Maude Latour is the friend you bring over that your mom adores: Behind a well-mannered smile, there’s a flair that flicks open like a confetti popper. It’s no surprise that her logo is a comic-book star, her name written in rainbow bubble letters like a meteor trail that will scream “GAY RIGHTS!” as its last words. She has a technicolor Midas touch, and on “Clean,” her fingers mold a would-be Febreeze commercial into a shiny candy pearl of pop. Sure, this is a break-up song, checked-off with the classic markers: eye-rolled “over it!” feigns (“They say she’s so great for you”), lingering delusional desperation (“If you ever wanna unblock me, please do”), other abbreviated stages of grief (anger: “I’m so sick of love”). But Latour injects sugar and glitter into life’s simple delights—the self-care of sunscreen and hydration, set to ice cream-frosted synths and whipped cream-airy backing vox—until she realises that there’s a life beyond the deleted texts and archived photos, however small it might be. “Yeah, I’m trying to keep my room clean”: It’s a small step towards independence, but with the quiet power of a shooting star.