EP Review: Forget Me When I’m Gone

There’s something special about an artist who can make you feel like you’ve just stumbled across someone’s diary, only to realise that the stories inside it aren’t theirs alone to tell. At 23, Aotearoa artist Sabreen has already demonstrated a knack for turning deeply personal experiences into songs that feel both intimate and expansive. Her new EP, Forget Me When I’m Gone, is a collection of stories about loneliness, love, identity, and the people who leave their mark on us. And while you might initially file this one under sad girl indie pop (my personal weakness, if you’ve read any of my previous reviews!), there’s so much more going on here.

Opening track Therapy wastes no time, kicking off with a groovy bassline. While its production may feel very much in line with the sounds dominating pop right now, Sabreen makes it her own with a catchy-as-a-cold chorus and vocals that jump into higher notes with a kind of force that feels almost like a release. My favourite moment comes just before the bridge, when an electric guitar solo shines through an instrumental-driven breakdown. But just when you think you’ve got the song figured out, Sabreen throws in one final surprise: “Open up, open up baby / Open up, I know it’s scary”, before layering the chorus over the top one last time. So while the chorus repeats throughout the track, each return brings something new.

Then comes Land Mines, with a clear shift in gears. There’s no dressing up a sad song in fun colourful production here, no upbeat instrumental to soften the blow. Instead, it opens slowly, giving Sabreen’s songwriting room to speak for itself. And if there’s one thing I’ll always make time for, it’s a good sad girl anthem.

“Truth be told I’m lonely but I love being alone / The solitude of not hearing the sirens in my room.”

I was immediately struck by the rawness of these lyrics. Again there’s no attempt to dress up the truth in elaborate imagery or descriptive prose. Of course, poetic lyricism has its place, and plenty of my favourite songwriters are masters of it. But there’s something equally beautiful about a song that simply tells you how it is, without trying to make the truth any prettier than it needs to be.

The post-chorus shows us that less really is more. There’s beauty in the details. When Sabreen sings “I walk through land mines”, the track gradually builds until what sounds like a percussive explosion erupts behind her otherwise smooth vocals. It’s a particularly effective production choice, bringing the song’s title to life without distracting from the story being told. This is where Forget Me When I’m Gone starts to show its hand: Sabreen and producer Nate Selway understand that production isn’t just there to make a song sound good, but can be part of the storytelling itself.

Nina has a distinctly folky quality, and by now, I’m starting to realise just how cohesive this project is becoming. It’s easy to categorise Sabreen’s music as sad girl indie pop and leave it at that, but each track so far has explored a different combination of genres, elements, and instrumental choices. What ties them together is Sabreen’s songwriting, which often feels as though it’s been lifted straight from the pages of a diary. The folky sound here is particularly effective in the way it complements the country-esque narrative style of the lyrics. And then comes the key change! It’s a classic move in folk and country music, and one that feels right at home here.

A quick Spotify stalk tells us Countryman was actually the first song from this project to be released. And honestly? It’s quickly become my favourite on the EP.

Where Therapy grooves and Land Mines slowly unravels, Countryman pulls everything back. A stunning orchestral arrangement sits behind Sabreen’s vocals, giving the song a cinematic quality that transports you to the world of her story. Like Nina, it follows a clear narrative, taking us from the beginning of a story through its turning points to an ending that stays with you long after the music stops.

What makes this song particularly powerful is that it’s based on the true story of Joe Kum Yung, a Chinese gold-miner who came to Aotearoa in the late 1800’s. Following a mining accident, he eventually moved to Te Whanganui-a-Tara Wellington, which was then the centre of the local Chinese community. In 1905, he was shot and killed by a white supremacist. It’s a devastating piece of history, and one that deserves to be remembered.

Sabreen doesn’t need to overcomplicate the arrangement to make that story land. By the final verse, the instrumentation has been stripped back to her voice, a cello, and delicate guitar picking. It’s gorgeous. The simplicity allows the weight of the lyrics to take centre stage. Throughout the EP, Sabreen’s light harmonies are sprinkled thoughtfully into the background, helping to build tension and soften releases in the music. Here, they’re more prominent, and all the more moving for it.

There’s something particularly important about songs like Countryman. History can feel distant when it’s reduced to names, dates, and paragraphs in a textbook. But when an artist takes a real person’s life and turns it into a story you can sit with, grieve over, and carry with you, that history becomes much harder to ignore. Sabreen isn’t simply writing a song about the past. She’s asking us to remember someone who deserves to be remembered.

Over follows on naturally from Countryman, continuing that stripped-back approach. Sabreen’s lower register really comes into its own here, offering a different side of her voice from the higher, more explosive moments of Therapy. There’s a warmth and richness to it that suits the song’s more restrained arrangement, and it makes for a lovely change of pace.

One of my favourite things about this EP is how much attention has clearly gone into the smaller production details. In the chorus of Over, the chords follow the descending melody of Sabreen’s vocals. It’s the kind of detail you might not consciously notice on your first listen, but it makes heaps of difference. Nothing feels like it’s been added just for the sake of filling space. Instead, the instrumentation seems to understand where the vocals are going and follows them there.

And then there’s The End, a Desi-folk ballad that draws on Sabreen’s South Asian roots. She’s even released an Arabic version of the song! Inspired by the love shown by Palestinians in Gaza, The End seeks to connect listeners here with the experiences of people on the other side of the world.

It’s a fitting addition to an EP so concerned with the stories we carry and the people we choose to remember. Sabreen’s approach to songwriting has always been deeply narrative, but there’s a different weight to this track. Its cinematic storytelling brings together the musical and lyrical threads we’ve heard throughout the project, while its cultural influences add another dimension to her sound.

Choosing The End as the closing track feels particularly intentional. An EP called Forget Me When I’m Gone could easily finish with a song about heartbreak, or the fear of being forgotten by someone you love. Instead, Sabreen ends with a story that reaches beyond the personal. It’s a reminder that the stories we hear, the suffering we witness, and the people we choose to hold in our hearts can change the way we see the world. Some stories aren’t ours to live, but that doesn’t mean we get to look away from them.

And that’s what makes this such a fitting conclusion. The EP feels like a library of stories, each one distinct in its sound and subject, but all connected by the same underlying question: what do we leave behind, and what do we carry with us? By the time The End fades out, it’s difficult to imagine walking away from the project without taking something with you.

For me, the real strength of this EP lies in its storytelling. Whether she’s singing about the solitude of being alone, the complicated emotions behind a relationship, or a Chinese gold-miner’s place in Aotearoa’s history, Sabreen makes each story feel worth listening to. For an emerging artist, that’s a pretty special thing. Forget Me When I’m Gone has reminded me that sometimes the songs that stay with us longest aren’t necessarily the ones with the biggest choruses or the most elaborate production. They’re the ones that introduce us to a story we didn’t know we needed to hear, and leave us a little different for having heard it.