My name is Bibi Lucille, I’m an actress and writer based in London, and my new single “To Be Damned” is one of those tracks that emerged from a profoundly messy, very human place – a crossroads where guilt and existential dread collide with heartbreak, self-doubt, and some questionable late-night thoughts.
If you’ve ever found yourself wide awake at 3AM, torn apart by your own anxieties and replaying messy conversations in your head, you’ll understand the emotional soil in which this song was planted. It’s rooted in that raw exhaustion of someone seemingly pulling you closer one moment and pushing you away the next.
You know the feeling: that tired, simmering rage when you realise you have no idea where you stand with someone who’s important to you, or at least you thought they were.
Songwriting, at its best, holds up a mirror to those universal emotions that we often try to bury or downplay. “To Be Damned” leans into the heaviness – guilt, worry about how you’re being judged (by cosmic forces, family, friends, or even your own harsh inner critic), and the unsettling question of whether you’re simply flawed beyond repair.
The recurring question, “Will I be damned?” condenses all of that introspection into four short words. It reflects that stark moment when you step outside yourself to look at your life, your choices, and the lingering consequences of actions or inactions. Sometimes we ask ourselves, “Is there a point of no return? Could I have done better? What if I can’t be redeemed?”
What amplifies these feelings within the song is the interplay between the urgent desire for connection and the sharp sting of rejection. At its core, the lyric about “climbing into your mind” captures that all-consuming, desperate urge to really know someone – to the point where you almost abandon your own emotional boundaries.
It’s not enough to understand them on a superficial level; you want to inhabit their perspective and see the world through their eyes. This desire can be a kind of love, but it can also be invasive. When the other person inevitably guards their own vulnerabilities or simply withdraws, you’re left in an emotional freefall.
The result is a sense of vertigo: one moment you’re entangled in someone else’s feelings, and the next moment you’re alone with your own insecurities, not sure where you truly belong in their story or your own.
And then, of course, there’s guilt – a theme so many of us wrestle with daily. The lyric “Filthy mouth and a soul to match” is an unflinching confrontation with the aspects of myself I’m not especially proud of. It’s about the times I’ve allowed anger to speak for me or the moments I’ve made mistakes that left me feeling irredeemable.
When I wrote that line, I was reflecting on how easy it is to become your own worst enemy by turning your most painful mistakes into personal definitions of your character. You start to wonder: is redemption even possible if the cycle of guilt and self-critique never stops? In the context of “To Be Damned,” it explores the tension between the longing to be free from regret and the crushing fear that you might never outrun your worst impulses.
However, one of the aspects of the songwriting process that I truly love is leaving enough space for listeners to bring their own interpretations. The words might have sprouted from my personal experiences and self-interrogations, but once the song is out there, it belongs to everyone else just as much.
For someone else, “Will I be damned?” might not be about moral or existential reckoning at all; it could be about whether a broken relationship is salvageable, whether a job offer is going to pan out, or if they’re simply going down a destructive path.
There’s an openness inherent in music that gives each listener permission to weave their own stories into the tapestry of the lyrics. If all goes well, it becomes both cathartic and uplifting – a purge of negative emotion that, paradoxically, leaves you feeling lighter.
The creative process for “To Be Damned” kicked off, as my songwriting often does, with a phone full of half-mumbled tunes recorded at odd hours. This rough melodic seed was nurtured by some basic chords, carved to fit an upbeat bluesy framework while hinting at a rock edge towards the bridge. My two main sources of inspiration throughout this process were Hozier and Florence + The Machine.
Hozier’s music has a distinctive fusion of blues, folk, and pop, often laced with spiritual or mythological references – a quality I find endlessly fascinating. He navigates themes of godliness, earthliness, and Greek myth in a way that marries the transcendent to the human. Florence Welch, on the other hand, offers a different flavour – one that brims with emotional intensity and unapologetic feminine rage.
She can wail and lament while simultaneously celebrating the power and beauty that arise from sorrow or frustration. My aim was to blend these influences: harness that primal, earthy, and spiritual vibe from Hozier, then lace it with the unabashed passion Florence Welch is famous for.
Once I had a skeletal version of “To Be Damned,” I recorded it: just my voice and guitar. From there, I passed it on to my producer, Andrew O’Halloran, who is nothing short of a sonic wizard. We worked iteratively. He’d listen to my raw take, layer in subtle beats, and then send me experimental backing vocals to copy.
In the process of building “To Be Damned,” there were more than a few times I agonised over whether a lyric was poetic or just plain pretentious. Sometimes, all it takes is stepping away from your writing for a day (or an hour, if you’re impatient like me) and returning with fresh ears.
Something I was keen to explore in this song was a healthy dose of female rage. Considering the current global circumstances, I wanted to express the frustration, the sheer exhaustion of constantly having to be wary and finding yourself consistently feeling on edge.
The bridge is my favourite part where the lyrics “I’m Done” just repeat over and over to really drive home just how truly exhausted we all are. In a male-dominated music industry, it’s all too easy to feel overshadowed by patriarchal standards that diminish female self-esteem.
But songs like “To Be Damned” remind us that we have the power to break free from society’s imperfect models, challenging not just systemic inequality but the biases that can creep into well-intentioned feminism, too. This track stands as proof that female voices can be unapologetically loud and messy, claiming the right to define their own artistic path.
I’ve been running with this theme in a lot of my work – the idea of the imperfect feminist. Being an imperfect feminist means recognising we’re all figuring this out as we go. Sometimes we say or do the wrong thing, despite our best intentions. Owning those mistakes and listening to the people we’ve hurt is crucial. It isn’t about having all the right answers but about staying open, evolving, and trying to be more inclusive.
Each of us has a limited perspective, so humility is key. By embracing our flaws and continuing to learn, we nurture a more authentic, compassionate movement. There’s beauty in imperfection – it shows we’re human, and growth happens when we’re courageous enough to admit it.
My hope is that listeners can find a fragment of their own stories in it. Maybe you’re grappling with a tough decision that has you questioning whether you’ve stepped too far off the right path. Maybe you’re navigating a complicated relationship that teeters between closeness and rejection.
Or maybe you’re wrestling with the idea that there might be no going back from certain choices. In all those situations, if you find yourself resonating with “Will I be damned?”, know that you’re not alone – and also know there’s catharsis in voicing those big, scary questions.
So, if you choose to give “To Be Damned” a listen, remind yourself that damnation – real or imagined – isn’t the end of the story. More often than not, it’s just the beginning.
Listen to “To Be Damned” below.
Words by Bibi Lucille // Follow her on Instagram + Twitter (X)
