From its first chord, “Crushing” drops you into the aftermath of what once felt thrilling and new—but now feels heavy. While many songs start with the initial rush of love or the breaking point of loss, this one begins in the weight of what that rush has become.
Sombr places you in a moment of recognition. You aren’t just missing someone—you’re missing the version of you who could walk into that love unguarded. The track asks: how does the sparkle collapse into burden? How does “crushing on someone” become “someone is crushing my soul”?
This inversion of expectation is part of what gives the song its strength. It doesn’t start with the dream—it starts with the dream turned dense. And by doing that, it sets the tone for the emotional terrain the rest of the album will cover: not just heartbreak, but how you live inside heartbreak.
Where Sombr Stands Now
Sombr (born Shane Michael Boose) has taken a clear leap with this record. From his earlier breakout singles to this full-length debut, he’s moved from bedroom-popriffs into richer, more layered production and deeper emotional writing. “Crushing” functions as the opening statement of that evolution. It’s polished enough to sound big, but intimate enough to feel personal.
Working closely with co-producer Tony Berg, Sombr doesn’t rely solely on raw vulnerability. He shapes sound to shape emotion. On this track, you’ll hear subtlest touches—music that swells and contracts, electronics that whisper rather than shout—designed to amplify a sense of emotional unease. This balance between accessibility and introspection is part of what makes “Crushing” not just a single, but a statement.
Themes: From Youthful Excitement to Emotional Exhaustion
The Shift of Familiarity into Weight
One of the core themes is the arc from early excitement to familiar pain. In the beginning, “crushing” suggests a joyful energy—wide-eyed, hopeful. But over time, the same intensity becomes a pressure. Sombr reflects on this transition: the person you adored becomes the person whose presence you struggle under. The shift is subtle but devastating because you recognise it while it’s happening.
Instead of riding the fall of love, the track captures the landing—and the limp afterward.
Longing and the Echo of the Other
Another major thread is how someone can become you. The memories, the wants, the shared routine—all become part of your internal architecture. When they leave (or change, or pull away), you don’t just lose a person—you lose part of your internal map. Sombr uses images of routine, of familiarity, and of repetition to show how deep that integration is. That’s why a breakup isn’t merely a loss—it’s an internal earthquake.
Presence Becoming Absence
Musically and lyrically, the song turns the idea of presence into something heavier. The person isn’t gone in the classic sense—they’re changed, or you’ve changed—but the difference between them then and now becomes the limbo you occupy. You’re in the same room, but it isn’t the same room. You’re the same person, but you aren’t. That duality of sameness and difference is haunting, and the song explores it with precision.
Imagined Lives Left Behind
A potent motif in the track is the “what if” scenario—those alternative lives you imagine when things collapse. The artist asks what would happen if different choices were made: different house, different time, different person. These alternate worlds aren’t fantasy—they’re emotional tools for understanding what you’ve lost. They underline that sometimes the most painful part of loss is recognizing you’ll never live those “other” lives. The song uses that to build its emotional architecture.
Crafting the Sound
“Crushing” is not just a pop song; it’s a carefully constructed emotional machine. The instrumentation supports the emotional arc rather than undermining it. Guitars ring out with a tenderness that hides tension. The drums push but don’t dominate. Sombr’s vocal sits front and centre but is processed in places, giving the sense of being in a room, but listening to the rehearsal of your feelings.
The production choices amplify the emotional duality. Consider the pacing: not slow and mournful, but steady, like someone trying to carry on despite the hurt. That pulse mirrors the protagonist’s heart: the body continues, the mind stutters.
The sound design sits at the point where pop hooks meet indie mood—so you can feel it on first listen, but you also find new layers after multiple plays. That means the song functions both as immediate hit and deep cut.
Scenes & Emotional Vignettes
Let’s unpack some of the scenes the song evokes: a person walks past a store at night, thinking about the one they lost; the kitchen is cold, or the bed is empty or the routines that felt mundane now feel mournful. Sombr uses these everyday images to convey extraordinary pain—not because the images are dramatic, but because they’ve become heavy.
There’s the image of the other person elevated into ideal (“my Madonna”), contrasted with the narrator’s sense of being pushed aside. That dichotomy — pedestal versus pariah — is a familiar one, but the song explores how that imbalance breeds isolation. When you feel less in someone’s world, your world shrinks.
Then there’s the vantage of aging within that emotional moment—how what once felt new now feels long. The song captures the fatigue of feeling younger than you are inside, of still holding on when life is asking you to let go. That internal age mismatch is subtle but resonant.
Placement in the Album & Artist’s Arc
As the very first track on I Barely Know Her, “Crushing” sets the tone. It doesn’t lull you. It doesn’t allow you to soften into the music. It presents the tension right away. In doing that, it signals that this album isn’t going to neatly tie up emotional knots. It’s not about healing—it’s about feeling.
In Sombr’s trajectory, this placement shows ambition. His earlier releases connected with youth and heartbreak, but this one starts with the heavy side of those themes: the weight, the aftermath. It shows he’s ready to deal not just with love, but with post-love, not just with you, but with you still in the room when you’ve gone. You can hear the same inward struggle reworked later on in I Wish I Knew How to Quit You.
Critics noted that the track stands out for its duality and musical maturity. One review of the album called I Barely Know Her a “breakup album in the traditional sense” and specifically pointed to “Crushing” as a moment where Sombr “announces his presence with overdriven … saturation.” ([turn0news2]) That shows how this track is seen as not just one more song, but a career pivot.
Why It Resonates
“Crushing” holds resonance because it captures a universal truth: we carry our crushes, our loves, our lost loves, even when the story should have ended, or perhaps never began in a clean way. It’s about what stays behind when the fireworks are spent and the social media posts stop. That emotional shadow is familiar to many, yet few songs give it such presence.
The song also balances accessibility-with-depth. The mango size hook draws you in; the nuance keeps you staying. You don’t have to have lived the exact story—but you can sense the weight of someone you once loved who still pulls on your mood. And that makes the song personal without being exclusive.
Production helps—this isn’t mid-tempo filler. It commands attention. That means for casual listeners it works; for deep listeners it rewards. That dual layer expands its reach—which is why it holds appeal.
Listening With Purpose
If you’re engaging with this track in a meaningful way, here’s a method:
- Use a quiet space where you’re unlikely to be disturbed.
- Sit or lie down. Notice your surroundings: do they echo your memory of someone?
- Listen to the first sweep: feel the tone, emotion, instrumentation.
- On the second pass, pay attention to what the narrator isn’t saying. What’s held back.
- After the song finishes, take a moment of quiet. Let the echo of the voiceless parts settle.
- Reflect: What person still has emotional priority in your mind though they left thousands of days ago? What routine reminds you of them? How does your “now” feel when their “then” pops in?
The aim isn’t to make you sad—it’s to make you aware. The truth might not be closure; it might be acceptance of the ache. And that is big.
Final Thoughts
“Crushing” is an emotional heavy-lift disguised as a shimmering indie-pop track. Sombr doesn’t offer clean endings. He doesn’t waive off the pain. He doesn’t brandish revenge. Instead, he invites you into the middle of it. You’re in the room, the heart still beating, the door still open—or maybe closed, you’re unsure.
That is the power. That is the artistry. The song refuses neatness. It respects the mess. And in doing so, it resonates. Sombr doesn’t just sing about heartbreak—he sings about what happens when the excitement fades and the habit stays. When the person you once crushed on becomes the one crushing your soul.
Press play. Let the weight of it move through you. And recognise that you don’t always need to walk out of the shadow of someone—even acknowledging you’re there is a step.