From her debut Bad Weather, it was clear that Nanette was destined for more than fleeting recognition in South Africa’s R&B scene. With her raw, textured vocals, diaristic writing, and an instinct for melody that sounds like plain speech elevated, she carved out a lane of vulnerability and intent. Now, with her sophomore album Painfully Happy, Nanette cements herself not just as a vocalist but as a documentarian of modern love — one who insists that joy and sorrow often share the same breath.
The record opens with One More Night, where muted synth chords and a pared-back R&B groove set the stage for a quiet farewell. Nanette sings with knowing resignation, her tone shifting between scepticism and tenderness as she asks, “Will you be there for me / When it’s not popular?” The track is sparse but never hollow; the spaces around her voice sharpen every word, letting each syllable resonate. It is the perfect prologue to an album defined by contradictions — the sweetness of connection intertwined with the sting of impermanence.
Suddenly follows with brighter tones — crisp hi-hats skipping over a gently rising progression — as Nanette sings of being blindsided by love. “There’s a thin line between friends and what we are,” she confesses, her phrasing stretching and collapsing like the rhythm of breath caught between desire and fear. The song’s buoyancy carries her vulnerability, creating a tension that is as intoxicating as it is fragile.
What makes Painfully Happy compelling is its refusal to sit neatly in one genre. Nanette threads R&B’s intimacy with flourishes of Amapiano, Afrobeats, and even dancehall. Abazali, sung in isiZulu, anchors the record in her heritage, drawing on the proverb “Zingane nibolal’ abazali benu.” Sonically, it draws from the buoyant rhythms of classic South African bubblegum and pop-disco, with syncopated beats, bright melodic flourishes, and layered harmonies. The result is both nostalgic and forward-looking, placing Nanette’s voice within a rich and distinctly South African musical lineage. It is both a call to wisdom and a reminder of the cultural grounding that informs her artistry. Elsewhere, JJK — with a playful Baby S.O.N feature — folds the bounce of Amapiano into an anthem of liberation. Nanette celebrates a friend walking away from a man who didn’t deserve her, singing plainly yet powerfully: “My girl just broke up with her man / She say she don’t care.” It’s a sentiment that feels especially potent in an era where women are unapologetically choosing themselves over toxic relationships.
The palette expands further with Silent Killer, built around Afrobeat-inspired polyrhythms, and Money Can’t Save Me, which rides dancehall’s rolling basslines and offbeat accents. These shifts are never forced; instead, they speak to an artist who knows how to inhabit multiple moods. Whether reflecting on love, ambition, or life’s frustrations, Nanette uses the elasticity of rhythm and the textures of different traditions to capture the full spectrum of human experience.
Nanette’s pen shines brightest when she writes heartbreak with disarming clarity. I’m Not Psycho turns raw pain into a cinematic outpouring, while How Much Can You Really Take reveals the insecurities that accompany visibility — friends who feel like strangers, critics who wound rather than challenge.
And then there’s the closer, Letting You Go, a minimalist, reflective track that stretches beyond romantic grief into the quiet ache of familial loss. Dedicated to her late aunt, the song is sparse in instrumentation, with soft synth textures and a subtle, occasional bass that adds gentle movement without overwhelming the space. Nanette’s voice takes centre stage, calm and measured, expressing acceptance in the midst of sorrow. There’s a sense of understanding in her delivery — that letting go is necessary, even when it’s difficult — and the track carries a subtle 80s pop sensibility that frames her reflection with clarity and emotional depth.
If Bad Weather announced Nanette’s arrival, Painfully Happy is her assertion of presence. It is the sound of an artist no longer just reacting to life, but reflecting on it with perspective and poise. The contradictions she holds — joy within grief, softness within resilience — mirror the contradictions of modern existence itself.
If Bad Weather announced Nanette’s arrival, Painfully Happy is her assertion of presence. It is the sound of an artist no longer just reacting to life, but reflecting on it with perspective and poise. The contradictions she holds — joy within grief, softness within resilience — mirror the contradictions of modern existence itself.
Nanette has always sung like she is opening a diary, but here, the entries have the sweep of a novel. The result is an album that not only chronicles her growth but also offers listeners a mirror for their own. In Painfully Happy, she proves that heartbreak, survival, and self-discovery are not separate chapters — they are rhythms in the same song.
Stream Painfully Happy by Nanette.
