She’s the press conference, we’re the conversation…
[Video]
[7.09]
Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: As previously noted, all of Olivia Rodrigo’s art-punk moments are perfectly calibrated toward critics who wish that 1993 never ended, but it’s a schtick that works. If Rodrigo was not a tremendously skilled performer, both as vocalist and actor, this would feel tedious. The way she sneers and whispers and whines functions incredibly in her system; the music is slightly too pristine (Dan Nigro, for all of his skills as a producer, has still not figured out how to make distorted guitars sound not-Mutt Langeian), but Rodrigo’s calculated derangement elevates her surroundings into something glorious. It helps that the lyrics — co-written by Annie Clark, who tried and mostly failed to access this kind of heat the last three albums — are actually caustic and not just fake-mean. The spite is self-directed, the call coming from inside the house.
[9]
Alfred Soto: Annie Clark’s responsible for the intentional melodic cul-de-sacs in the verses, I assume, while the star and Dan Nigro took care of the chorus’ expected clatter. I wouldn’t mind “Obsessed” on the radio played between “Like That” and “Fortnight,” but she’s done better than its metaphoric flatness.
[6]
Oliver Maier: Didn’t realise there were other bonus tracks, I’ve been too busy rinsing “so american” [8]. This one is another showcase of Rodrigo’s efficient songwriting style: funny, expository verses line up the pins for a bowling ball hook to come screaming down the lane and annihilate them.
[7]
Andrew Karpan: “Obsessed” is her sharpest rawk record yet, containing the best application of this guitar riff I’ve heard in a decade. In elevating her conceit to a literal ex-lover battle royale, perhaps something of a gender-twist on Scott Pilgrim, she turns it into something that provokes, like all good Olivia records do. A torch song for nostalgia culture, trapped by the soft, easy comfort of foreclosing on the dreams of yesterday’s future, trapped inside a past whose sounds it will never escape. “I remember every detail you have ever told me, so be careful, baby,” she says. Don’t say we weren’t warned.
[7]
Leah Isobel: I usually enjoy Olivia’s intellectual approach, but “Obsessed” feels so precisely, studiously engineered to be the kind of song that teenagers call “sapphic” that it ends up losing me.
[5]
Taylor Alatorre: “I like [Olivia] with the melodies, I don’t like [Olivia] when she acts tough.”
[3]
Nortey Dowuona: Somehow this is not the most unflattering portrait of a theater kid whose talent and charm won’t win them the undivided loyalty of their partner, and by extension their audience, that we’re covering this week. But at least in four years/four months/yesterday we won’t be regretfully disavowing it, so full points!
[10]
Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Teenage romance at its most entertaining: unhinged, mean-spirited, and untethered from reality. Olivia, ride those “la-da-da-da, da-da-da”s all the way to the bank.
[8]
Mark Sinker: My favourite bassline, my favourite MBV callback, my favourite mood…
[10]
Isabel Cole: For me, Rodrigo’s defining moment as an artist remains the opening of SOUR: not “brutal,” which is a bop, but the little intro, where she cuts off some dramatic strings to announce before the guitars kick in: “I want it to be, like, messy.” I find that moment endearing because it feels like she’s trying to convey that she’s aiming for a certain artistic rawness, but doing so in a way that undermines her goal by calling attention to the effort involved in striking the pose. It’s a sweetly teenaged thing to do, the musical equivalent of cutting up your jeans just so. Unfortunately, the reason I think about it whenever I hear one of her songs is that I can never quite shake the sense that she’s playacting at all these big emotions. Her vocal affectations — bananies-and-avocadies whisper-singing, a deliberately tuneless wail — are common enough in the pop girl universe, and I have nothing a priori against them, but on her they always feel like affectations, lacking pathos or bite. She sings like she’s doing an imitation of someone else, even though she writes her own songs. Sometimes she serves up a jam regardless, but on “obsessed” the hooks are not landing. The track is too muted for tension or darkness, too polished for its own rock-star fantasies.
[4]
Katherine St. Asaph: I hate that I don’t hate being pandered to this hard.
[9]