Two years after her long-awaited debut album – and 14 after she was catapulted into the fame machine against her will through a tunnel of hate and mockery – there’s still so much we don’t know about Rebecca Black. Sure, she’s been candid in interviews, talking openly about her queer identity and taking ownership of the disparagement that made her. When the music starts playing, however, we come out the other end with little additional knowledge of who Black is and what’s going on beneath all the hyperpop synths and drums. 2023’s Let Her Burn hinted at some reflection in its final moments, but stopped short of digging deeper.
And it’s not like there isn’t a well of experience, life lessons, and personal growth to take from; perhaps the most frustrating thing about Black’s music is that it doesn’t tap into the most fascinating parts of what make her so iconic. She’s a curious example of someone who has grown up in the spotlight, but has managed to (mostly) turn the laughing crowd into an audience of devoted followers. Follow Black’s social media and you’ll get some reflection as she reacts to old videos of herself and talks about mental health; she’s ardently aware she can’t escape her past, so does her best to embrace it (be it with her taking ownership of her original hit “Friday” by remixing it into hyperpop oblivion, or by sewing the opprobrium into her music videos).
All this then makes her music feel all the more odd and disappointing. At its worst, it’s music that could be churned out by just about anyone, separated in substance and keenness from the person that is making it. It takes cues from Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani, Charli XCX, and Kim Petras, but rarely resonates as something as lasting and individual as that of her peers. If Let Her Burn suffered this fate, Black’s new release SALVATION goes harder still; it’s flashier, louder, a little more daring in places, yet also somehow more hollow and faceless. Like its 2023 predecessor, it reveals precious little on Black’s own being and after 21 minutes the listener may be left dazzled, but none the wiser as to who the person behind these seven tracks is. It’s music that could have come from anywhere or anyone, and that can all too easily disappear into the void once it’s over.
There is a yearning for something here though, a gambit to grasp at a grittier side and to be bolder at embracing queer love in her lyrics in a way she wouldn’t have done so before. Black explains that SALVATION is “this idea of letting some of the less-safe, less-poised, less-sweet versions of myself into my world”. If you take the time you’ll find something that meets this criteria: the title track casts away conservative prudishness with pants of “I’ll stay hot and you stay judgy”; “American Doll” ponders the effect of conforming to society’s contradicting standards until she’s “smashin’ her head into the wall”; and “Sugar Water Cyanide” is a bass-heavy club track that shows its lustful side through the age-old tact of comparing someone to addictive substances.
Granted, it’s great that Black is continuing to make the music she wants to, but SALVATION poses a difficult question to reckon with: what if Rebecca Black simply isn’t very good at making the music she wants to? The fault could lie with an excess of production: the record boasts as many producers as there are tracks (and almost double the amount of writers), and while they all seem on the same page about letting nuance go out the window, none seem particularly interested in letting Black shine through as herself. “Do You Even Think About Me?” offers a glimpse, a moment where her voice soars just that little bit before the track comes to a stop. The track retreads familiar territory from her debut (“I know that I’m still living in the same damn hole,” she sings, perhaps all too tellingly), but it does hit on a familiar cycle of regretful thinking. Snares whip the track into place and momentum builds decently; it’s nothing new, but a solid track is like a precious stone here.
And there are some other moments of enjoyment, as brief as they are. Like a lesser Kylie track, “Twist The Knife” is overstuffed with treacly disco strings and steel drum synths, yet it kind of works (until it gets stuck in a “Party Rock”-like repetition); “Tears In My Pocket” stops all too briefly at what feels like a genuine moment of reflection (“I wish I could be different / God, I wish that I was different”); and while “TRUST!” is wildly over the top with guitar riffs hat tipping Ennio Morricone and Lady Gaga-referencing lyrics, perhaps for some that’ll be the goofy overcooked Rebecca Black they want. For such a short record though (call it an album, call it an EP, call it a “project” – no one can quite seem to decide), trace moments of gold shouldn’t be so rare.
Like Let Her Burn, SALVATION will be remembered for where Black lets herself down: “Tears In My Pocket” with a wall of squiggly synths that can’t distract from a chorus that means and does nothing; “Sugar Water Cyanide” with its high-fructose hyperpop that makes it feel like it’s a minute longer with each spin; “Salvation”’s lack of transcendence it aims for; and “American Doll”’s gaudy deadpan delivery that feels suitably faceless. Coupled with clunky nonsense lyrics that reckon with no stakes or feelings (“Ride the tractor like an outlaw / Shoot me to the stars, I’m so gone”; “I locked these wrists into the chains of my revengeful vision” ) and the pieces fail to stand themselves up. In what feels like some minimal fan service, she harks back to her debut album’s theme here and there (“I would rather burn myself alive”; “You think I’m on fire, but the fire feels like paradise”). All that does is remind us that Black hasn’t stepped out of the flames. Instead all she has done with SALVATION is add fuel to the fire.
