The song itself is built on a foundation of controlled power. Kimberlin knows when to hold back and when to open the throttle, and "Champ" deploys that instinct masterfully. The production, bearing the fingerprints of Grammy-associated collaborators, never crowds the central melodic line with unnecessary ornamentation — it breathes, it swells, it earns its emotional peaks through patience rather than bombast. The chorus lands not because it is loud, but because everything before it has been carefully, almost architecturally, constructed to make that landing feel inevitable. This is the work of someone who understands tension as a compositional tool.

The music video is where the project ascends from the merely impressive to the genuinely moving. Shot over several days in Kyiv during what the production team describe as some of the most intense missile and drone attacks of the conflict, the film carries an authenticity that no studio recreation could manufacture. At one point, Kimberlin and her co-star — 16-year-old karate champion Mariia Hnes — are shown sheltering in a hallway as the city is struck. The camera does not flinch. Neither does Kimberlin's expression. It is a moment of documentary directness lodged inside a pop video, and the dissonance between those two registers produces something genuinely extraordinary.

Mariia Hnes is the moral and visual centre of the piece. Her story — refusing to stand beside a Russian athlete on the medal podium in Venice, choosing principled isolation over choreographed fraternity, while her father serves in the Ukrainian Armed Forces — is precisely the kind of quiet, unglamorous courage that rarely survives the translation into popular culture intact. Kimberlin's considerable achievement is that she has translated it without diminishing it. She positions herself not as the protagonist but as a mentor figure, a confident elder voice arriving at the moment of doubt. The relationship between the two performers reads as genuinely warm rather than staged, and that warmth is the video's beating heart.

There is a campaign attached — funding for the children of Ukrainian soldiers participating in sport — and in lesser hands, this pairing of commerce and conscience might feel awkward. Here it does not. Kimberlin has established sufficient credibility over years of consistent advocacy, crowned last April by a United Nations Humanitarian Award, that the philanthropic dimension reads as extension rather than exploitation.

British audiences, weaned on the tradition of musicians who use their platform as something more than a delivery mechanism for streaming revenue, ought to find much to admire here. "Champ" does not ask for your pity. It asks for your attention, and then it does something rather more difficult — it justifies the request.

Kimberlin is not shouting into the void. She is building, methodically and with evident craft, a body of work that documents a specific historical catastrophe through the lens of individual human dignity. "Champ" is perhaps her finest chapter in that ongoing project. Urgent, controlled, and quietly devastating.

*Released 24 February 2026*