Olivia Rodrigo didn’t just show up-she arrived in order to emotionally destroy us and based on you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love she has been remarkably successful. Open the tequila. Make those cancellations. We are about to have our feelings processed.
This 13-track project feels like a breakup text you partly expected but weren’t quite prepared for, seamlessly stitched together, daring, and so saturated in an emotional literacy you would typically call a therapist, or possibly an ex, in order to make sense of it. This may be Rodrigo’s most realized effort yet, and that’s saying a lot for a woman who had us ugly crying in our cars at 22.
The mood, from the jump of “drop dead,” sets a melancholic tone; a crisp, (7.9) that packs more weight than the score suggests, but then you slip into that coastal rock vibe with “stupid song” and “honeybee”-the signature Rodrigo flavor we know and love-an (8.3) and an (8.2), respectively, like a Fleet Mac album grown up on Tumblr. They feel easy, warm, like driving down the 101 with the windows down and the volume up.
But then “maggots for brains” appears, a hard-hitting (8.6), and abruptly, we’re jolted out of any kind of comfort. Rodrigo is making art here, and the title is a clear warning that perhaps wasn’t emphasized enough.
“my way” is the sleeper hit of the album (8.6), the one that burrows into your psyche and resurfaces only as you’re humming it while you’re trying to pay for your late-night groceries at 11 p.m., and the question, “what’s wrong with me?” (8.4), becomes your personal mantra for at least the next day, because, honestly, same, Liv.
Let’s talk about “cigarette smoke” is a perfect (10). An unreasonably, unfairly magnificent piece of music that feels like it shouldn’t exist in the same physical space and time as we do. This song would work in a 15-year-old’s Quinceañera, a wake, and a bachelorette party and be equally heartbreaking at each. This is the song. This is the one. Rodrigo has officially done something that cannot be undone, and we thank her for it.
But it can’t all be perfect, and, in the spirit of honesty from your friend with a music degree and far too many opinions, there are a few things to mention.
First: the commercial question. Rodrigo has always possessed a mainstream sensibility; the singer had a number one hit before she could legally purchase alcohol. This album ventures further into experimental territory than Sour or GUTS, combining coastal pop-rock with more sophisticated ballads, but with some decidedly surprising, almost techno-esque leanings that are both intriguing and a little jarring. It’s unknown if the radio programmers or the masses will dive headfirst into these uncharted waters with her, but the risk-and the reward-is palpable.
Second: Robert Smith. While the lead singer of The Cure is a legend who deserves to be revered, Rodrigo’s art hinges on raw feminine fragility, intimate diary entries, and a brand of makeup-stained honesty rooted in the unique sting of being a young woman experiencing love and loss. Smith’s presence doesn’t have that magical vocal chemistry Rodrigo usually pulls off, and it feels like crashing a party. We love him for being there. We do. But maybe not that.
You seem pretty sad for a girl so in love scores an 8.5 overall, and we honestly couldn’t agree more.
The album is the equivalent of a ball of yarn in the best way possible: seamlessly woven genres that you will almost forget ever existed separately, and an exploration of the way that emotional maturity can blend so well with youthful playfulness, and ambition with vulnerability.
Olivia Rodrigo is growing up in front of our very eyes and doing it both beautifully and messily, which is how it should be. “cigarette smoke” alone is worth the ticket price, and the rest is proof she knew exactly what she was doing.
Rating: 8.3/10
