Missing someone can produce some strange reactions. You can be genuinely happy for them while simultaneously feeling completely miserable that they are not beside you. MAMI UMAMI explore that contradiction on “(Don’t) think I like you”, a vibrant new single that transforms the loneliness of long-distance separation into a rush of alt-pop, hip-hop and dance music.
The Malmö duo, made up of Jaquelin Elamiri and Leonard Furby, approach the subject with both sincerity and playfulness. The production is packed with electronic movement, rhythmic intensity and a colourful synth-led chorus, while the vocals retain a sense of immediacy. There is no attempt to make the emotions neat or predictable. Instead, the song allows sadness, anger, denial and affection to collide.
That approach makes sense considering how quickly the song came together. Both artists had recently experienced their partners leaving for work in other cities, and the song emerged from the resulting conversation and emotional confusion. In a remarkably short period of time, they transformed their shared experience into a track that moves through the stages of grief while refusing to take any of them too seriously.
The most affecting part of “(Don’t) think I like you” is the realization that the anger is really another expression of love. The title pretends to reject the person at its center, but the parentheses tell another story. Behind the defiant words is someone who simply wants to be in the same room as the person they love. That tension gives the track its emotional punch and prevents its energetic production from becoming an empty exercise in style.
MAMI UMAMI have created something that feels both intensely personal and easy to connect with. The studio becomes a place where two friends can process an uncomfortable situation, turning loneliness into something communal, physical and even joyful. Following their AFTERwork EP and recent festival appearances, “(Don’t) think I like you” continues to show why MAMI UMAMI are such an exciting presence within Sweden’s underground scene. Sometimes heartbreak needs a ballad, and sometimes it needs a beat loud enough to dance to.
