flavored by the crunch of pop‑punk or a dreamy swirl of ’80s‑indebted synths. Clearly Cursed moves into even poppier terrain, sparkle‑soaked as Charly Bliss’s latest or an offering at the altar of Josie and the Pussycats. You know how a pink candy might taste like bubblegum, or watermelon, or strawberry, or peppermint? This is the experience of listening to Clearly Cursed. The overall palette that Bielanski deploys—alongside PONY founding member and guitarist Matty Morand, plus recent touring members Christian Beale (bass) and Joey Ginaldi (drums)—is undeniably sweet, and its 10 tracks boast a very stable formula: fuzzy guitars, bright synths, bubbly melodies. But there’s enough variety—a cheeky spoken‑word bridge on “Hot and Mean”; guitar fuzz on “Every Little Crumb”; sweeping pop on “Brilliant Blue” that, if you squint, could be a Carly Rae Jepsen castoff—that the record doesn’t melt into a sticky, samey mass.

Bielanski has said the album represents, broadly speaking, an attempt to rid themselves of the curse, but these songs don’t dig too deep into specifics. When Bielanski drops an intriguing detail (“walk‑in clinics,” “plated copper”) or conjures vivid bodily images like having “lips sealed with superglue” or needing to “scrape the soap off my teeth,” it highlights their overall tendency toward broad and indistinct lyrics. Despite the vagueness, their delivery is well‑honed; Bielanski seemingly cannot write a song without a banger chorus, singing them with enough buoyancy that even the album’s darker lines—“I suck at keeping promises!” “How could you die in the middle of summer?”—feel like they’ve been blown through a bubble wand.

Beneath the shimmering surface, though, there’s an undercurrent of bitterness and self‑recrimination: “Hate me for the person I’ve become,” they jeer in the chorus of “Blame Me”; “Spent three years/Thinking that you were my friend,” they admit on “Every Little Crumb.” But PONY can’t thrash—against themselves; against their enemies—without simultaneously lifting the mood, like dropping confetti into a mosh pit. That dark spirit never stood a chance.