When I reviewed Michellar’s “Never Say Sorry,” I called it a diary entry set to music; a song that quietly refused to play by the rules of modern pop vulnerability. It was small, deliberate, and human in all the ways streaming culture tends to erase. But with “Truth Over Lies,” Michellar flips that intimacy outward. The focus shifts from the personal to the collective; from heartbreak to resistance. And somehow, it works just as well. It’s proof of range; not the “look, I can do every genre” kind, but the emotional kind: the rare ability to make both private reflection and social conviction sound equally honest.
At its core, “Truth Over Lies” is an argument not shouted, but sung. Recorded between California and South Africa, the track carries the strange electricity of distance: voices and instruments recorded oceans apart, yet somehow locked in rhythm and purpose. Michellar, whose recent late-career burst has resulted in twenty-two singles in nine months, sounds more centered here than ever. She’s not pleading. She’s standing.
Where “Never Say Sorry” lingered in fragile, late-night introspection, “Truth Over Lies” widens the frame. The lyrics look outward, addressing a world that rewards silence and confusion. You can almost hear the history behind it: forty years away from music, decades of watching the world spin, and the quiet decision to say something anyway.
What’s impressive is the restraint. Most songs that take on big subjects either inflate into self-importance or drown in production overkill. This one doesn’t. The beat never overpowers the sentiment; the synths never become spectacle. Everything sits exactly where it should. There’s a lived-in patience to the mix; a sense that Michellar and producer Anthony Bilancia know when to hold back, when to let space speak.
And yet, for all its composure, the track vibrates with conviction. The chorus doesn’t rise in volume, but in temperature; that subtle shift when belief turns into momentum. Frankie El’s harmonies slide beneath Michellar’s lead, not polishing the message but strengthening it. The effect is disarmingly human.
By the end, “Truth Over Lies” feels like a conversation that’s still happening after the song; in the listener, in the silence it leaves behind. Michellar isn’t trying to convert anyone; she’s just telling the truth as she sees it, and daring you to do the same. If “Never Say Sorry” was Michellar whispering her way through heartbreak, “Truth Over Lies” is her standing in the open air, eyes steady, voice clear. Together, they form a compelling proof of concept: that sincerity, when unfiltered and deliberate, can be as political as it is personal.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
