ADÉLA’S ‘PRIMA’ Is Music To Shop To
There are many things that Bratislava is. The capital city of Slovakia, a former seat of kings and queens, is nowadays a site of clubs, fountains, way too many cafés, and (on good days) a strong contender for the greatest city in the world. It is also the birthplace of ADÉLA, the young and electrifying pink-haired star who took the world by storm.
First appearing on Pop Star Academy and narrowly missing out on forming what would become KATSEYE, she was left to forge a path of her own. Her debut EP The Provocateur was a mash of EDM and electronic influences, none of them strong enough to stick. It is a clunky work, stuck somewhere near third rate Lady Gaga singles, but ADÉLA’s willingness to work with the likes of Grimes and Dylan Brady and be on the more experimental side of pop seemed like an exciting direction. Virtually none of that is present on PRIMA.
The singer has never been shy about her love for Ariana Grande, and on her debut album, she does a solid attempt at reverse-engineering Positions era Ari. “Boys” is a song with a bouncy, Pharrell-esque beat, while the vocal inflections on “I’m The Man” are reminiscent of Grande’s best. “Fantasize” tries to go for it with the vocals, but it never quite reaches the energy that her idol brings even on more unconventional beats.
The moment “KGB” starts, I’m under her spell, willing to hear a new pop icon on this album, although that lasts only until partially through the seductive yet unremarkable second song, “Nicole Kidman.” What strikes me on “Red Bottoms,” almost halfway through the album, is that I feel like I’m learning virtually nothing about ADÉLA. What’s new in the story? Do we get a sense of what kind of a pop star she is? Sadly, there’s not much in the way of answers to either. Not even the tongue-in-cheek “Hitachi” which follows can fix that.
“Starving Artist” is delivered with the sassiness I came to expect from ADÉLA and which I love about her, even if the song is missing the sex on the beat to match its topic. Same rings true for “Marijuana,” probably the best album cut and unfortunately also the shortest track on the record. I can’t help but feel that the best of PRIMA was saved for the last four tracks, and when you look at it like that, this could have been an EP. Apart from the two hit singles, PRIMA fails to replicate a similarly raunchy yet catchy chorus as “KGB” or hit the same sentimental notes that “Ain’t In LA” does. Even after staying with the album for some time, I struggle to recall a single chorus, melody, or a memorable line. It all feels surprisingly run-of-the-mill for ADÉLA, and one can’t shake the feeling that she’s pulling her punches on virtually every song.
“‘PRIMA’ will hit radios like a tidal wave, give H&M workers nightmares for months, and probably score a viral advertisement.”
After much deliberation, I can’t help but shrug and say, “Oh well, it’s pop. Let’s wait for the visuals and the choreography.” And while ADÉLA’s skills as a dancer are undeniable, there needs to be enough meat on the bones of the record itself to carry it and make it stand on its own. When it gets good, God, it’s good. No matter how many times I hear it, “Ain’t in LA” feels like ADÉLA could reach for the stars and take one if she wanted to (or just become one). It’s a shame that those moments are very few and very far between. PRIMA will hit radios like a tidal wave, give H&M workers nightmares for months, and probably score a spot in a viral advertisement. But I don’t see the album as a singular body of work surviving as anything more than that. The baddest bitches might not be from LA, but ADÉLA’s formulaic production and songwriting certainly is.
