Depression, insecurity, distrust and infidelity are horribly exposed in this darkly candid, visceral first LP in seven years by the outspoken London artist, inspired by the painful evisceration of an open marriage in aftermath of her divorce from her second husband, US actor David Harbour. As detailed in the opener and title track, had been living in New York together before she had to return to London. Did he have a secret affair? And who is the supposed Madeline in the text messages? Is this a cathartic or a calculated revenge release, or it it just pouring salt into an open wound? Is it a tabloid form of expose or a piece of artistry from genuine heartbreak? It’s certainly some form of media-circus showbusiness and private business all rolled into one, truth and poetic licence all part of this painful package. The extremity of emotions and the bitchy rawness and detailed spite of lyric is impressive, but the music very mixed, a kind of downbeat pop and spoken word melange, coming across like a diary of poor communication and uncertainty in a release that’s all from one perspective of the relationship, however toxic. “I can’t trust anything that comes out his mouth … we had an arrangement, be discreet and don’t be blatant,” Allen sings on Madeline, “there had to be payment, it had to be with strangers,” are lines which may leave many wondering what their healthy relationship was supposed to be in the first place. It’s a catchy track musically, and presented like an acoustic guitar movie English countryside western showdown, complete with gunshots. Allen’s strength has always been to combine a cheeky mischief with candour in catchy talky pop, and there are still some strong moments of this across the album, but at times the sheer emotional pain and sleaze of the situation overrides it, riding sore-saddled between entertainment and mud-dragging. But Madeline, as well as Tennis, the Latin pop of title track, Dallas Play (in which she also tries the dating game) and the punishing detail of 4chan Stan (“I went through your bedside draw/ You know I've never been inclined to have to do that before/ Never been in Bergdorf/ But you took someone shopping there in May 24”) are the most musically enjoyable alongside the outspoken lyrics. But there are also regular grating sounds, such as the overblown Auto-Tune on Ruminating, or the two-step garage-fuelled Relapse, wallowing in a mire of its own making. Filled with many outrageous ‘ouch’ moments, sordid details (see for example Pussy Palace) and ear-catching phrases, it’s an album hard to ignore - clever, as potent, hot-potato emotionally raw gossip - but also sometimes difficult to enjoy. Out on BMG.
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