Guest Column Album Review: Sour
Written by Diego Fugazzi Original Publishing Date: September 21st, 2022 Rating: 2/5
Following the massive success of her record-breaking single Driver's License, Olivia Rodrigo, pop’s purported next big thing, delivers a debut album that is devoid of personality, originality, and content to settle for homogeneous mediocrity.
Sour
Artist Olvia Rodrego Genre Pop Label Geffen Production Dan Nigro Release Date 2021
Oh, the Hydra of adolescence; how Shakespearean it is in its unyielding tribulation: heartbreak, longing, regret, these are the hallmarks of this godforsaken experience that few if any are lucky to survive without any lasting lacerations. Olivia Rodrigo knows this better than perhaps any other young adult on the planet. She makes this unfettered enlightenment the primary focus of her major label debut, the aptly titled SOUR. She also makes it the only focus. This in itself is not necessarily detrimental. Some of the greatest music ever produced has been born of the languish of woebegone romance; Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks, Mitchel’s Blue, and Clapton’s Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs being among some of the most compelling and prominent examples. However, mentioning these far superior works feels like blasphemy in the face of discussing an album as trite and vacuous as SOUR.
To hear Rodrigo sing it, with quasi-gut-wrenching sincerity on nearly every moment of this album, you’d think prior to dousing listeners with her emotional Clorox, she’d just suffered what is arguably the greatest failed romance of the century. It certainly seemed this way to me as I endured her plight on my fourth and final listen. But perhaps this bit of facetious interpretation is born of my own ignorance; thus far in my life, I have only been in one serious relationship, which to my great fortune ended on amicable terms. Listening to SOUR, is it easy to ascertain that this same fortune did not befall Rodrigo, as only heartbreak of this scale can bring one to feel so dreadfully anguished. It is in this vein that SOUR fails most spectacularly: for someone as understanding of emotional devastation, as Olivia Rodrigo seemingly is, the end result could not be less indicative of this.
Opener brutal right away establishes the atmosphere of tawdry kitsch that is to plague the ensuing ten tracks, one that is composed lyrically and musically of retread and redundancy. Syrupy strings lead into Rodrigo smirkingly rejecting this bait-and-switch by stating “I want it to be like, messy.” In retrospect, it’s harrowing to me how ominously foretelling this opening lyric is. Premonitions do not get more accurate than this. Vigor-less guitar shredding spliced by robotic acoustic strums and by-the-numbers drums follow in scrappy, angsty tandem, rendering the whole affair a botched attempt at pop-punk purity. Some bass hums are also mixed in. Rodrigo adds her trademark smattering in her best Courtney Love impression by caterwauling: “I’m so sick of seventeen / Where’s my fuckin’ teenage dream?” Presumably on a better album. “Ego crush is so severe / God, it’s brutal out here.” I find myself unpleasantly reminded of 21 Pilots atrocious single Stressed Out, which also dolled out vapid social media caption lyrics in equal measure. As far as album openers go, brutal is successful in one fashion only: laying out the substrate for what is to come. I guess that awards it some degree of merit.
Traitor subsequently ushers in the primary, musical motif of SOUR: Rodrigo’s penchant for wispy, lovelorn ballads á la Adele, another artist who has achieved massive success with the one-trick pony approach of desolate and disparate love songs that still glimmer with a faint optimism. The track is even more flat and lifeless than the one that preceded it, settling for a thoroughly languid composition, what with its bedroom pop production that climaxes with eye-rolling crescendos while Rodrigo belts the chorus, “Guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor.” Look forward to hearing this particular track blasting out of your teenage daughter’s laptop speakers when her conventionally attractive boyfriend dumps her for the most buxom cheerleader on the cheer squad.
I would like to interject for a brief moment in the midst of this condemnation to recommend a track by an artist on an album that while similar in nature to Olvia Rodrigo’s mischievous melancholy, is executed far more sharply, while also being far more rich and rewarding: Smile, the opener of Lily Allen’s excellent post-Britpop 2006 LP Alright, Still. In the interest of not spoiling too much about this superb track, all I will further add is that Smile is among my most favorite tracks of all time, one that fully embodies the notion that contemporary popular music can be universally appealing while sacrificing none of its sting, precocity, or shrewdness. This notion more than any other is what is utterly lost on Rodrigo’s music.
Arriving at drivers license, the album’s smash hit lead single and power ballad, I already knew from having encountered the track at nearly every locale in which the Billboard Hot 100 is played on rotation that to expect a stylistic change was nil. Drivers license has all the scintillating appeal of a somber young adult reciting a particularly judicious diary entry while seated at the piano, delicately arranging the most gloomy keys. This is all the track is, and nothing more. Like traitor, drivers license favors mellow bedroom pop, accompanied by cloying piano and light hand claps, which transitions into a Taylor Swift-esque bridge-chorus climax that fully encompasses the plight of lovesick suburban teenagers the nation over. It also unfavorably reminds me far too much of Billie Eilish’s equally impactless style of whisper-singing, which is a trend I hope dies out sooner rather than later.
Deja Vu is the album's best track in terms of production, employing a very enjoyable twee/lo-fi Indie instrumental that builds beautifully and is one of the album’s only highlights. However this one positive is completely impaired by Rodrigo’s continued lyrical obsession with her failed relationship, this time manifesting itself in verses like: “Strawberry ice cream in Malibu / Don’t act like we didn’t do that shit too.” Deja vu also contains a reference to Billy Joel’s 1983 Top Ten hit Uptown Girl, in which Rodrigo chastises her ex for using the Doo-wop staple as a means of seeming like quite the sophisticated casanova with his new significant other. It would almost be endearing if it wasn’t so cringe-inducing. Rodrigo additionally makes the fatal error of referencing a far more enjoyable and enduring pop hit on her own fallow track, which for this pedantic critic inhabits the highest pantheon of lyrical blunders.
At this point, the excessive schmaltz of SOUR is finding me quite eager for it to be over. But alas, it and I continue. Good 4 U finally manages to shake things up sonically, this time fully embracing the pop-punk pastiche that was hinted at on the album opener. Opening bass chords segue into a thoroughly enjoyable guitar-driven jam, with instrumental interplay being succinct and satisfying. Rapid fire drum fills add a robust muscle to the track as well. Even Rodrigo’s lyrics(mawkish as they still are) work in this context, which makes Good 4 U the album’s best track, and leaves me wishing it was the album’s blueprint rather than a one-off. The acoustic number enough for you, unfortunately, belays this point of progress entirely, this time finding Rodrigo listing off grievances while the robotic acoustic strums make an unwelcome comeback. The track is reminiscent of the singer-songwriter staples Rodrigo clearly takes influence from, but much to her detriment, she doesn’t manage to rise to her influences, only poorly replicate them.
Things continue in this same vein for the remainder of the album. Happier sees Rodrigo and co. mashing together Coldplay’s omnipresent brand of balladry with passably pleasant early Vanessa Carlton baroque flourishes. The lyrics still continue to suck. Jealousy jealousy plunks and plods into electronica territory, bastardizing the genre in the process while sounding like the kind of track Air would have the good sense to never release lest they feel the need to completely destroy their integrity. Finally(and graciously), closer hope ur ok concludes the album with Rodrigo bequeathing some close friends with her best wishes; hoping that they know she loves and is proud of them, and wants them to be happy, paired alongside the most forgettable composition on the entire album. Unfortunately, she forgets to also give her listeners her best hopes and wishes as well after slogging through her debacle of a debut.
On a final note, as cliché as judging a book by its cover can be, in this instance this metaphor can absolutely be applied, as the album cover of SOUR is as equally garish and awful as the music within.
