Columbia
Pop, 2021

At 30, Adele has transformed herself into the quintessential chick-lit heroine. She divorced the man, lost weight, looked fabulous. Sure, the ridiculous body positivist fatties are called her a traitor and a fatphobe, so while the meanies can’t call her Wadele anymore, I suppose they can call her Fatphodele now.

One thing remains constant in her planet, however: her music isn’t rocking the formula that has made her so famous and rich. Folks that have heard her previous albums will know what to expect in this one: lots of slow bluesy, jazzy tunes that seemed aimed at airport lounges and unfashionable bars. These songs are all well produced, of course, because at this stage everyone involved in this album knows that it will make back their investment within the first month.

Me, though, I find these songs on the whole pretty dull. Ask me to recall the melody of these slower songs and I can only give some vague answer around how this lady is storing up a hoard of songs for her inevitable Vegas residency. In fact, I am nearly this close to nodding off while listening to this thing, until I come across the two faster songs that are thoughtfully placed back to back: Oh My God and Can I Get It. These songs aren’t remarkable by any means, but they do wake me up a bit, so thank heavens for that.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t discern any convincing emotion behind the delivery of these songs. There is something about the singing that feels rather rote and dispassionate here, although that could just be my senses being numbed by tedium as I wade through one after another dreary song chronicling Ms Adele’s first world problems of being famous, rich, and saddled with kids and an ex-husband that she has to pay off quite a bit of her money to.

All in all, I feel like Adele is 30 going on 70, and this album is akin to that wealthy, bored divorcée that constantly calls to complain about trivial issues that she makes out to be the worst problems ever. It’s not long before I’m tempted to say, “Sweetie, go shag that hot pool boy you have, alright, and buy a diamond or two with the billions you have so that you will feel better. I’m hanging up now, because the kettle is boiling and I need to clean the fridge, so bye darling!”