This Is Why is front-loaded with similar lyrical missteps and ironies that would make Alanis Morissette roll her eyes: “No offense/But you got no integrity,” Williams sings with a smirk unearned by the weak disses on “Big Man Little Dignity.” On “The News,” a stilted treatise against the depressing churn of the 24-hour news cycle, Paramore appear to emerge from an early-2000s time capsule, only to be shocked and horrified by what they see on television: “a war” raging on the other side of the world, with no recourse other than to change the channel. It’s a sophomoric and one-dimensional outrage that lacks the venom Williams has brought to her political statements outside of the band. In interviews, the three members of Paramore openly discuss their political awakenings as Christians raised in the South, but they struggle to incorporate that nuanced perspective into their music. Instead, Williams spits a list of adjectives that feel straight out of 2016: “Exploitative, performative…rhetorical,” and, of course, “deplorable,” as if those words still burn fresh in her mind. It’s not that her anger is misplaced; it’s just that it comes off as too lazy and too late.
Once they shake off their millennial discontents, Paramore find their groove in the record’s second half, combining the atmospheric density of Williams’ brooding solo albums and the band’s bloodthirsty 2009 release Brand New Eyes. “You First,” with its Silent Alarm-esque guitars, is propelled by the full ferocity of Williams’ voice. Her vocals on the bridge weave hypnotically before crashing into the bombastic belting of its chorus, and Williams finally sounds at home, confidently waging war alongside the band’s newly sharpened contours. “Figure 8” adds the velvety drone of a clarinet before Williams takes control. “All for your sake, became the very thing that I hate,” she sneers. Her falsetto on “Liar” sounds inspired by the wistful melancholy of Phoebe Bridgers, yet when she doubles her vocals at the end, harmonizing with herself over chiming guitar, it’s still unmistakably Paramore. The rich instrumentation adds a layer of depth while remaining a natural fit for a band driven, above all, by fury.
“Thick Skull,” the first song written for the new record but the last in its tracklist, is the most optimistic vision of Paramore’s future: Williams’ wisened, patient lower register melds into her fiery roars, as if synthesizing her past and future selves. “Only I know where all the bodies are buried,” she sings. “Thought by now I’d find ’em just a little less scary.” The song marches slowly but with purpose, punctured by Williams’ screams and honeyed crescendos. It’s about making the same mistakes over and over again instead of growing wiser with age. But it’s also about bouncing back, ready to face the next challenge, even with bleeding fingers and mounting casualties. Paramore used to find inspiration in revenge; two decades later, they’re betting that resilience is the best way to get even.
All products featured on Pitchfork are independently selected by our editors. However, when you buy something through our retail links, we may earn an affiliate commission.
