By Barry Divola and Annabel Ross
Rosé of Blackpink: Going solo and getting personal.
Rosé, Rosie
Roseanne Park, best known as Rosé of world-beating K-pop girl group Blackpink, was born in New Zealand but grew up in Melbourne from ages seven to 15. Her father encouraged her to attend an audition in Sydney and two months later she’d moved to Seoul, South Korea, to commence four years of gruelling song and dance training. At 19, Rosé and three other trainees debuted as Blackpink, equal parts edgy and sweet, and became an instant global phenomenon.
Their music has been streamed over 40 billion times; they have sold over 40 million records worldwide. In 2024, the group took a well-earned break, but a new album and world tour is promised next year. Since 2021, all four members have released solo singles but Rosé is the first from the band to release a full-length solo LP, Rosie. It comes over as much-needed catharsis for the 27-year-old, who has spoken openly about her mental health struggles in the past and who described accessing these darker corners as easy as “breathing.”
Much of the album centres around one guy in particular, or perhaps a specific “type” she’s dated and obsessed over several times. She’s ignoring red flags on 3am, along with “that shit my mother always told me, ’cause nothing’s really perfect like that”. It could definitely be the same dude who pops up on Toxic Til the End, a guy who “didn’t even try” with her friends and was “jealous and possessive”.
Two Years, a slow-burning power ballad about a love interest whose memory she just can’t shake, is surely referencing old mate again, or his spiritual doppelgänger. Produced by the Monsters and Strangerz, whose credits include Dua Lipa, Camila Cabello and Justin Bieber, there’s nothing novel about the track but it sounds like a hit regardless.
Number one with a bullet: Rosé’s solo pivot has already spawned a chart-topping smash with her Bruno Mars collaboration, APT.
On the charming Gameboy, opening with plucked guitar reminiscent of TLC’s No Scrubs, Rosé has finally emerged from two years of yearning to see a spade for a spade, or a “gameboy” in this case, “but these days I don’t wanna play, boy”. The spectre of this guy wears thin over the album, even as it enters its inevitable empowerment arc, but there are welcome moments of reprieve.
APT, a collaboration with Bruno Mars that references a Korean drinking game, is upbeat and sassy, and it’s refreshing to hear a Western superstar like Mars on a track that’s partially sung in Korean (watching him attempt to speak Korean in a joint Instagram post with Rosé, we can see why he stuck to singing in English).
The R&B-leaning Drinks or Coffee describes that flirtatious pre-hookup phase where both parties are trying to play it cool – “drinks or coffee, just call me yeah?” And Number One Girl, ostensibly another “pick me” plea to the no-good ex, is actually speaking to a less relatable, but nonetheless heartbreaking experience. Written after a sleepless night in which Rosé stayed up until dawn reading mean comments written about her on social media, it’s a devastating account of feeling worthless and unloved, even with over 80 million followers on Instagram.
Overseen by some of pop’s biggest producers, everything on Rosie is tasteful albeit overly uniform, unlike the livelier Blackpink productions, and Rosé‘s soprano, while powerful and alluring, occasionally sounds like a simulacrum of other pop stars including Taylor Swift. More impressive are Rosé’s sharp, affecting lyrics, covering topics she could never broach in Blackpink, where there is huge pressure to always present as the “perfect girl”. Ironically, daring to be imperfect is sure to deliver Rosé more of the reassurance she, like most of us, clearly craves. Annabel Ross
Losing her religion: This indie star has gone solo and gone pop
Lauren Mayberry, Vicious Creature
Going pop: it’s a phrase that is so loaded, and never in a good way. It’s usually levelled at an artist when they’re perceived to be going commercial and blanding out, catering to the masses to gain mainstream attention. But what if you go pop in order to assert your true self?
That appears to be the case with Lauren Mayberry. As the lead singer of Scottish synth-pop trio Chvrches, she was always the focal point, a siren-like voice fronting clattering beats and keyboards that soared and chattered.
With her beloved band Chvrches on hiatus, Lauren Mayberry takes a stab at the dance floor on her solo debut.
A half-dozen years ago, they seemed to be everywhere. I remember attending three different music festivals around 2018-2019, and Chvrches were on the bill at each one, building a bridge between brooding emo-angst (they did eventually collaborate with Robert Smith of the Cure in 2021) and hands-in-the-air celebration.
But after 13 years and four albums, Mayberry started thinking about her place in the band, and more importantly, her place in the world – specifically, her place as a woman in the world.
The official line is that the group is on hiatus. But if Mayberry’s debut solo album Vicious Creature is anything to go by – with lines such as “I bit my tongue to be one of the boys” in new song Sorry, Etc. – it’s doubtful she’ll be going back to Chvrches.
Getting into the groove: Lauren Mayberry on Vicious Creature.Credit: AP
One listen to Change Shapes tells you pretty much everything you need to know. The opening lyric is this: “It’s exhausting trying to hide all the time, performative hypocrisy took over my mind.” You don’t even have to read between the lines to see where that’s coming from.
The shunting beat, handclaps and hit-the-dance floor dynamics are reminiscent of ’80s Madonna, circa Material World and Into the Groove. And, like Madonna, Mayberry is expressing her regrets and desires but couching those sentiments in a way to make people dance. Indeed, it’s almost impossible not to move when Change Shapes is playing. It’s also no coincidence that Mayberry has been covering Like a Prayer in concert.
Punch Drunk, with its burbling bass, twisty tune and vocal swoops and dives, is a knowing ode to infatuation that meshes Lene Lovich’s loopy new wave and Olivia Rodrigo’s trick of admitting one’s bad decisions and owning them, a la the internal monologue of Bad Idea, Right?.“It makes me sick, and I hope it never ends,” Mayberry sings, knowing this thing she’s involved in won’t end well, but wrapping her arms around it anyway.
She’s in a similar frame of mind in Shame, a song about being hopelessly attracted to men she knows are wrong for her. In a recent interview, she talked about how the song was inspired by the idea that a whole generation of girls such as herself grew up with screen characters like those played by Ethan Hawke in Reality Bites – the broody, floppy-haired, self-obsessed man-child. “Even when I watch the film now, I’m still horny, it’s still hot,” she said. “But he’s incredibly rude and dismissive… I’m hardwired to find that attractive.”
Things slow down and get more reflective on tracks Oh Mother and Are You Awake? – both are piano-based ballads, the former vaguely echoing the child-parent dynamic of Harry Chapin’s Cat’s in the Cradle, but from the female perspective; the latter a rumination on missing her home, family and friends in Glasgow (she’s now based in Los Angeles) but at the same time knowing she had to move on.
There are a couple of missteps, too. A Work of Fiction is too fussy and flighty for its own good, while Sunday Best, with its Fatboy Slim-style blocky piano, paint-by-numbers string samples and Madchester baggy backbeat could be mistaken for a Spice Girls’ solo single from the early 2000s.
Fortunately, these two are at the back end of a debut solo album that has already made its mark and made its point, with Mayberry planting her flag in the dance floor and baring her soul in the process. Barry Divola
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