Though at a certain time she was uncontestable pop royalty,
Katy Perry's creative vision (and relevance) have been in steady decline since sometime around 2015. With her seventh album
143, her crown officially falls off.
Perry's once world-dominating winning streak began to slip with the confused political messaging and EDM attempts of 2017's
Witness, and her 2020 follow-up,
Smile, failed to ignite sparks of either inspiration or even nostalgia in those listeners hoping for a return to the flawless, PG-13 escapist pop of the
Teenage Dream era. Seemingly learning nothing from those past missteps,
Perry wanders even further off the path with the lifeless, floundering reaches that make up
143. Kicking things off with the hollow, quasi-feminist sloganeering and equally generic preset disco production of lead single ¿Women's World,¿
143 begins with an anthem that sounds wholly unsure of itself. Production from
Dr. Luke (a controversial and misguided choice for an album that purports to be pro-woman, given his very public status as
Kesha's alleged abuser) makes the tracks shiny and radio-ready, but also adds to the overall sense of stagnation that bogs down the album. While credit is due to
Perry and her collaborators for not merely remaking her biggest hits, there's no real innovation to be found in the would-be embrace of club sounds on the dancy pulse of ¿Lifetimes¿ or the
Doechii-featuring,
Crystal Waters-sampling slog of ¿I'm His, He's Mine.¿ The feeling of datedness comes not in that
Perry is stuck in her old ways, but that she's a little late to the party branching out into house- and dance music-adjacent sounds. By the time of
143's dabbling in four-on-the-floor kicks and swinging hi-hats, stars like
Beyonce and
Drake had already been down this road a few years prior and have moved on. When
Perry does try to recapture former glories, it falls flat. ¿Nirvana¿ sounds like a dancier rewrite of ¿Dark Horse¿ with a weaker hook, and
Stargate-produced album-closer ¿Wonder¿ throws multiple elements from
Perry's past hits at the wall (anthemic choruses, hyper-melodic arrangement, lyrics that are vaguely encouraging to some faceless underdog) hoping something will stick. Even help from some exceptionally talented guests can't really salvage the album's most conceptually flawed moments. Atlanta rapper
JID tries his best as he flows lucidly on ¿Artificial,¿ but doesn't have much to work with in the song's mismatched electro beat and sluggish, stock-sounding chorus.
21 Savage turns in a neutered, distracted flow on the generic trap-pop of ¿Gimme Gimme¿ and it's almost impossible to imagine him having any genuine connection to the song. Ultimately,
Perry's ongoing fall from grace is solidified on
143 not because she failed to adapt to trends or turn in something as frivolously fun and undeniably catchy as ¿California Gurls¿ 14 years later, but simply because there isn't a lot to like about these songs, and it's desperately lacking in the kind of lighthearted, sometimes silly, sometimes salacious fun that used to define her stardom.
143 rings the death knell for
Perry for no other reason than it commits pop music's ultimate sin: it's boring. ~ Fred Thomas
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