Let’s talk about shedding skins. Snakes do it. So does Cormac, though his transformation, thankfully, involves less slime and scales. “The Joker & The Queen” isn’t just a song anymore. It’s a moment. A delicate exhale where Cormac, once defined by that crystalline boy treble voice, now uses layers of his new-found richness to embody something more… velvet, maybe? Vocally, it’s like watching someone step out of a shadow into the light.
The card game metaphor inherent in the song? It’s there, sure, but somehow under Cormac’s rendering, the stakes feel higher. Henry Facey’s guitar chimes in, both gentle and firm, while Dominic Ferris’ piano is the steady hand on the roulette wheel, spinning slower and slower until the ball lands: love. But not the glittering, flawless kind you find in glossy rom-com montages. No, this love is a bit worn around the edges, marked with vulnerability and that squishy thing none of us like to talk about—feeling enough, just as you are.
It’s fascinating, really, that Cormac’s very journey from angelic boy-singer to this pop-contemporary vibe feels like its own card metaphor. The kid who had all aces, now opting for humility and a quiet wisdom. He’s bet his treble voice on evolution, and the cards he’s holding today—well, they’re a different kind of royal flush.
There’s something beautifully raw about how he doesn’t over-polish the song. Where other voices might puff up and inflate the drama, Cormac keeps it understated. It’s in the space between those downplayed notes where you hear everything—the unspoken dialogue between someone letting go of old insecurities to find their place in the world again.
How often can a cover feel like both a homage and a declaration of self? Cormac offers us a subtle dive into authenticity, and just for a moment, perhaps, we see the joker in all of us—yet we’re still someone’s queen. Or king. Maybe even just… a wild card.
Safe to say, the kid’s growing up.
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