So can we all agree now that the last few years’ influx of pop-punk soloists was entirely a fad? They sniffed out a faint wind of popularity, turned that into their entire personality for a while, proceeded to completely oversaturate and derail the entire genre, and then slunk away when it was of no business to them any longer. What’s kind of funny about it all just how much industry fickleness drove this entire movement. Look at any cross-section of these artists and you’d find the same thoroughly uninteresting ‘personalities’ copying notes from each other wholesale, but because it’s popular, we can afford to look past that and pretend to have faith in it, right? And what’s that left them with? Either a bunch of names who’ve completely sunk into irrelevance, or the lame-duck artists trying to cobble something together from their burst bubble.
Which brings us to LØLØ, one of the prime candidates to showcase how unsubstantial this whole thing is. Like all of them, she suddenly remembered she loved pop-punk in about 2021, and was given hand-over-fist backing for her deeply interchangeable sadgirl songs to reach the front of the queue. Maybe the push isn’t completely out of nowhere—she actually did have a viral moment with her cover of Bruce Springsteen’s Dancing In The Dark in 2019—but quite clearly, the coordinated effort from both artist and backers to leap onto the crest of the wave couldn’t be hidden more poorly. If you haven’t noticed, you’re either pretending not see it, or an actual imbecile. And look—you can’t really fault LØLØ herself for that. Artists need to make money, and if that means capitalising on some people’s ignorance to obvious pattern recognition, so be it. In any case, she’s got the savvy to reinvent herself of a media-trained professional, alongside the inability of one to make it believable. Addressing your audience as “my fellow emos” in the press quote for 2 of us really doesn’t help your cause of genuineness; you’re literally doing the Steve Buscemi meme with a straight face.
It goes without saying, then, that a full album when you’re that way inclined would be a bit of a test. That’s probably why this didn’t come out at pop-punk’s height—to feel out where things might go and plan accordingly. And that might be cause for praise, had LØLØ found anything else in the intervening time. There’s not really been a replacement for that type of pop-punk yet, so the next closest thing is an own-brand Olivia Rodrigo that hasn’t severed genre ties entirely, but on paper, could be a bit more evergreen. On paper. In practice, falling for robots and wishing i was one is hamstrung to the moon and back by limitations, not just of LØLØ herself but of the comparisons she’s desperately trying to illicit. And when everything outside of that is the bare minimum as it is…it’s just a bit rubbish, honestly.
Of course, tastes may vary, but given that this writer is not, has never been and is never planning on being a teenage girl, there’s already a pretty firm barrier for what appeals here. LØLØ, on the other hand, is in her mid-20s, though evidently hasn’t left a high-school mentality when it comes to a relationship breaking down. The vast majority of this album reads like the most inconsequential breakup in the world, certainly not one deserving of the oxygen of an entire album. It’s the first instance where she wants to be Olivia Rodrigo and couldn’t fall flatter at it. Rodrigo—an actual Disney Channel child, let’s not forget—has made two albums now, basically about the same breakup, that feel passionate and layered thanks to writing that can optimise and unspool how tangled and self-destructive she can be. LØLØ, meanwhile, has song titles like u turn me on (but u give me depression), and puts the most focus on what’s TikTokable enough.
Let’s stress, that isn’t a problem exclusive to LØLØ. This kind of arrested development is far from a new pox on the industry, only now it’s tolerated far more than it rightfully should be. Forget how literally no one has anything interesting to do with it; at its nadir, it’s such an embarrassing way for a performer to be. At least with LØLØ, there isn’t the nuclear-grade cringe of someone like Leah Kate, but that doesn’t forgive the awful lines crowbarred in to live up to the broadest sketch of a preppy mall-punk stereotype. “Cue the waterworks / But crying isn’t punk rock,” she sings on suck it up, with bewildering sincerity. Elsewhere, you can tell that every use of the word “bitch” is intended as some scandalous wham moment, but they never are. In fact, there’s precisely nothing about falling for robots… that’s close to as earth-shattering or tumultuous as LØLØ wants to believe, because this doesn’t feel like anything. It’s a caricature that doesn’t want to admit it, regardless of how limply trundling along that leaves it.
And for someone like LØLØ, whose entire musical identity feels predicated on algorithmically-generated cues about what’s ‘right’, does that really seem like the best way to go? It’s where the mask begins to slip and you see how calculated this is, as any sources of real emotion are reshaped to fit what’s required of them. But why is that the case here when it’s not even as good as the most direct parallel? Obviously Olivia Rodrigo is in the purview, but every attempt that LØLØ makes at something similar feels irrevocably inadequate. For one, this isn’t an interesting album compositionally, either in pop-punk coming from the mangled plastic of bad Fisher Price guitars, or more solemn, sometimes-acoustic pop without a hint of flavour to it. This is a cheap feeling album in the way that many a fairweather pop-punk release was, now attempting to mask its cracks via something more ‘reputable’ but no less dull.
LØLØ herself isn’t a very inspiring presence either, pitched somewhere between the disaffection of your average TikTok-pop fly-by-nighter, and just a very weak singing voice overall. On the off occasion that hooks do connect—with those being faceplant and u turn me on (but u give me depression)—it’s almost entirely down to the offhandedly okay melodies that all of these are permitted one or two of. It certainly isn’t some powerhouse performance or wealth of charisma; for those, you need a completely different artist. No, LØLØ is clearly a better fit for the softer pop of snow in berlin or i would fix you if i could, albeit not in a way that’s emphatic in qualities beyond ‘being adequate’.
Granted, when you’re a good while removed from the peak of the scene in which LØLØ found her upswing, disposability within it isn’t shocking anymore. It’s practically a prerequisite, and on that metric…well done LØLØ, you’ve really made it with this one… Chances are, this’ll be buried before long anyway, but to see what’s ultimately the last dregs of one of pop-punk’s sorriest eras putter out like this can’t help being disappointing. Even as someone clearly trying to escape it and foster some sort of longevity, LØLØ isn’t delivering anything remotely impressive. It’s thin, flimsy and chronically lacking in staying power, all the signs that malleability isn’t an automatic ticket to superstardom. Credit to LØLØ for surviving this long, maybe, but that’s where the praise begins and ends.
For fans of: Charlotte Sands, Leah Kate, Jax
‘falling for robots and wishing i was one’ by LØLØ is released on 7th June on Hopeless Records.
Words by Luke Nuttall
