September is coming to a close and producing some of the most exciting music of the year. While nothing this week has been on par with Mitski’s triumphant return, I would argue any week that brings with it Yeule, Underscores, Slayyter, Doja Cat, Kim Petras, Corook, AND Kylie Minogue is worthy of some further consideration. Even then, there’s one artist that I find easy to get lost in the mix. As exciting as the aforementioned releases are, I think there’s something almost miraculous about opening your Spotify and discovering that Chappell Roan has finally… FINALLY released her debut album “The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess.”
Maybe it’s because I don’t listen to a lot of Top 40, but I would usually look at the pre-release as being a red flag of sorts. By the time I pressed “play,” I discovered that 9 of 14 tracks had been available as singles anywhere between a few months to three years. In a more optimistic rollout, “Pink Pony Club” being selected as one of the best songs of 2020 would’ve been the only press necessary. Instead, it led her to be dropped from Atlantic Records before eventually being signed to Island Records. This delay may explain why I think every song is so good. There’s a desire to impress with every song. She fine-tunes the best hooks and latches onto some brilliant ideas for songs of young queer longing. In a lot of ways, this is a more celebratory companion to Rina Sawayama’s excellent “Hold the Girl,” finding every track providing a moment of glee. Yes, Roan is here to celebrate differences, and I’d argue few are doing it with this much ecstasy.
My journey with Roan goes back to February 2022 when I randomly played “Naked in Manhattan” for the first time. Even as I parsed through hours of teen angst singers who were subpar Billie Eilish types, Roan was here with a track that had so many small parts that made me love her. Lyrically, I related to the idea of finding joy in watching Mean Girls (2004) and crying to Lana Del Rey. The way she discussed queerness with a youthful honesty was so thrilling. This wasn’t a tragedy. She was dancing in the streets and wearing the bawdiest gowns imaginable. The chorus is probably what sealed her as a name to watch. It’s from the high-pitched whistle or how horny she was singing “Touch me!” You immediately knew who Roan was. She was unafraid to be herself, and it’s refreshing at a time when I find more popular artists feeling a bit too reluctant to be messy and strange.
It could be that the artwork for her 9 singles all had striking designs. As later interviews told me, she was the byproduct of the drag community. It’s there in her shaving her eyebrows and wearing colorful outfits. Every song was some level of sincerity mixed inside a comic need to overperform. The tracks weren’t necessarily funny, but there was some desire to find the humor inside the joys and pains of life. She may be all over the place sonically, but it’s still a record that has personality bursting at the seams. The talent is so apparent that I’m a bit flummoxed as to why anyone would give up on her. I’d understand if “Pink Pony Club,” a song about a drag bar in Los Angeles, was released nowadays in a more uncomfortable climate, but I’d argue even rainbow capitalism was more forgiving in 2020. The only downside is a pandemic meant everyone was cutting costs.
But if you need an immediate reason to know why I really like Roan and think “The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess” is one of the best pop records of 2023, just start listening. It could just be that I love the gimmick of a pop song that playfully tries to reconstruct itself, but the opener is sublime. “Feminomenon” may sound nonsensical, but it’s a call to action. Ditch the guys and hang out with your gal pals. The call and response of the title phrase alone will tip you into whether this album is for you or not. The pre-chorus takes things even further as the gentility of Roan’s verses is destroyed by a discordant melody and her yelling “Can you play something with a fucking beat?” There’s no pretension to this album. She is shamelessly Chappell Roan, and her debut is going to be this jagged shift between confidence and insecurity, finding a willingness to dive into fantasies with a bit too candid detail.
The whole album is designed to be as immediately catchy as possible. More importantly, it’s a nice counterbalance to strait-laced counterparts by taking a queer spin on pop. Sometimes it’s simply about longing for a cute girl. Sometimes, as on “Casual,” she goes further by romanticizing oral sex in the back of a car and meeting the woman’s mother in Long Beach. There’s a tenderness to the vocals as the melodies swirl like a feverish dream of otherworldliness. Roan was always an unconventional pop star. The through-line of this record (though I hesitate to call it a concept album) is that Roan is a Missouri teen who travels to California and discovers that she might be a lesbian. I think it’s best seen in the bombastic ditty “Naked in Manhattan” and the remorseful cry for home in “California.” It’s the complexity that draws me to Roan, and what keeps the following 49 minutes from being just a tale of lust.
Sometimes I contemplate whether this record would’ve been as good had Atlantic not dropped her three years ago. On the one hand, I am willing to bet she always had good songs in her back pocket. However, I do wonder if the disappointment meant she had more time to revise where she wanted to take her career. Sure, that means tracks like “Kink Is My Karma” sound like the antagonistic era of Taylor Swift where she finds joy in watching her ex fail. However, sometimes you get peak levels of indulgence on tracks like “Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl” and truly find what is needed to get the crowd moving. Elsewhere, she has 80s pastiche full of synths and annoyingly simple hooks like “HOT TO GO!” which finds her spelling out the title with dizzying effortlessness. It’s one of the most joyous songs on the album, and I can imagine it will become a great crowd chant during her supporting role on Olivia Rodrigo’s tour.
More than anything, I think that I appreciate what this album does because of when it came out. Maybe Roan wouldn’t be as nationally marketable as she would’ve been in 2020, but I argue her music is more essential now than ever. In interviews, Roan has suggested that she wrote this album for her younger self. There is a need for validation when exploring one’s gayness. Songs like “Kaleidoscope” don’t hide that she is supportive of The LGBTQIA+ Community. In fact, she’s reaching for something hopeful, creating something more substantial than generic “You are not alone” rhetoric. You feel growth throughout the album. More than that, you aren’t being exposed solely to the pain. Being gay isn’t a burden to her. Heartbreak and stupid decisions caused by youth are. While I have such a soft spot for Sawayama, Christine and the Queens, or Ethel Cain, it’s hard to remember to be happy now and then.
Because that’s the thing. I like the album because it’s so catchy. Every song will cheer you up, maybe even make you blush with how sexual it sometimes is. Even then, it’s a perfect counterpoint to the dark reality that most live in. We’re living in a time where Targets receive bomb threats for supporting Pride Month (while Ron DeSantis’ book is sold in the back without a hissy fit). It’s where allies are murdered in California and states try to outlaw gay history. Yes, it is important to be worried. However, feeling dread is what they want. To be so sad that you end up dead will do nothing but make their “love thy neighbor” mentality happy because a more acceptable neighbor might move in. There’s so much reason to be annoyed and express that idea…
I’d argue that Roan is essential because of this. Many have become bigoted enough that they’ll overlook how willingly they’ll let Rodrigo sing about similar relationships without a second thought simply because her love is heterosexual. I worry that Roan may receive some backlash for being so openly queer, but it’s also what makes me love her. It’s less that it could be seen as vindictive or rebellious, but more that it shows a willingness to survive.
“Pink Pony Club” is not my favorite song off of the album, but it feels like the calling card. She has been celebrating drag culture for years. Having a whole album where she longs to kiss girls and watch movies while drunk with them is such a lovely fantasy. It’s the feeling of being connected to others and knowing that there’s community out there. Did I mention that songs like “Red Wine Supernova” may be interpolations of Oasis over an accelerated beat, but she has a great voice that allows her harmonies to be rich and carry emotion? There are endless moments where I feel like she’s challenging where she’s going in her career. I only hope it remains this interesting. Few singers know how to sing without caring what the charts will say. It could just be a byproduct of speaking to her teenage self, but I want to imagine she’ll be getting even weirder when she comes out with that follow-up.
On the one hand, this is a record that, despite newness, is one I am well versed in. A lot of this has been floating around for years, marking her as this offbeat talent that would never get her proper due. With the official release, I think her welcome ceremony is maybe a bit underwhelming, but I’d like to think others will discover this album and find the same charms that I did when she was only producing singles with some of my favorite cover art. She has so much personality and against the conventions I’ve come to expect from pop stars. She is a student of the medium, but one who isn’t afraid to take risks and surprise you. There’s a rambunctiousness even in the accomplished corners. She’s doing so much to win you over, and I recognize the effort. I love it so much. I hope she’s around for a long time still.
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