Chungha has many talents as a performer, among them silken vocals, sharp dance skills, and a downright magnetic stage presence. But what is often overlooked is her sincerity. You believe whatever comes out of her mouth, no questions asked. And this is absolutely vital on tracks like her new release, “Stress” from her latest EP, Alivio. “Stress” is a self-empowerment anthem, a genre with a razor-thin margin of error, and failures coming across as anything from trite and hollow to borderline exploitative. But Chungha is able to sell it as genuine, especially by pairing the track with an MV that launches several barbs at the commodification of stress relief.
To be alive in the modern world effectively guarantees stress. Burnout, FOMO, the general dumpster fire that is world politics: drawing breath often feels like far too much to handle. That means stress relief is big business, both as an industry and content source. It is this industry of curated wellness that Chungha skewers.
“Stress” showcases an incredibly unrelaxing environment. Not just work or school, but the yoga class and relaxation seminar Chungha crashes is the opposite of de-stressing. Everything is clean and bright, but overly so. There’s nothing genuine about these places. Rather, everything comes off as clinically sterile. No heart, just a faultless background that must stay social media ready at all times. They’re the sort of cold environments that make you so uncomfortable there’s no way you’ll actually be able to relax, so now you’re stressing out about how your de-stressing class isn’t actually de-stressing you, and down you go in that vicious cycle.
Chungha herself does very little to ease that sense of failing to de-stress. She positions herself as a cross between an inspiration and a gadfly, encouraging those in the classes to abandon the unhelpful rote checklist and instead let go of stress by actually letting go: dance, go crazy, free yourself from society’s judgements. Yet, visually, she belongs in those sterile spaces, far more than the students. Chungha’s outfits are Insta influencer flawless, nailing the aesthetic of “I just threw this on” workout chic that we all know takes two hours to prepare. But we don’t all know that, or at least, we’re not great at remembering.
On one level, we all know that the picture perfect snapshots we see on social media are posed and polished at best and fake at worst. We all know this because we all do it. On another level, though, there’s a voice that screams that only we carefully select poses or outfits, or tweak things before posting, and everyone else is as flawless as they seem.
That’s why Chungha’s killer outfits and the overly sleek, sharp choreography, though impressive and well executed, don’t sit right. Obviously she’s been styled with the latest trends, and is made up, and her hair is always done to keep it out of her face, and the shots look neat; she’s a star. Looking perfect is part of her job. But it’s also the exact same faux-relatability that the stress relief industry is pedaling.
The juxtaposition of this perfect star and her perfect backup dancers against normal looking people makes the viewer identify with the average person, feeling like a yoga failure, and want to be the flawless, utterly at ease Chungha. She is also pretending that the hours and money put into her end result don’t exist in order to make you feel a void and then sell you something to fix it, whether it’s a yoga class, a seminar, or a self-empowerment anthem. It is a toxic cycle that has become so much worse with the advent of social media and the illusion that everyone else has their life together: it’s only you that’s failing.
Which is why it’s perfect that Chungha doesn’t stay that way. As the MV goes on, her appearance gets a little messier and more human, until the final chorus hits. At that point, she switches into street clothes—loose, baggy things that I could dupe out of my closet. There is hair in her dancers faces and probably mouths, and the choreography is much less sharp, but done with more passion and abandon. People are visibly sweating. Even the sets shift from empty sterility to a swirling backdrop and floor. This is the Chunhga who is able to get everyone to join her and let go of their stress, because now she’s not creating another false image to fail to live up to. She has created a world that is a little messy and a little wild, but is much more welcoming and less stressful.
The song itself is decent. Lyrically, there is nothing remotely special: Let go of your worries, who cares about what others think, be free and don’t stress. However, it’s given some excellent production. “Stress” is very turn of the millennium, taking a lot of influence from Nu-disco and the french house that birthed it, featuring slick, polished synths that are layered to create a seamless whole. There’s a potent bassline, some lighter twinkles, an ear-worm of a hook, but all mixed deftly so that picking out the individual elements is tricky. It even has a proper bridge, allowing the track to slow and build back up for that shot of energy that comes with the final chorus.
The thing that really pops is Chungha herself. Her delivery is particularly sleek, sounding light and airy so as to complement the track and its more ephemeral qualities. But she retains her signature sincerity, coming across as someone who legitimately wants people to let go of their anxieties and rules and just dance. Topped off with some Daft Punk– esque vocorders, “Stress” is just fun, start to stop.
“Stress” is the kind of song that could easily be phoned in; left as a b-side, nothing notable about it. But Chungha’s genuine delight in dancing, and her encouragement of others to join her, plus the infectious dance beat make it an absolute joy to hear—which is good because it will get stuck in your head. Paired with the MV’s point about letting go of social media’s aesthetic-driven wellness in favor of something sloppy but sincere, “Stress” has a pretty relaxing vibe.
(YouTube. Lyrics via YouTube. Images via More Vision.)
