In June 2020, right in the thick of the pandemic, Jessie Ware released What’s Your Pleasure?, a tantalizing, delicious cocktail of disco and funk music that doubled as a soothing balm from quarantine-induced isolation and touch starvation. Up until that point, the British singer had stuck mainly to a more soul-oriented, avant-garde style, flirting with the escapist sounds of ‘70s pop but staying, primarily, in a loungey, composed R&B register. What’s Your Pleasure? was the first instance in which Ware elevated her retro-tinged sensuality to genuinely inspired heights, migrating her honeyed coo from simmering, steely minimalism to clubby, hedonistic maximalism. That record’s follow-up, 2023’s That! Feels! Good!, went even harder, hitting all the pleasure centers by adding a flair of diva campiness and Studio 54 glamor to Ware’s irresistible grooves and cool effervescence. On Superbloom, Ware’s latest iteration of sleek, sexy disco-pop, the good vibes and vibrant production are still very much present, even though there’s a been-there-done-that aftertaste to the album that makes it slightly less fresh than its predecessors.
Superbloom contains the extravagance that its title alludes to, draping itself with breathy backing harmonies, funky basslines, and jewel-encrusted showers of strings and synths. But although the opulent atmosphere and Ware’s seductive beckons engage on a sensory level, there’s something all-too-familiar and slick about the execution. At times, her indulgence in the sonic signifiers of disco borders on gimmick, as if she’s taken her initially compelling conception of the dancefloor as a spiritually medicinal space and milked it totally dry. Such a tendency isn’t necessarily specific to Ware—other pop artists who’ve made successful mid-career genre pivots have also struggled to mine more gems from their newly musically fluid templates—but it’s clear that Ware can only take the retro-fetishist aesthetic she’s crafted for herself so far before it begins to run stale.
Despite its limitations, Ware’s well-trodden formula does occasionally generate some enjoyable touches on Superbloom. The saloon-meets-discotechque-themed “Ride” cleverly interpolates Ennio Morricone’s iconic theme from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, flipping the sonic grit of its instantly recognizable whistle into a luxurious, spacey hook. On “Don’t You Know Who I Am,” Ware animates her visceral yearning and howl with a romantic, transportative instrumental that evokes the best of Donna Summer and Gloria Gaynor. “16 Summers” is one of Superbloom’s most standout offerings, a bittersweet ballad dedicated to her children that plays like a stirring 11:00 Broadway number. Mawkish as it seems on the surface, Ware’s deeply felt, fully embodied earnestness sells the emotional urgency of the song, especially considering the personal context surrounding the making of the album, wherein several of Ware’s friends and collaborators have become ill and passed away over the past year. Seeking out joy and comfort can be a great antidote to grief and tragedy, but finding gratitude within your own life can also be just as powerful a remedy.
Besides that show-stopping moment and those other brief, fleeting teases of disco-induced euphoria, many of the songs off Superbloom ultimately feel like polished B-sides, frequently activating a kind of deja vú in how similar their presentations are to Ware’s previous work. Lead single “I Could Get Used To This” is a prime example of this; it’s catchy, plush, and also vaguely reminiscent of something that could’ve come from either What’s Your Pleasure? and That! Feels! Good!. “Automatic” has a similarly derivative energy to it that not even a flute solo or spoken word intro from actor Colman Domingo can save. Ware is typically quite good at transmuting libidinal desire into cheeky metaphors (see: the excellent “Spotlight,” “Pearls,” or the aforementioned “Ride”), but “Sauna,”with its saucy, “Billie Jean”-style beat and writhing moans, strains itself too hard in attempting to literalize the steaminess of an intimate encounter. “Mr. Valentine” also goes a bit overboard stylistically, fusing its Latin-rock throb with laser beam sound effects and spirited choirs, exhausting itself in the process.
Of course, relishing in excess to the point of total depletion is part and parcel with disco, and that seems to be part of Ware’s creative intention with Superbloom. Despite the daily and long-term struggles of life and the increasing isolation of our world, the party can still keep going and the possibility of connection can still burn bright if we find the time for both. These ideas are important in expressing the kind of emotional healing that pop music is capable of producing, but too much of a good thing can also create an unintentionally fatiguing effect, particularly if it’s already something we’ve heard before. What’s Your Pleasure? gave a thrilling electric charge to Jessie Ware’s formerly introverted sound, while That! Feels! Good! molded it into something even friskier and unabashedly over-the-top. Conversely, Superbloom emerges as a hollower facsimile of the two, parroting the former’s swagger and the latter’s theatricality with little of their wit and depth. [EMI]
Sam Rosenberg is a filmmaker and freelance entertainment writer from Los Angeles with bylines in The Daily Beast, Consequence, AltPress and Metacritic. You can find him on X @samiamrosenberg.
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