PRIMA QUEEN LEAVE YOU ON READ IN ALBUM DEBUT ‘THE PRIZE’ – AND THAT’S THE POINT

ALBUM REVIEW | PRIMA QUEEN – THE PRIZE by Georgina Daniels

Prima Queen’s debut album The Prize isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel, but it’s certainly sketching out some new directions on the map. Stretching across 12 tracks, the London-based (by way of Chicago and Bristol) duo explore the messiness of situationships, self-worth, and the emotional hangovers left by people who say “I love women” and then treat them like shit. There’s charm in its contradictions — some of it feels polished and purposeful, other parts teeter on the edge of amateurism — but taken together, The Prize feels like a scrapbook of lived experiences, some of which sting more than others.

Opening track Clickbait sets the tone with a warm, nostalgic glow. It’s the kind of song that feels like a childhood summer memory you didn’t actually live, all gentle guitars and soft edges. It slides straight into Mexico, a real early standout. With production that glistens and lyrics that ache with unresolved feelings (“wish we could move to Mexico”), it captures that specific brand of yearning for something that almost happened, but didn’t. Vocals drift between fragile and all-knowing, weaving in and out of slick drums that bring welcome texture. It’s a gem — sincere and sharp all at once.

Title track The Prize is bold and big-hearted, with one of the most infectious hooks on the record. “You’re the diamond, you’re the dream, you’re a peach — the prize,” they sing, in what feels like a pep talk for your best mate after dumping a walking red flag. It’s frank and fun, but doesn’t quite stick the landing — the bridge feels muddled, the vocals get a bit lost in the mix, and the sparkle wears off by the final chorus. Still, it’s a solid centrepiece that mostly earns its spot.

Then we get Oats (Ain’t Gonna Beg), which takes a sassier turn. Think Wet Leg meets a feminist diary entry. “I ain’t gonna beg for your love” is the rallying cry here, delivered with a raised eyebrow and fuzzy guitars that stomp rather than shimmer. It’s deeply relatable in a “we’ve all dated a guy who listens to Clairo and thinks that makes him emotionally available” kind of way. Equal parts vulnerable and cocky — and all the better for it.

Ugly follows with darker textures and talky vocals, shifting the mood from proud rejection to tired disillusionment. The DLR gets a name-drop (peak yearning mode, if you know you know), and the interplay between drums and minor chord inversions is downright sultry. From there, Flying Ant Day offers a brief palate cleanser — floaty and warm with honky-tonk piano and sun-soaked lines like “everyone looks so good in the mid-July sun.” It’s childlike in tone, but oddly moving. Bonus points for clever seasonal timing — releasing this pre-summer guarantees it’ll soundtrack your next walk to the offie.

But the back half of the album gets a bit murky. Meryl Streep leans too hard into well-trodden territory. Lyrics like “doing all the things we used to do together” feel like déjà vu, and not in a good way. Spaceship follows and sadly kills any momentum left — the lyric “every time we have sex I do an STI test” feels more like a clumsy overshare than a moment of insight. The fuzzed-out guitar and light harmonies clash, and while there’s a lyrical point about mistrust and non-commitment buried in there, it just doesn’t land.

By the time Fool rolls around, the fatigue sets in. It feels like The Prize’s less exciting sibling — same ideas, flatter execution. Woman and Child picks things up ever so slightly with some janky guitar work and a drum break that almost kicks things back into gear, but vocally, it’s starting to feel a bit one-note. It’s at this point that you wish this had been a tighter, more refined EP.

Closer More Credit is a bittersweet ending. It’s quiet, dreamy, sad — a fitting farewell for an album rooted in the ambiguity of undefined relationships. There’s no neat resolution, no sudden emotional breakthrough, just a soft unraveling. It’s intentionally inconclusive, and in that, kind of brilliant. You’re left sitting with the feelings, and that’s the point.

As a debut, The Prize has its standout moments and plenty of personality. It’s not flawless, but Prima Queen isn’t trying to be. There’s real strength in their storytelling, and when the production and songwriting align, the results are genuinely affecting. It’s a coming-of-age album for a generation fluent in heartbreak, sarcasm, and self-awareness. While the second half loses steam, the emotional intent remains intact. Imperfect? Yes. But if this is where they’re starting, there’s a lot to look forward to.