Poppy has always mastered the art of the split personality: the porcelain doll who whispers and the beast who roars, often within the same minute. With this new record, produced by Jordan Fish (who also helmed her previous album), she’s no longer chasing surprise through abrupt shifts but refining a language already in place. The result is less shocking than I Disagree was in its time, but it hits differently: more measured, more controlled in its chaos, with textural attention that betrays the producer’s hand, someone accustomed to dense and calculated sonic architectures.
Sweet turns sour
What strikes you first is how the pop melodies, almost childlike in their innocence, get systematically corrupted by industrial elements: screeching synth pads, saturated bass, electronic breaks that shatter the tempo without warning. Poppy’s voice navigates between clear singing, nearly nursery-rhyme-like, and growls or screams that surface without transition, like a mask slipping. This tension between softness and violence isn’t new for her, but here it feels more integrated, less demonstrative: you sense an artist no longer trying to prove she can scream, but doing it because the song demands it.
Production that carries weight
Jordan Fish’s fingerprints show in this layering approach that never lets the different elements smother each other. Every guitar riff, every electronic pulse occupies a precise space in the mix, giving the album an almost clinical clarity, sometimes at the expense of spontaneity. You occasionally wish that certain extreme passages, the most interesting ones no less, weren’t smoothed over by production that’s too polished, that could have let the rough edges breathe more. But this rigor has its upside: it makes the dynamic contrasts really pop, with builds toward the most brutal sections gaining impact through this careful play of space and saturation.
Inconsistency as trademark
The album’s main weakness is its lack of cohesion. Some tracks seem built for metalcore festival stages, with sharp riffs and screamed choruses, while others clearly lean toward dark, synthetic pop, almost cold. This constant swinging, which has always been Poppy’s signature, can give the impression of an album with two faces that don’t always look each other in the eye. Listeners seeking the raw brutality of I Disagree might feel frustrated by the poppier sequences, while fans of her electro-pop roots could balk at the more aggressive outbursts.
Still, this album confirms that Poppy remains a singular figure, capable of holding this stylistic split without ever slipping into gimmickry. The lyrics, written solo this time, add a more personal, almost confessional dimension in places, contrasting sharply with the artificial imagery that long defined her public persona. This isn’t the shock of a landmark record, but rather the mature confirmation of an artist who’s found her comfort zone in permanent discomfort. A demanding album, sometimes uneven, but one that rewards multiple listens to grasp all its nuances.
