Proust called love reciprocal torture, Bukowski said it was stranger than grass on fire, and Olivia Rodrigo admitted it was fucking embarrassing. Yet on “Drop Dead,” the opening cut from her new album, here she is in free fall, heart on her sleeve, ready to risk everything as hope and possibility flicker over a magical night — poets, philosophers, and past lessons be damned. The song is a pure dopamine rush, built on heart-thudding percussion and glowing synths, the thrill of romance and anticipation ramping up with each euphoric line: “Kiss me, and I might drop dead.”
This could well be the giddiest we’ve ever heard Rodrigo, who wasn’t afraid to pack her blockbuster albums Sour and Guts with punky, pissed-off energy and wildly relatable, angst-filled anthems. For her third release, it might have seemed like she was ready for a simpler, googly-eyed lover-girl era — except, come on, we all know she’s too witty, too self-aware, and just too talented a songwriter to go with rose-colored confessions about a new relationship.
The title was one clue: You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love makes it clear that this project is a complex emotional ride, one that’ll turn platitudes and presumptions about love on their head. There were sonic Easter eggs dotting “Drop Dead,” which was also the first single, like a reference to the Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” and the hazy fuzz of guitars that she and longtime producer Dan Nigro went for, conjuring New Wave gods and the image of a lonely-hearted Robert Smith (more on him in a bit). All of it sets up something closer to real life as Rodrigo moves through the full arc of a relationship — the dreamy honeymoon phase, the first hints of conflict, the crushing goodbye — to achieve her most complete, musically adventurous album yet.
First, though, fireworks. The initial songs capture that feeling of falling in real time (Rodrigo has said the album is about her first “adult” relationship; many fans think she’s referring to actor Louis Partridge, whom she dated for more than a year). She’s still on a high on “Stupid Song,” a track that seems like a blissful ballad before saturated Eighties chords pipe in. “Honeybee” is a sleepier cut that dips the energy that’s been rising, but it does serve as a tender moment that establishes the deep extent of her emotions. But then anxieties start build — and if there’s something Rodrigo does well, it’s dive into her insecurities with a mix of humor and honesty. There’s a mopey synth party on “Maggots 4 Brains,” a snapshot of the yearning and neediness that takes over when there’s distance from the person she loves: “Everything feels moldy like the fruit that’s in my fridge/And everything that’s funny I wish I could tell to him.” The seams come apart a little more with each track, a testament to how perfectly she and Nigro sequenced the project, capturing the downward spiral of the relationship.
She’s blindly hopeful on “U + Me = <3,” and fully territorial on “My Way.” But the breaking point might be the stunning “Purple,” where she realizes the love she’s found also means she’s losing herself. The balladry of “The Cure” and “Begged” keep her turning the lens inward, though they threaten the momentum of the album. And if she needed to clarify her feelings more, help arrives on “What’s Wrong With Me,” when she’s joined by the Cure frontman himself. It’s a brilliant cameo; he’s been lurking everywhere on the album — nodded to constantly in the production and the lyrics — and finally he floats in, no longer an apparition but a guiding force. “I think you’re what’s wrong with me,” they sing in a line that suits both their discographies.
Rodrigo has always proudly displayed her references, drawing from Nineties rock and riot grrrl bands like Hole and Babes in Toyland on past collections, but here, she’s doing more than paying homage; she’s woven a sonic tapestry that any of her icons can fit into. Fans craving more aggressive, pop-punk energy might have trouble getting into the new sound at first, but Smith’s appearance is a testament to just how well it works. The electro-funhouse twitchiness of “Expectations,” which feels like it sprouted from a seed planted by the B-52s, adds another layer, keeping the listener on their toes.
A major strength of the album is how much Rodrigo’s storytelling has matured. For a girl who went stratospheric belting about teenage heartbreak on “Drivers License” at 17, there’s new wisdom as she comes to the brutal realization that you can adore someone more than anything and still have to let them go. She lands so many gutting lines: “If loving me means letting go and wishing me the best, then I guess I wish, I wish, I wish you loved me less,” she sings on “Less.” By the last track, “Cigarette Smoke,” she’s found a kind of peace — if not a full resolution quite yet — as she tries to move on. “The memories turn dark,” she repeats, over and over. Maybe they eventually fade, but the songs stay with you.
