In her music, BIBI’s persona is always portrayed as someone filled with wanting, and it often takes the form of desperation. On “Life is a Bi…,” she’s incapable of living on her own. She sees the person she loves as her salvation, and her greatest fear is losing them. This emotion manifests as dominance and submission, to the extent that she even needs permission to eat her “Birthday Cake.” On “Lowlife Princess: Noir,” she sings as a character born at a disadvantage into an unfair world. The desperation of “Life is a Bi…” is still there, but it’s more aggressive. She despises herself but acts like she’ll stab anyone who tries to write her off. At the same time, she chases after desire wrapped up in love. She’s consumed by a hunger that can’t be satisfied no matter how much she consumes.
It seems she once believed that the reason she exists could be to be loved by someone. But, of course, no one can really represent salvation for someone else. The only person who can help you stand alone is you. Maybe, before she realized the plain truth, she detested everything, cursing a world where things didn’t go her way and then turning the curses inward. Love put her through pain, left her with scars, and stood firmly beyond her control. In the end, she must have detested who she had become, too, broken by love.
On “EVE: ROMANCE,” unable to endure being alone any longer, she creates a copy of herself. That’s how EVE and her clone, EVE-1, come into existence. This is how it’s explained, anyway. But looking back at the actions and emotional trajectory of BIBI the character in her previous works, it feels like she duplicates herself for the purposes of consolation. She creates a second BIBI to bring comfort to herself after longing for love. The two EVEs born in this way now take a good, hard look at love—once a purpose in life and later a downfall—from every angle.
The origin, or perhaps the shape, of love
Where and how did the emotion of love first take shape? To answer this question, she travels back to the very beginning. Try to imagine the dawn of humankind. You might see it in a religious context and picture Adam and Eve, or you might consider evolution and see the LUCA (Last Universal Common Ancestor). Regardless, what these two have in common is that they’re not alone. It’s here where a number of questions arise. What if humanity, since its inception, was never meant to be alone, incapable of existing in solitude? What if that biological fact planted the seed of the specific kind of greed we refer to as love? Without even realizing it, this is what she sings about in “Apocalypse”—how love is just as tempting as the forbidden fruit.
That definition of love is seen in “Scott and Zelda” as well. Here, BIBI metaphorically casts love and desire in the most imaginative and literary way. The story is simple on the surface—a cozy bookstore rich with the scent of wood, the young man who works there, and a girl harboring a one-sided crush on him, secretly watching him from afar. But there’s greed, longing, and repressed feelings hidden behind each and every word. Actions like “open up,” “lick,” “grab,” “turn,” “read,” and “insert a bookmark” are about more than just reading—they subtly echo the desire, and suddenly books become bodies of their own. Whether she’s directly channeling the body in “Meat,” calling herself sweet in “Sugar Rush,” or arousing sexual experience in “Burn it (feat. DEAN),” BIBI’s idea of love is essentially a sensory map for desire. To her, love is not an abstract concept but a practically primal experience.
But love is never that simple. And as if to acknowledge that, she becomes nihilistic in “Real Man”—like she’s saying everything she had longed for was utterly meaningless. The love she comes to realize after that is as emotional as it is simple—missing someone so intensely that they appear in your dreams, for instance (“Midnight Cruise”), or eating sweet “Bam Yang Gang” together. Maybe love isn’t about a brush and an embrace but about sharing the same memories and still having feelings for someone even after they’re gone. Maybe that’s another shape of love.
The spectrum of love as it unfolds through sound
BIBI pulls this emotional narrative along masterfully, but she also polishes the sonic texture into a smooth soundscape. The opening track, “Apocalypse,” sets an intriguing tone for the album with its hi-hats and synths, the distant and aloof sound grappling with the temptation of what’s forbidden. “Hongdae R&B” immediately builds on the mood with a guitar groove, painting a vivid picture of the dank alleyways in the university neighborhood. In “Meat,” the snare and bass convey the intimacy of darkness, while a jazzy saxophone solo adds a rich layer to the sensual lyrics. Tracks like the Latin-inspired “Pygma girl,” the playfully coy “Scott and Zelda,” and the boom-bap-influenced “Real Man” fill out the album by adding depth and variety.
By the time “Midnight Cruise” plays, it marks a dramatic shift in the album’s atmosphere. As previously mentioned, the song opens a chapter exploring a different shape of love, signaling the album’s second act. What’s particularly interesting about this chapter is its synesthetic approach. Bittersweet lyrics intertwine with bright musical choices, as if making the very shape of love visible to the eye or accessible to the touch. The melody is carried by synthesizers, brass, and layers upon layers of choral singing, exuding a fresh but simultaneously wistful mood. It's paired with the longing-filled lyrics, transforming melancholy into images of a summer night in the city. “Bam Yang Gang,” with its marching band sound, dances around with light, carefree steps, but a subtle bitterness lurks underneath. The longing hidden beneath the bright, cheerful melody is as sticky and thick as the namesake dessert itself.
Before I talk about myself
With “Hangang Gongwon,” yet another chapter begins. Both the musical atmosphere and the stories the lyrics tell differ from the previous chapters. Musically, they stand out for their minimalism. “Hangang Gongwon” unfolds with an understated piano, while “Bluebird” and “Winter (unreleased)” gently open up with the sound of soft guitar. Compared to the earlier tracks, these pared-down arrangements naturally draw the focus to the lyrics, and within this stripped-back soundscape, BIBI offers herself solace. She reassures herself that “the sun will rise soon” (“Hangang Gongwon”) and vows to become “a warm spring someday” and “a good person” (“Bluebird”). And as she stands on her own at the end, she hopes that, “if I wait, maybe I’ll find myself where the flow comes to an end” (“Winter (unreleased)”).
The block starting with “Hangang Gongwon” shows BIBI no longer relies on the emotions of others. Even without anyone by her side, and without needing to be validated by someone else’s love, she consoles herself and sings with the voice of someone who’s learning the art of being alone. The delicate melodies laid atop the stripped-down music no longer feel like a hand reaching out for someone else’s but one she gently pats herself on the back with. In the end, the love that fills the album is directed at BIBI herself.
In the liner notes for “EVE: ROMANCE,” she writes, “P.S. My next album will be my documentary era. I’ll be talking about myself. The good things, the bad things, and all the ambiguous things in between.” To love someone else—and above all, to tell her own story properly—she first had to deal with the dregs of all these emotions. She had to pinpoint every aspect of love that had cut her down and leave them behind. She had to heal the parts of her that are covered in scars. Now, EVE no longer needs a clone.