Written by What makes a “main pop girl”? Her persona must be distinct and captivating, familiar yet aspirational. She must be recognizable enough for commercial viability, innovative enough to diversify the market. She must either embody the cultural norms of her time or challenge them. To an extent, pop personas are designed for obsolescence—even the most iconic are fallible. And what about those who haven’t yet touched icon status? It’s the problem that shadows the vocal style and musical sensibilities of 26-year-old singer Madison Beer, whose discography to date can feel like a lowest common denominator of trends—as if pop records could develop Instagram Face. Her new album, locket, makes a rocky climb and a slow descent along the middle of the road, but its not-so-hidden gems hint at potential that outpaces her output.
Beer’s career has aligned well with the dominant aesthetics and industry priorities of the past decade and a half, dating to her first signing at age 13. Justin Bieber, the poster boy for the YouTube-to-stardom pipeline of the early 2010s, discovered Beer via an Etta James cover she posted on the platform. As bedroom pop went mainstream in the later 2010s and early 2020s, the “sad girl” became a dominant pop-star archetype, with artists like Billie Eilish, Clairo, and girl in red popularizing breathy melancholia and confessional lyrics. Beer’s first two LPs—Life Support and Silence Between Songs—merged of-the-moment “sad girl” tropes with sultry, Ariana Grande-esque runs and a vocal style colloquially known as “cursive singing.”
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Beer’s stylized, diction-averse vocals on locket don’t do much to assuage cries of “We have Ariana Grande at home!” They’re particularly egregious on “locket theme” and “angel wings,” pitch-perfect thank u, next-era impressions (minus the jaw-dropping whistle notes) that leave no room for what makes Beer’s persona unique. The crunchy synth outro of “angel wings” offers a moment’s respite from the blatant biting, but it’s tacked on like an afterthought. Immediately following is “for the night,” which sounds like Happier Than Ever’s “Billie Bossa Nova” drained of any allure. The high-energy earworm “yes baby” would gravitate to a disco ball after a couple espresso martinis; even so, Beer’s contribution to the Ray of Light-issance is so stiff compared to FKA twigs’ dancefloor gender theorizing or Addison Rae’s after-hours pool party.
Even locket’s accompanying music videos are overtly referential, starring Beer as the heroines of films like Beauty and the Beast and Jennifer’s Body. The first half of “nothing at all” makes an attempt at an Olivia Rodrigo-style closing ballad, tying the album’s thematic threads—heartbreak, growing up, romanticizing unstable relationships—into a bow. Luckily, a speedy hi-hat breakdown throws in a much-needed curveball. “I’m afraid of getting better/I’m afraid it gets too good,” Beer admits.
It’s a sentiment she explores more compellingly mid-record, in a four-song suite that describes stages of a codependent entanglement: “bad enough” sparkles with slow-building synths, using Auto-Tune to stretch Beer’s voice like glitter-infused putty. Twinkly keys on “healthy habit” underscore rose-tinted memories of a shitty ex. On “you’re still everything,” she confesses, “I only exist in the moments you’re talking to me” as lap steel glides through the background, and on the glimmering dream-disco “bittersweet,” she gets the last laugh: “I’d say I’m done crying/But baby, I don’t lie like you do.” If these four songs were a standalone EP, it would be a showcase of Beer’s pop prowess; instead they’re an island in a sea of weaker, more derivative tracks. Main pop girl stand up.
