Tate McRae is a pop parody

Two hands on the steering wheel of a toy car.

I really don’t know how to feel about Canadian pop starlet Tate McRae. Really, I don’t!

On one hand, she’s not particularly good at her chosen career path. Her voice is nasal and unpleasant. She has a penchant for choreography that is technically impressive but visually underwhelming. There is a distinct lack of personality to what she does. Which sucks, because if pop is going to be mediocre, I usually enjoy exploring the spectacle surrounding it.

But in fairness, the beats are often pretty good, she looks great on stage, and seems nice. “Nice” doesn’t make a starlet a star, but it is a compliment.

McRae’s third studio album just hit the market and it’s definitely a collection of songs. Which isn’t a bad thing! It’s okay, and I’m okay…with that.

The problem with middling pop records is that they often fall into this middle ground of either not living up to the lyrics or the production. Take the album’s second single ‘2 hands’, which actually sounds great, but has an unfortunately chorus I can’t personally stand. Or ‘Signs’, which is actually filled with clever little hooks that are overwhelmed by Lostboy’s percussion-heavy mix - not helped by McRae’s choice to sing like her tongue is thawing out.

Flo Milli brings some much needed personality to ‘bloodonmyhands’, a weirdly SZA-esque track that brings a bit of brightness into this oddly dark album. ‘Purple lace bra’ is genuinely quite good, with some lovely strings reminiscent of tracks on ‘FutureSex/LoveSounds (2006) anchoring a bitter track, that is only really hampered by the egregious pitch-correction that makes her sound legitimately robotic. ‘Revolving door’, the latest single, is perfectly acceptable radio fodder, despite (or because of) being a touch monotonous.

Most of this album sounds like Camilla Cabello and Selena Gomez - particularly the sex-focused tracks that require an unacceptable amount of McRae’s breathy head voice. ‘Dear God’ is the worst for it, which sucks, as I do think the song would be good with a better singer behind it.

‘It’s ok I’m ok’ makes sense as a lead single in theory, until you realise it sounds atrocious. The tempo is too fast for McRae to keep up with, and she sounds rushed and awkward on the verses. Plus, the chorus is awful.

But the real problem is that the album is yet another collection of McRae positioning herself as a serious pop star.

She isn’t.

‘Think Later’ (2023) presented her as a vixen and very angry young woman. ‘So Close to What’ continues that trend in persona. It doesn’t work. While the real-life-person Tate McRae might have some darkness to her story (granted, I have no evidence for this assumption) pop starlet Tate McRae is a pretty girl who dances well. There is no indication that her life, love or otherwise, has been rich enough for her to do comfortably inhabit this role.

Outside of the musical persona, she’s also clearly aiming for something edgy and glamorous in the visuals. She takes a great photo. But this beautiful, messy girl in the photos is clearly an extension of the pose. It’s in line with the music, but equally as empty.

Compared to someone like Ariana Grande, who she clearly seeks to emulate, there’s nothing authentic here. Grande’s discography has responded to her celebrity (and public tragedies) in increasingly clever ways, but McRae has no celebrity to respond to. A years prior break-up with a hockey player and a C-tier relationship with The Kid Laroi does not make you interesting. It all feels like an act.

It isn’t all bad. ‘Sports car’ is the best ‘Greedy’ follow-up so far, and maybe the only track that manages to hit anywhere close to the late-2000s dance-pop other critics keep referencing in their reviews. It inserts a spark of personality to McRae’s bland bad-bitch-but-sad posing. Instead of being possessive and unhappy, she cracks jokes and makes aggressive come-ons. A genuine improvement that shows that somebody in Team McRae understands that she’s a bit of a farce. This is dress-up for her.

Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan have made themselves stars by embracing artifice and humour in their personas. She could do well in taking cues from them more consistently. McRae clearly wants to emulate the Britney imitators of the 2010s, but needs to accept that you need to be obvious in the fun you’re having.

That being said, not every joke can land. I want to end this review reflecting on ‘Miss possessive’, an absolute disaster of a track that opens the record. Why is Sydney Sweeney here? If that even is her. It all sounds so fake. Like the song a record executive would push on some starlet in a Disney Channel Original.

My Twitter mutual and genuine genius @thatssokeshaun has commented that McRae’s music sounds fake, but with “with none of the fun sense of irony that allows one to enjoy shitty soundtrack pop”. I’d agree, but I think this is meant to be a joke. It cannot be meant as a serious attempt at poo music. You’re meant to laugh. I didn’t.

Anyway, ‘So Close to What’ isn’t good. Nor is it interesting. It isn’t an abject failure, but I am grading on a curve. Listen to ‘Sports car’ and maybe ‘Purple lace bra’.

Or don’t.