Review Summary: This is not a commercial for vacuums.
The zeitgeist always enjoys a punching bag, and once the zeitgeist has made its mind on the punching bags and the not-punching bags, it’s etched into gospel. Is Nickelback genuinely the worst rock artist ever?
Probably not, but that’s irrelevant; they were singled out amidst the sea of post-grunge bile, and that was that. Once that joke ran out of steam, Coldpay fit the bill, then Imagine Dragons did that f*cking th-thunder song and it was a swift promotion to butt monkey. Why it seemed so different in Rebecca Black’s case was in its intensity; how hate mail cluttered the inbox of a child, in how death threats allegedly pestered their family, how a lawsuit and a contract dispute muddied waters and exposed (again) the dark corners of the music industry--it was a
mess, a mess that breeds narratives, context, and subtext, all of which inform
Let Her Burn to the extent an individual lets it. This
can be ignored and Black’s debut can, in fact, be placed in a vacuum--doing so likely exposes its faults in a manner that the aforementioned wouldn’t allow--but I do not deal in vacuums, and neither does art; it reacts, and those reactions can contain substantial intrigue.
Regardless of how much stock is put into external variables, all routes lead to this: a debut record that, while a
debut, seems more like a comeback, a response to the bullsh*t that follows lockstep with Black’s career. It can be seen in an art piece that features Black’s world burning down slowly around them, or their much-altered public image, or, hell, even the title of the damn album. The stage seems set for an act of defiance.
Is that what the 30-minute LP embodies? Well…
Yes, this is a fine, competent album that albums like a good album should. Black’s production is strong, and their gentle vocal performance purveys a sense of vulnerability befitting lyrics that lean into personal realms, however cliched they may become as they detail messy breakups, teenage-esque angst, and sexy-sexy-explicit time. In terms of variety, there’s something for everyone; a whiff of ye olde 80s comes in the likes of “Sick To My Stomach” and its dreamy synths, a tinge of modern hyperpop creeps into energetic opening duo “Erase You” and “Destroy Me”--the latter tosses in a heavy electric guitar for good measure, almost pop-punk-ish in its driving nature--“Misery Loves Company” evolves from a reverberating bass into something resembling synthwave, and so on and so on. In contemporary pop fashion, it’s designed as a grab-bag of singles where album cohesion is a happy accident rather than an intentional endeavor. Such hiccups are easily ignored when earworm choruses are in abundance, ranging from the seductive “Crumbs” and its glitchy interior to the melodic, anthemic “Look At You.” A listener is left plenty to dance to, some subtle, serene jams for late-night drives, grooves to get down to at a club, and a decent supply of hooks to tie things together. Perhaps a cut above ‘competent,’ then, in all fairness.
That being said,
Let Her Burn is not a bold artistic statement. All told, with storylines given the reigns, it’s a surprisingly timid affair when regarding the overall sound and the domineering presence of its influences. This was perhaps a purposefully cautious first step, be it for the sake of yesteryear’s drama or the melancholic aura the LP aims for, but a spade’s a spade and I don’t have a vacuum to sell you. Black’s debut is safe to a fault, dependent on its inspirations as opposed to building off of them--there’s nothing here that peers such as Charli XCX and Tove Lo haven’t attempted to greater success, to name but a few--and at its worst, it comes across as unfinished. This plagues the second half of the disc; “Cry Hard Enough” has a solid beat and delightful uptempo energy, but its quick pace and lack of progression makes it easily forgettable, while cuts such as “What Am I Gonna Do With You” and “Doe Eyed”--the former sporting a punchy beat and the latter having a sparkling piano line--fall victim to either a limp chorus or a runtime too brief to do much of anything. It’s not long before the record’s conclusion suddenly appears in “Performer,” and though it has a sturdy emotional foundation, its graceful crescendo of glittering electronics sounds somewhat anticlimactic and underdeveloped. Due to this and the release’s lack of individual identity, its electropop shenanigans begin to blend, sabotaging the diversity of the disc’s first half.
Black’s latest generally succeeds when its reserved, ethereal aesthetic meshes with the similarly restrained vocal performance, allowing tunes to adopt a delicate sadness like in “Sick To My Stomach,” or fashion themselves a darker color in the case of “Crumbs.” The hyperpop that occasionally features throughout the release--possibly a hangover from previous collabs with 100 Gecs--doesn’t really have a place in this format, and often feels undercooked where it ought to be bombastic. It gives further credence to the idea that
Let Her Burn is too afraid of breaking established molds, offering
just enough to rally against doubters while not giving a unique voice to pierce through the mainstream. These stumbling blocks are expected for an artist’s first try at putting out music to the big, bad world, but due to aforementioned circumstances,
Let Her Burn reads like a comeback despite failing to sound like one, and its brief duration leaves one wanting much more than what’s presented. The groundwork is there in the form of the album’s lead singles--”Crumbs,” “Sick to My Stomach,” and “Look At You” all bring something enjoyable to the table worth checking out. There are fleeting glimpses of beauty to be discovered here regardless; time will tell if Black’s full vision can be realized beyond those passing moments.
