A shark emerges from the water, but Dua Lipa doesn’t care about the cover of her new album. A shrug of the shoulders, an imperturbable air: embracing British phlegm, for a singer usually so contracted and dominant, would be a reinvention of note. That’s what Lipa spread everywhere, pledging allegiance to the psychedelic days of Primal Scream and the roughness of Britpop to Blur and Oasis; the product title is Radical Optimism.
Passed by one of the biggest registered brands in music mainstream, a hit on the radio since 2017, how likely was this check to be bald? About 100%. Big relief: Hyperbole – not to mention hoax – is crucial in undertaking a pop campaign. A flurry of demagoguery to feign the feeling of familiarity, before the musical fact comes to light.
Wouldn’t it be prudent to expect some irreverence, given Kevin Parker’s involvement? No, if there was still memory of the pale single that the Tame Impala boss cooked for Lady Gaga (Perfect illusion, 2016). Producer Danny L Harle, present on all tracks, is the only mistake casting: despite his fame coming from hyperpop and a truly disruptive work with Caroline Polachek, he was recruited to compose soft pop, without surprises within the formulas. Justice be done, nevertheless: Lipa’s new album is a massive and varnished construction, with powerful voices, consistent guitars, agile keyboards, percussion with personality.
After Future Nostalgiachampion of the pandemic, who in 2020 encouraged revivalism disco, Radical Optimism I wanted a tan and low risk. It is less intended for rave how it was advertised; it is much more suggestive of a morning hangover in Ibiza, the year 2001, overhearing Télepopmusik, Kylie Minogue and iio through some shattered speakers. It works when the lightness is on point: it’s listening to Lipa carry her sorrow blase in These wallswith an ABBA flavor, and the fake ballad, Donna Summer style, by Anything for love. But this serenity is not yet natural to him; Every now and then, it returns to harshness, which ruins Whatcha doingwhile winning victories from Falling forever (Eurovisionally epic) and Happy for you (a yellow, resounding smile).
The balance is positive, especially thanks to Houdini, pure electricity: the texture and dirt of the synthesizers, when heard on the radio, are always an event; they refuse to become background music. It doesn’t mean it’s radical, of course: in terms of commercial operation, idols rarely deviate from the logic of a multinational.
The difference lies in the ambition of the gesture: Future Nostalgia, mathematized to maximum perfection, I knew it was a high-risk move, a make-or-break moment for a pop star. Now, Dua Lipa wants to appear less worried about building a legacy, treading new waters with apparent freedom – but the armbands are poorly hidden. In that case, what is the point of radical optimism?
