“In order to rise from its own ashes, a phoenix first must burn.” Octavia E. Butler’s words from her 1998 novel Parable of the Talents speak of the classic myth, the story of rebirth, regeneration, and (perhaps most importantly) of hope. It’s hope that needs to be held onto while the flames of an inferno are surrounding, the glimmer of trust that the situation and circumstances will improve eventually. And in modern times it’s now a slogan of comfort for those in marginalised groups: It gets better.
Rebecca Black was just a year old when Butler published the above words, and at that point no one would have been able to predict the path her life would take. Anyone who’s been on the internet for a hot minute (or just anyone who knows their memes) will know Black’s name, but more likely they will know her music. When “Friday” dropped on YouTube back in 2011, society seemed to come together in one of those rare cultural moments: a song so memorable (for better or worse – though mostly the latter) that it was impossible not to talk about it. Black shot to stardom, elevated by the same flames that wanted her to crumble.
Over the following years, Black found herself in a complicated place. She owned the embarrassment of her “hit” single, looking to laugh with the crowd instead of being the butt of the joke. Follow-up singles emerged (“Saturday”, no less), a cameo here and there (TV shows, and the video for Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)”), but for the most part Rebecca Black remained a cultural stopping point, a reference in the internet’s history as opposed to a musician to be taken seriously.
Consequently it took a lot of work to build up her credit, to put value back into her stock. In recent years Black has reinvented herself, while also fully appreciating she can’t escape the shadow of her past. Her 2021 “Friday (Remix)” jackknifed the original song into hyperpop territory, gathering together a small crew of internet stars (3OH!3, Big Freedia, Dorian Electra, and Dylan Brady of 100 Gecs in the production credits) and driving the song into the ground as a parody of itself – and all with a knowing smile of sorts. The style stuck though, and her following releases catered more for this neon-lit synth heavy music. The stage then was set, and if there was a good time to release her long-awaited debut album, then it was now.
And if there’s one thing that’s ultimately surprising about Let Her Burn (apart from the fact it has taken this long to come into existence), it’s that it’s not very surprising. It’s also not nearly as awful as the internet seems to want it to be. This is 2023, and Rebecca Black is in charge of her music and making the songs she wants to (she has a writing credit on every track here), all while having some fun while doing so. “And if you’re free and you’ve got nothing better to do / Go ahead, destroy me, destroy me” she smirks knowingly on the fidgety “Destroy Me”, leaning into addressing the vitriol that has followed her throughout her career. To her credit, it would have been easy for her to mine this territory until barren, but Black keeps her side-eyed glares and kiss offs to the critics to but a few moments.
What she does instead focus on is tried and tested stories of love, lust, heartache, and heartbreak. Atop the inky noir synths on “Misery Loves Company” she pines “I just can’t stand another night on my own / I’d rather be dead than have to sleep here alone” before a peppy chorus comes into the picture, while on the White Sea-like “Sick To My Stomach” she hurts as she sees her ex moving on (“Wanted to see you sad forever / I hate her and I don’t even know her”). Elsewhere on “Doe Eyed”, she’s much more explicit in her desires (“I’m tongue-tied, but I wanna fuck you ’til the sun rise”) but, as on the empowered dominant strut of “What Am I Gonna Do With You”, the execution isn’t as convincing as the intent behind it.
This is pop music though, so it would be foolish to expect much else in terms of tangible substance, but equally the opportunity for Black to tell us more about herself, her day to day vulnerabilities and worries, is wasted – even for a musician who has lived her life in the spotlight. Final track “Performer” is the most transparent and honest sounding here, Black offering a glimpse into the struggles of connecting with others when your public persona demands something else. “Multiple versions of the same person / All of them hurting,” she laments, directing a pointed dart at the demands for pop stars to simultaneously change and remain the same with each release. “No one really knows me,” she sings, and it might be the most quietly devastating line here; we’ve seen Black’s life unfold before our eyes over the past decade and yet she feels unknown to her audience.
She’s not lacking in time to tell us more about her though; Let Her Burn runs just over a lean half an hour, which is both refreshingly brief for a pop star in this day and age, but also a frustrating missed opportunity for her to offer up more heart and and meaning to why we should still care about Rebecca Black in 2023. And considering there are moments here that don’t quite hit the mark – “Cry Hard Enough” doesn’t make enough of its R&B inflections and is gone before saying much of anything, and “Crumbs” is derailed by its stuttering breakdown and hampered by clunky wordplay – there was an opportunity for Black to soar above the eviscerated and charred wreckage of her past and come out triumphant, but Let Her Burn wasn’t realised and executed quite as well as it could have been.
One thinks then of Ani DiFranco’s “32 Flavours”, a song rich with metaphorical meaning on being the sum of your parts, living up to expectations, and the contradictions society expects of women. Particularly this verse comes to mind:
“God help you if you are a phoenix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying back”
It would seem then that Let Her Burn is Rebecca Black just flying overhead instead of victoriously soaring above the ashes. Her debut album is solid in many regards – “Look at You” is a carefree indie pop moment complete with a goofy 80s guitar solo, “Crumbs” has a sultry effortlessness to it, and a fair handful of these tracks are decent pop songs that any star would be happy to have in their catalogue – but it’s not fantastic or in any way as awesome as the sight of a rebirthed phoenix should be. Rebecca Black has undoubtedly been through the fire and flames, and while the regeneration has been fascinating and reassuring to watch, Let Her Burn comes off best when you view it as a process still ongoing. There’s still so much higher she could get. We live and hope it does indeed get better still for Rebecca Black.
