. Unfortunately, most of Guts sounds like a simple continuation of Sour – there is little musical growth or thematic change, with Making the Bed and Pretty Isn't Pretty seeming like mere overhangs from her debut. A loaded takedown of a love rival (Lacy) is downright bad ('Lacy, oh Lacy / With skin like puff pastry / Aren't you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?') Admittedly, it's been eight years since I could call myself a teenager, so I might be out of the doom-loop of angst, but since when was the best way to describe a beautiful fa){kind=link}
The Drivers License singer’s second album is a precision-made slice of Gen Z melancholia – but her lyrics sometimes stick in the throat
Gone are the days when a chart-topping song, album or prestigious awards guaranteed longevity in pop music. Now, an artist can reach number 1, go viral on TikTok, rack up millions of streams and scoop a Brit, before their fame gives way overnight to irrelevance. A select few new pop stars have bucked this ruthless trend: Billie Eilish, Lil Nas X, and Olivia Rodrigo, the Disney Channel tween actress turned voice of embittered teenage girls everywhere.
When her 2021 hit Drivers License – a gorgeously sentimental reflection on unrequited love – became Gen Z’s lockdown soundtrack of choice, Rodrigo was transformed from TV star to a singer discussed in the same breath as Taylor Swift. The Brit- and Grammy-winning Drivers License has since been streamed more than 1.8 billion times on Spotify; her debut album, Sour, followed that same year, hitting over 10 billion.
All of this makes Guts, Rodrigo’s second album, a Pretty Big Deal. Her label is anticipating the kind of figures that will knock Swift off her pedestal, and there are some strong contenders among the tracks. The lead single Vampire is the best pop song of 2023 thus far – a biting, cleverly constructed takedown of a lecherous lover, while ballad of a homeschooled girl affords the 20-year-old the chance to be, for a moment, a self-deprecating young adult chatting candidly with friends about life’s inevitable disasters (“Everything I do is tragic / Every guy I like is gay”).
Unfortunately, most of Guts sounds like a simple continuation of Sour – there is little musical growth or thematic change, with Making the Bed and Pretty Isn’t Pretty seeming like mere overhangs from her debut. A loaded takedown of a love rival (Lacy) is downright bad (“Lacy, oh Lacy / With skin like puff pastry / Aren’t you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?”) Admittedly, it’s been eight years since I could call myself a teenager, so I might be out of the doom-loop of angst, but since when was the best way to describe a beautiful face as possessing the sheen of a sausage roll?