Album Review: Poppy - I Disagree

When the bar to success gets lowered far enough, what is able to climb over it may raise a lot of eyebrows. One of the consequences of popular music fragmenting into so many pieces, where we can all stream our narrow band of taste without ever hearing anything to challenge us, is that almost anything can be positioned as a hit. There is no more popular opinion, and we don't share conversations about divergent music with people we don't already know agree with us, so we have to take the industry's word that something that attracts any attention at all is, in reality, the next big thing.

Poppy has been generating massive amounts of buzz, at least in certain circles, for this new album. I have heard her name as much as anyone leading into 2020, with several people whose opinions I listen to all saying hers is one of the most anticipated records of the year. All of this is despite her not being conventionally popular; having no hit song, no hit album, no established touring draw. She is big because people say she is going to be big, because apparently there is just enough cross-over that someone other than one particular music silo has taken a shine to her.

So I did what all curious critics do; I opened the door to mine, and I decided to see what all the fuss was about. I don't care about being popular, but I am intrigued by how bad something has to be before it stops generating acclaim, and so I sat down and listened to the music of Poppy to see why she is considered the next big thing.

Honestly, I can't hear anything in this music that explains it. I know that music doesn't have to appeal to many people anymore to be successful, but it should still have to appeal to someone, right? I don't know what appeal Poppy holds.

Poppy's music is like art-house cinema; it is dark, bleak, abstract, and intended only for a tiny slice of the audience. There is no feel good moment, no obvious narrative, nothing to pull you back from the boredom of having your soul crushed by an artist who wants to remind you of the depressing nature of humanity. If ever someone needed a soundtrack for a four hour, black and white movie with copious visual sadism, Poppy would fit the bill.

This wretched album starts with "Concrete", a 'song' that tries to pull together the riffing of Slipknot, 60s harpsichord pop, and vocals that sound like a six year old. It's a complete mess, with no justification whatsoever for the violent shifts in style. It's trying to be off-putting, but that alone isn't art. It's a built-in defense mechanism to use as an excuse if and when people don't like what they're hearing. "Oh, they're not supposed to like it. It's too challenging, or too dark, or too....." You get the idea. It's music that can't fail, because failure is the point. Actually, I suppose if it does become popular, Poppy would be a failure. Huh.

The title track is even worse, since it has a kernel of a good idea in the main melody, but it's surrounded by tuneless noise. It's musical schizophrenia, and I simply can't hear how someone is going to enjoy all of the various bits and pieces Poppy has thrown into her sausage grinder. The chunks haven't blended into a tasteless paste. I can hear each one, and they don't go together whatsoever.

I suppose the confusion and depression this album stirs in me is one of two things. It is either an indication that I truly am too old to be listening to what's 'popular', or the concept of songwriting is dead. They might both be true, but the latter is the one that bothers me the most. Music is personal, and everyone's experience is different, but songs are more than collages of randomness. Songs speak to the human experience, they have something to say about it. At least they should. You could read into it that Poppy is telling us the world is tearing apart around us, but that line of thinking feels far too complex for this record. No, the distinct impression I get is that Poppy (and the people behind the scenes guiding this) is trying to be artistic without a full understanding of how that's done. Being weird for the sake of being weird isn't art. It's a cry for attention.

After listening to "I Disagree", we're the ones who should be crying.