A Dream-Pop Odyssey: I Don’t Do Humidity by Bathe Alone
Bathe Alone, the shimmering dream-pop project helmed by multi-instrumentalist Bailey Crone, radiates an intimate yet expansive glow from her creative home in Atlanta, Georgia. Rooted in classical training, Crone deftly maneuvers across an instrumental spectrum that includes drums, guitar, bass, synths, and vocals, crafting soundscapes that invite listeners to lie back, surrender, and gaze inward. Her artistry evokes a rare kind of melancholic wonder – a music you can dissolve into, with lyrics and melodies that linger like the hazy warmth of a twilight sky.
Born from Crone’s journey as a touring drummer for the indie sensation Girlpuppy, Bathe Alone evolved as a deeply personal outlet for her creativity. Her music weaves intricate threads of indie rock and dream-pop, lush with crystalline synths, minor-key harmonies, and the ethereal layering of her own voice. This introspective alchemy is further refined through her collaboration with producer Damon Moon at Standard Electric studio in Atlanta, where each note becomes a brushstroke on an ever-evolving sonic canvas.
Her latest album, I Don’t Do Humidity, unfurls like an emotional diary: raw, experimental, and achingly intimate. This body of work, forged in the crucible of personal upheaval, explores themes of heartbreak, betrayal, and the burdensome weight of toxic relationships. The album’s title draws from a striking metaphor: humidity, an oppressive force that clings to the skin and spirit, mirroring the suffocating ties of a failing marriage and a stifling friendship. Crone’s reflections find voice in tracks like “Victims”, which she describes as the centerpiece of the album. The song’s chilling perspective shifts to that of “the other woman”, peeling back layers of manipulation with searing honesty.
“I wanted to scream into the void”, Crone confesses, and her music answers this yearning. The haunting single “Dreamboy” crystallizes her lyrical transparency, embodying defiance and vulnerability as she croons, “You’re not my dreamboy; he’d never break me”. These words float over shimmering instrumentals, embodying both the lightness of release and the weight of loss.
The album is a kaleidoscopic blend of the personal and universal, oscillating between buoyant, hook-laden tracks like “Blame Me” and introspective gems such as “Caramelize.” The rhythmic dance of acoustic guitars and dreamy synths forms an exquisite interplay that mirrors the emotional duality Crone explores: the tension between letting go and holding on, the dichotomy of anger and longing. Each song is a microcosm, carrying its own weather, its own storm, and its own calm.
While Bathe Alone’s music feels like a solitary reverie, Crone’s live performances expand this dream into an enveloping shared experience. Supported by a six-piece band, her shows transform studio intimacy into vibrant, layered soundscapes. From the humid glow of summer festivals to intimate venues, the band has captivated audiences alongside acts like Beabadoobee, Jadu Heart, and Last Dinosaurs. Yet even on a crowded stage, Crone’s voice and vision remain unmistakably her own—a quiet beacon in a noisy world.
The story of I Don’t Do Humidity is more than an album; it is an artifact of survival, a Polaroid of transformation, and a testament to resilience. “It was the end of something bad, and the start of something bad, too,” Crone reflects. Yet within the album’s visceral energy and emotional honesty lies a flicker of hope, a glimmer of light amid the shadows. Bathe Alone’s music invites us to confront our own turbulence, to find beauty in the wreckage, and to trust that even the heaviest storms will pass.
Looking ahead, Bailey Crone remains steadfast in her pursuit of artistic exploration. With her gaze firmly fixed on the horizon, she continues to weave her experiences into melodies and words, drawing her listeners ever deeper into the dreamlike world she creates. As the echoes of I Don’t Do Humidity linger in the air, one thing becomes clear: Bathe Alone is not just a project but a sanctuary—a space where music and emotion meet, where vulnerability becomes strength, and where art illuminates the complexity of being human.