On Aug. 28, Olivia Penalva released her third studio album, Exit Wounds. The record holds onto a strong pop core while weaving in more folk and rock influences than in her previous work. Across its 10 tracks, her reflective lyrics speak through guilt, grief, and growth that come with times of transition. Exit Wounds achieves a genuine overarching narrative, yet each individual song still stands comfortably on its own.
The album diverges from her previous work by leaning more into a folk-pop sound rather than her usual singer-songwriter pop. As the record progresses, the production subtly shifts more and more into folk, and the storytelling writing style naturally complements that direction. One of the most noticeable changes is the addition of banjo — something Penalva told us her producer first brought into the demo, catching her off guard. What began outside her comfort zone quickly became a texture she loved, and by the end of the project, she felt it fit the story she was trying to tell. “I really wanted to step out of being that perfect pop persona and just be something — put sounds in that were just fun and different, and [that] felt right for the song.”
And that instinct becomes a recurring thread throughout Exit Wounds, gently softening the polish of her earlier work and opening the door to the album’s folk-leaning warmth.
Exit Wounds is Penalva’s first concept album, and its 10 tracks circle similar themes, revealing a quiet transition for anyone listening closely. Emotionally, I certainly felt a growing sense of lightness as the album went on — a fading hesitation and a gradual willingness to let go of the past. The singer’s confidence grows with each song. “Distance Makes a Love Story” and “Code Blue,” released as singles earlier this year, open the album and set its pop-folk tone. Her last album ended on a homesick note, and this one opens with “Distance Makes a Love Story,” which asks if it’s possible to go back, and “Code Blue” follows with the realization — and grief — of not being able to.
The lyrics hold everyday imagery, especially in songs like “Cold Tea” and “Waiting Rooms;” the emotional ties to those images are prominent. Penalva says that while she’s often thinking of what she can talk about next, most of this imagery comes in the moment.
“I think [the images] just come to me as the feeling comes to me — ‘Code Blue’ was a good example, because at that time I was like, I just feel like I’m having an emotional Code Blue. That’s the only way I can explain it: like my past self, my emotional side of myself, is flatlined — and I’m feeling nothing or confused. So it’s just these little things that kind of come in the moment.”
True to her word, the imagery arrives exactly when the feeling does. It’s an approach that feels honest, and the songs benefit from that immediacy.
“Mercy” felt the heaviest emotionally, carrying a sense of heartache and written like a conversation and an ask for forgiveness as the speaker makes an inevitable decision to leave. “Race Car Driver”, the seventh song, caught my attention as an invitation for people pleasers to take the risk they’re considering and push the limits of what they believe they can do, even if it means judgement from those around them.
The closing song was a standout, and my favourite by far; “Getting out of Dodge” reflects on a situation that, in retrospect, was never going to last, and on leaving a place that never belonged to you. It is upbeat — the kind of song you’d sing while driving down the highway with the windows down. It’s the one I found myself humming long after I’d finished the album.
Speaking of what she’d like listeners to take away, Penalva hopes the album can serve as a reminder to go easy on oneself and take accountability for one’s own responses.
“This album was so much about finally telling yourself: I am not responsible for all that happened to me, but I’m responsible for pulling myself out of it … it’s time to figure out who you are and let go of some of those things you were holding on to so deeply.”
Going back to the album after talking with Penalva, I found new appreciation for the narrative and sound progression — and listened a bit closer for the banjo that she was initially nervous about. The songs stand on their own, but the intentionally arranged album tells a sincere story. If you’re looking for a good new folk-pop album to keep you company on your commute, add Exit Wounds to your queue.
