The story of Benson Boone’s second album, American Heart, doesn’t start with the album’s June 20 release. It also didn’t start with the release of the viral lead single, “Mystical Magical,” in April. Boone’s latest album lived and died in a crowded room in February, as he backflipped into the chorus of his screeching hit, “Beautiful Things.”
I think it’s safe to say that a lot of the people watching the Grammys that night, like me, had never heard of Boone before. Before his performance, in the cuts of him in the crowd, I remember thinking he looked a bit like YouTuber Kurtis Conner — probably due to his mustache and curly mock-mullet, entirely unassuming in his simple tuxedo. What cemented this night as pivotal in the rollout of his latest album, however, was when he dramatically shed that black tux to reveal a glittery blue jumpsuit, sheer sleeves and a wide collar. He bounced around a bit before catapulting himself off a piano, ending the number, carefully adjusting his glittery crotch and stepping off stage.
For as much support as Boone has probably gained since that night, there must have been twice as many fresh detractors. Although I’m not sure Boone has really felt the difference. He’s become a sort of love-to-hate character for the internet in the months since. Boone jokes about the amount of hate he’s gotten on his TikTok; the music video for “Mr Electric Blue,” the album’s second single, is full of self-deprecating references to the things the internet has been saying about him. Both the Booners and the trolls, he engages with his audience in a way that only a celebrity born in the age of the internet can: real-time and as ironically as possible. Boone’s aerial cotillion, however, might be the most interesting thing about American Heart.
Since the Grammys and the first appearance of the sparkly jumpsuit, he has doubled down on the loud outfits. The lead single, “Mystical Magical,” despite its more meme-able lyrics, has a solid melody, interpolated from Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical.” It has its nonsensical moments (not quite sure what “moonbeam ice cream” is) and meandering stanzas (“but I wouldn’t mind it if you gave me just a little bit of something we could work it with but all you do is push me out” — did we need 28 words for that?); but Boone’s tracks have an energy that carries them through the jaded critiques of the internet, emerging with some decent pop on the other side. On the tenth or eleventh listen, he really starts to reach you.
The other tracks on the album don’t stray too far from this type of radio pop, but there’s an interesting variety that still manages to feel cohesive — a feat for any artist. “Sorry I’m Here for Someone Else” opts for some lighter synths that are less than offensive. There’s some middling vocal distortion heading into a catchy chorus that works in an acceptable amount of Boone’s vocal chops; he’s pleasantly toned down the screechy belting, which marked “Beautiful Things” for the majority of this record. “Momma Song” and “Take Me Home” mark his obligatory building ballads. “I Wanna Be The One You Call” starts off with a more indie feel before eventually devolving into its meshed production that seems to serve as Boone’s default for escalating a track. I’d even say “Wanted Man” ventures into true, gritty pop-rock. The songs are largely catchy, energetic and fun to listen to. Boone also doesn’t overstay his welcome, the album is only 30 minutes long.
I want to be the contrarian and insist that Boone is making largely harmless pop. I would love to insist that the hordes of people bullying him for his sparkly jumpsuit and aerodynamic displays are not only morally incorrect but also technically wrong. But there’s something about the lyrical construction of some of Boone’s songs that make them almost unlistenable. “Man In Me” is perhaps the most egregious offender: a drugged, distorted ballad with vocals that recall Brendon Urie, the ghost of controversial vocalists past. Lyrics blame Boone’s past lover for taking away the “man” in him, his favorite part of himself. In “Young American Heart” and “Mr Electric Blue,” Boone waxes about all things American, the hard work, the heart. In “Mystical Magical,” there’s a slow but present urging, as Boone sings, “I don’t mind if this is gonna take a million days, I know you’ll come around to me eventually.” Eerie. Kind of sinister.
There’s a disconnect between the sparkly, backflip-filled performances and his whimsy moonbeam ice cream, and the album’s cover, graced by Boone’s dirt-covered abs backed by an American flag. Boone’s exterior presents a shiny, curiously Queen and The Killers-inspired pop album, themed around an Americana that he certainly isn’t intending to forget but that he’s not saying anything about either. His act is rooted in a masculinity and patriotism that his more recent, less grounded performances eschew. So when he sings about feeling like “moonbeam ice cream,” his goofy crooning and flippant attitude doesn’t quite gel. “Wanted Man” perhaps walks this line the best, a balance of pulsating, catchy pop and a dark atmosphere that manages to contain his tortured croon, even as his vocals scrape the ceiling, approaching the cavalier promise of his singles.
Whether Boone’s intention with the disjointed album theming is to nobly broaden who can claim this soulful Americana or to simply appeal to the traditionalist values that lie within the country sphere, what it says about him is clear. It’s a facet of his celebrity that has been present ever since the Grammys: Boone tends to cater to the highest attention-bidder, leaving his work a largely dysfunctional clash of glitter and dirt, backflips and barbecues. When Boone jumps, it’s because someone, probably a TikTok, has already viciously mocked how high. It has resulted in an eerily soulless album, one that drones straight through its American stereotypes, entirely uncritical in its approach, or unaware of the arguments its implicit masculinity and nationalism are making. It’s a weak offspring of a mainstream country-music landscape that has recently seen entries from thematic powerhouses like Beyoncé and Lana Del Rey.
Perhaps Boone himself says it best in his interview with Zane Lowe: “There’s not a thought process. It’s more like when I’m up there, I just do whatever feels right.” His latest album reflects his approach to fame: shiny, buoyant and reactive. Turns out, once it lands, there’s not much else to look at.
Daily Arts Writer Cora Rolfes can be reached at corolfes@umich.edu.
