CD Review: Miley Cyrus – “Plastic Hearts” (2020)

When I last saw Miley Cyrus on Monday, I had just discovered the strange wild world of “Miley Cyrus & Her Dead Petz,” an album where she teamed up with The Flaming Lips to make this surreal compilation of songs about being not a girl and not yet a woman. To look at it is to see some psychological struggles at play, possibly even fetishizing her early years as some greater commentary. It’s not a particularly great album and an even more baffling entry point for me, but I can honestly say that it made me excited and curious to know what the rest of her career was like. It’s such an unapologetic experiment that lesser artists would be too squeamish to try. 

I think what I loved was that it was bold on top of being antagonistic. What some see as career suicide, I see as detox. All artists need to have that period where nothing makes sense and you’re laying yourself bare. If you’re not pushing yourself to see what works, what are you doing with your career? “Her Dead Petz” was a necessary record whose messiness produced some deeply moving moments amid the muck, and I think it’s what makes me appreciate a record like “Plastic Hearts” all the more.

What I gather between these records is something closer to the identity that I think Cyrus wants to live in. Whereas some pop stars feel like they’re experimenting with sound solely to sell more records, I come out of “Plastic Hearts” and feel like she’s rejuvenated, bringing to life a sound that may be completely familiar, but plays into her vocal range very well. As she howls about those familiar struggles of heartache and joy, I am impressed with how complementary this whole experience is. There’s no fat over the 38 minutes, and while I occasionally found myself more thinking of older Stevie Nicks or Billy Idol songs (in part because of their cameos), she definitely makes the rocker chick shtick work much better than you think.

Miley Cyrus with Dua Lipa

I wonder what it would be like to listen to this record as someone following her career, watching her adapt over the years from teenybopper into risqué hip-hop and psychedelic mumbo-jumbo if this would have any difference in the impact. Would I be more willing to see it as a gimmick, where she’s just hopping on board with her flavor of the week? I don’t know because all I’ve heard so far are sincere works of an artist grappling with their own identity in fascinating ways, playfully using music to express themselves. In interviews for the album, Cyrus has claimed that it’s a genderless album, reflective of everything that she’s been before. 

Again, I don’t think that “Plastic Hearts” aesthetically changes a single thing about the genre, but I’m suddenly more encouraged to know what a second rock record from her would sound like. Every song sounds like she’s smiling, playfully sticking it to audiences who expect her to stay conventional for long. Sure, every now and then you’ll get a record like “Younger Now,” but it’s only part of her image. For the full picture, you need to go into the messier, edgier side of things. 

Everything kicks off with “WTF Do I Know,” which sets the record straight on her public reputation. As someone who’s been accused of not being a role model, even a hot mess, she leans into it for her rock record. It’s kind of necessary to make everything work better, to have an edge. Few Disney stars’ post-careers have been able to transcend the edginess and come out with a much more creative fulfillment like this. Cyrus isn’t afraid of her identity, where drugs and sex are resources that make her happy. She even openly references the “Wrecking Ball” music video when she declares “I’m completely naked but I’m makin’ it fashion.” 

It would be one thing if this was just a chance to espouse so many wild accusations and act tough. That is nothing new for any pop star wanting to reinvent their image. What usually needs to happen is having a voice that carries with it a guttural purpose, a need to get up there and wail for a few minutes, unleashing something deep in her soul. While she still has the sweet harmonies from her Top 40 days, it now feels like it’s matured into something more melodic, capable of working with the guitars. There’s a polish, but it’s not working against the sneer. Everything gels together and, more than anything, it’s a catchy way to kick things off.

From there the album moves onto the title track, which alludes to The Rolling Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil” before getting into another personal song. Whereas she begins the album by posing with strength and defiance, she begins to comment on her own insecurity while exploring “the sunny place for shady people” and referencing The Mama and The Papas’ “California Dreaming.” It’s her angst that shines through in the pre-chorus as she declares:

Frightened by my own reflection

Desperate for a new connection

Pull you in, but don't you get too close

Love you now, but not tomorrow

Wrong to steal, but not to borrow

Pull you in, but don't you get too close

It’s the theme that makes the early stretch of the album much more than a novelty. While it’s full of references to classic rock and new wave, Cyrus is clearly using it to convey something personal. These are stories of her relationship, thinking about days out at the Chateau, and feeling the need for love and acceptance. Even in her joy, there’s an eagerness to find someone to love her for her. The displacement in genre alone adds a brilliant subtext to this idea and makes stories of insomnia and heartache all the more believable. “Angels Like You” is another effective track that details a break-up, featuring bold lines like “Baby, angels like you can’t fly down here with me.” 

There’s a maturity to everything that Cyrus does on here that rewards listening closer, going being the glamor. Songs like “Prisoner,” featuring Dua Lipa, reflect on toxic relationships and the need to find ways to gain independence. The journey of growing up and navigating love is difficult. The rock style serves as armor to protect her from any pain, needing to be as loud as possible, screaming in pain while dancing for catharsis. Again, her voice may sound squeaky at times, but she’s mostly welcomed here in how she navigates classic rock archetypes and comes out with something personal.

“Night Crawling” may be the most shameless song on the entire album in terms of style. While this album also features cameos from Joan Jett, this pastiche is clearly designed like a Billy Idol song. It’s in some small part because the ra-ra nature of Idol’s voice can’t help but ask the audience to feel pumped up. Together, they yell in those “White Wedding” style cries of “Come on, come on” while talking about crawling through the night, looking for answers. If there’s anything to argue against the album, it’s that she’s imitating her idols (no pun intended) too much at times and people who know the original records may find songs like this difficult to feel genuine, even if it’s got plenty of upbeat energy.

This is followed by “Midnight Sky,” billed as a disco song about being pansexual and bisexual, mixing the romance into this swirl of pronouns and bliss as she details a night out. If there’s anything that this record has in spades, it’s the confidence in herself that has come a long way since “Her Dead Petz.” Whereas that album was a muddled discomfort of being young and confused, there’s plenty to suggest her confidence here. It shines in the production, the way that she feels comfortable proudly declaring things like “see my lips on her mouth, everybody’s talkin’ now, baby” confirms that her career is only starting to get much more authentic and interesting.

While the album eventually shifts into ballads that allow her to have a more conventional style of singing, the closer is one of the best moments. “Golden G String” may sound like another perverted anthem, but it’s more of a youthful exploration of what it’s been like to be alive over the past four years, in a country that’s been very divided. As someone who got their start in the country music industry, it makes sense that she would have a unique perspective even as she’s transitioned into more liberal interests. 

There are layers to this body

Primal sex and primal shame

They told me I should cover it

So I went the other way

I was tryin' to own my power

Still I'm tryin' to work it out

And at least it gives the paper somethin' they can write about

It’s a song that suggests that the president has his heart in an iron vault. When everyone’s suffering, what good is there to ignore humanity? In this particular case, hearing Cyrus talk about her own personal problems in such a vulnerable way, that she is imperfect, is one of the most inspiring ways for this album to end. There is no call of perfection here, but a reality that we’re all human and trying to figure out our lives. The choice for her to be herself has come at a risk that has been discussed in detail throughout the album, but it’s important to be true to oneself, especially when opposing forces would rather have you dead.

After two albums, I don’t necessarily know if I’d call myself a fan. Do I respect her? Yes. She definitely has much more talent and self-awareness than I would’ve expected a decade ago. She is confessional in a way that other pop stars don’t seem comfortable doing, and I love that she’s unafraid to be messy, to be sincere to her interests at the risk of losing her fans. It’s no longer just some rebellion to being a Disney kid. It’s about informing others that it’s okay to be curious, to explore the world, and find your own form of happiness. 

That is what the best of these two albums have, even if I wouldn’t call either to be masterpieces. “Plastic Hearts” is a fun record with so many delightful harmonic moments that will get you dancing, but it still feels like she’s borrowing from her elder statesmen. She works well within the style, but I imagine she’s working towards something more organic, capable of not distracting with references to artists like Olivia Newton-John or Stevie Nicks. I get their value and think it’s helpful for a new generation, but I’ve been hearing those songs since the 90s. It’s fun to hear them get a more gender-fluid representation, but I can’t wait until it sounds like something wholly authentic.

I’m sure this is one of those records that will grow on me. Don’t get me wrong when I say this sounds familiar. When I hear Cyrus use groans for a backing track in “Bad Karma,” I see her winking at fans, knowing that this is a chance to let loose and have a good time. In that respect, this record is a welcomed addition, never outstaying its welcome with every song getting in and out before the formula wears thin. More than anything, it conveys so much about Cyrus that I want to learn more about. Not necessarily in her private life, but in terms of where her career is going to go if she’s going to become even more versatile. I can only assume she will be.