After seven years, Lily Allen has returned to music with her latest album, West End Girl, a sharp, painful detailing of a marriage slowly disintegrating. The record goes all into betrayal and heartbreak, and we feel as if we’re sitting side by side with Allen as she tells us all the gruesome pieces: her husband’s infidelity, finding the physical evidence, and reading texts on his phone, all while maintaining her so beloved wit in her songs.Â
Throughout 14 tracks, the record presents a narrative of how honest we can be in our art and our lives. The title track begins with a picturesque brownstone in New York City, before rerouting us to a devastating confrontation with “Madeline,” the woman who has slept with her husband. She continues displaying the work of a master storyteller who can make your jaw drop with just one subtle detail, keeping the tea coming with every note and lyric. The emotions are raw, and the stories are real, which makes us want to connect them to the people and places in our lives.
When artists put out an album, they’re subject to an entire world watching their every move, dissecting every inflection, and putting two and two together. However, Allen switches gears by carefully blurring the line between truth and fiction in her description of her recent, real-life split from actor David Harbour after four years of marriage. She describes West End Girl as a “mixture of fact and fiction.” Even so, there’s a refreshing nature to the record’s straightforward lyrics and refusal to hide behind symbolic easter eggs. We don’t have to guess how Allen feels or thinks because in songs like “Ruminating,” she is wholly vulnerable in her obsession with her partner’s other relationships.
West End Girl not only redefines the breakup album but also sets a new benchmark for spill-your-guts to a broad audience. Throughout music history, there’s been a breakup album for every kind of relationship ending. For instance, anger is highlighted in Alanis Morrisette’s Jagged Little Pill and in Adele’s albums 19 and 21, which reflect somewhat universal dating experiences. It didn’t matter who “Someone Like You” was about; we all had our own one person in mind. However, the shift into the 2010s and the persistent presence of social media changed the game, allowing fans to know so much more about the lives of celebrities.
Take Taylor Swift’s 2012 release, Red, as an example. At the time, it felt so juicy. Her use of secret messages in her album booklets and songs such as “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” which was suspected to be about actor Jake Gyllenhaal, prompted mass speculation. Or, more recently, in 2021, Olivia Rodrigo’s Sour depicted a cataclysmic end to a 16-year-old’s first-ever relationship. The album is flooded with bittersweet songs like “Drivers License.” Social media turns these songs into evidence boards, as fans come together to create a narrative filled with emotional conspiracy, villains, and timelines. More specifically, there is a parasocial need to pinpoint just exactly who these songs were about, and when and where they took place. What was once a cathartic expression spirals into full-blown events.
Yet, in comparison, Allen’s newest work rejects this ambiguity that often turns into a witch hunt. As she explores the particular taboo topic of open relationships, she portrays the people in these relationships as tropes similar to the disempowered wife. She changes what it means to be vulnerable in your art, while still documenting what you need to get out. She hands us her shame on a silver platter and asks us to carry that grief and guilt with her, in our own ways.
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