Despite its title, the record largely ditches the behind-the-scenes bummer of the entertainment business in favor of putting on a show. Even the most emotionally challenging songs on Showbiz feel lit up with the glee of self-invention, phrasing various flavors of heartbreak in the boldest, most colorful production possible. The brilliantly busy disco of “Unconditional”—which feels like the moody cousin of Annie’s “Me Plus One”—was written after her mother was diagnosed with lupus and underlines its urgent plea for a loved one to take care of themself with sudden intrusion of thrashing guitars. Fan favorite “Before You Break My Heart” flips the Supremes’ “Stop in the Name of Love” into an echoey, ecstatic banger that Justice would approve of. A rejoinder for a partner to take her feelings seriously, it’s just as striking as a labor of love: The price of using such an expensive sample is that JADE’s forsworn any royalties from the track. On “Headache,” Thirlwall’s chaotic, self-assured teasing is upended in the third act by a chasm of distortion, as she’s left gasping, “You still love me,” in a tone that’s somewhere between shell-shocked panic and disbelieving joy.
Part of what made “Angel of My Dreams” feel like such a revelation was that Thirlwall tapped into a strain of flamboyance that hadn’t already been exaggerated by hyperpop: the overblown melisma of girl-group singing. Thirlwall’s pipes have always been an incredibly powerful instrument, but her pyrotechnic vocals on Little Mix songs were often deployed to such basic and self-consciously showy ends that they seemed far less remarkable than they actually were. Her most meaningful course correction on Showbiz is to honor her music’s sense of occasion by inhabiting emotion with the full force of her voice—belting, crooning, and faux-rapping. The throbbing synth anthem “Plastic Box” would be a completely unremarkable Robyn rip in any other singer’s hands, but Thirlwall colors in gradients of feeling with overdubbed aches, sighs, and roars that make you understand her possessiveness is rooted in deep pain. “Fantasy” strikes the right balance between winking camp and unabashed sexiness. Thirlwall commands the polymorphously perverse siren song with pillowy singing that veers from Donna Summer seduction to Kylie Minogue cheesecake without ever puncturing its rosy, disco-ball mood.
JADE is at her best when she’s selling honest emotion in the most exaggerated way possible. Her capacity for slaying, however, is more unwieldy. Even though she never once lacks for commitment, her overblown stunting can trend perilously toward Drag Race spoof. The improbably capitalized “IT Girl” sells the same showbiz drama as “Angel of My Dreams” but with sneering, theatrical irony that doesn’t earn a speck of the latter’s conflicted, prismatic emotion. “Natural at Disaster” is a melodramatic break-up track addressed to a toxic friend. The song is steeped in the language of mental health, which makes her take-downs sound like they were run by her therapist first: “It’s like I’m a moth to the toxicity/You reeled me in, I’m addicted to narcissistic qualities.” Part Coyote Ugly bar dance, part cunty Ratso Rizzo, on paper “Midnight Cowboy” should be a complete disaster, but it’s somehow just the right amount of insane. Over a pounding, black-lit dance beat, JADE delivers some of the weirdest boasts in recent memory with an equally absurd degree of commitment. “I’m the ride of your life not a rental/I’m the editor, call me Mr. Enninful,” she vamps with convincing swag, if a questionable grasp of the sexiness inherent in running a magazine.
Even if she doesn’t always sell the camp, JADE comes by the extremity of her style in her own singular way. THAT’S SHOWBIZ BABY! is a romp of a record, even if it feels front-loaded with bangers—like Addison Rae earlier this year, the album is slightly overshadowed by its hot streak of singles. After years of playing nice, she’s finally torn off her strings; but more than the unrestrained havoc, it’s the finer touches that make JADE’s debut so dazzlingly her own.
