Kara Major is doing something most artists in electronic music won’t touch with a ten-foot glowstick: she’s spiritualizing the party. Not in the kumbaya, sunrise-on-a-beach sense, but in a much darker way. “Can’t Control Me” is a direct confrontation with the things that have historically robbed people of their power, and in Kara’s case, those things aren’t just metaphorical. They have names. Alcohol. Expectations. Possession. Systems.
What makes this record work isn’t the production (though it’s there) or the catchy phrasing (also there). It’s the audacity of the concept. Kara didn’t just want to talk about liberation—she wanted to embody the thing that takes it from you. She literally sings from the perspective of the “spirit” that takes over when you drink. Yes, seriously. Not metaphorically. She went full possession.
That kind of move doesn’t fly unless it’s coming from someone with teeth—and Kara Major has them. Boxing champion, full-time creative, and clearly a student of both etymology and esoterica, she isn’t playing around. She references the Arabic root of “alcohol” meaning “body-eating spirit,” and whether you believe in the metaphysical or not, the point lands hard: most of us don’t know what’s really running the show when we numb ourselves.
And that’s where “Can’t Control Me” gets gutsy. It’s not just saying “I’m free.” It’s saying “I know what was controlling me—and I’m calling it out.” That’s a much riskier claim, especially in EDM, where escapism is the product and very few people want to be reminded of the demons they’re dancing with.
The track doesn’t deviate much from what the genre offers: adrenaline highs, crystalline drops, and a steady four-on-the-floor heartbeat. But thematically, Kara drags EDM to church—and not the kind with soft lighting and self-help sermons. More like an abandoned cathedral full of smoke, sweat, and shadows that whisper. Her lyrics don’t feel like slogans—they feel like warnings. Invitations. Wards.
Kara Major’s career isn’t built on shock value, but she’s not trying to be liked either. She’s trying to wake people up—and that rarely makes you popular. There’s no neat image here. She’s not selling a lifestyle; she’s surviving one. She’s not marketing healing; she’s clawing her way through it in real-time.
And that’s where the power lies. In a genre obsessed with control—over bpm, branding, Instagram grids—“Can’t Control Me” is messy, loud, weird, and unfiltered in a way that feels human. That feels earned.
Not everyone’s going to get this song. And that’s the point. The ones who’ve had to tear themselves away from something—whether it’s alcohol, expectation, or some invisible force they can’t name—will feel it in their gut.