Released on 21 June 2024, the singer-songwriter’s sophomore album leaves much to be desired.
“The Secret of Us” comes at a moment of peak visibility for Gracie Abrams, who seems to be standing on top of the pop world. With nearly 20 million Spotify monthly listeners and a nomination for Best New Artist at the latest GRAMMY Awards, Abrams has become a household name amongst anyone familiar with the word “situationship.” Following her opening act feature on Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, she’s spread her reach even further, capturing the hearts of more lovelorn listeners than ever. With so much momentum in her stride, it seemed that Abrams would be unstoppable with the highly-anticipated release of “The Secret of Us.”
The album’s lead single, “Risk,” had left me feeling less than hopeful for its full rollout. For a song with such a title, it ironically plays very close to the vest. Its lyrics are lackluster, with comparisons of love to swimming in the “deep end” of a pool being about as original as florals for spring. Musically, there are no surprises, either – its percussive acoustic guitar and hushed vocals hit all the typical Gracie Abrams “beats” with military precision. Upon first listening, it felt as though I could predict the full three minutes of the song from the first 10 seconds. The lyrics and music of “Risk” reveal nothing about Abrams’ persona nor artistry that we don’t already know.
Still, the lead single is often used to grab commercial attention, and does not necessarily represent the rest of an album’s vision. As I mentioned in my review of Olivia Rodrigo’s sophomore album, GUTS, the album’s relatively square lead single, “vampire,” fits the commercial bill, being a sonic sister of Rodrigo’s hit single, “drivers license.” The seeming lack of development from Rodrigo’s debut album, SOUR, had me dreading the rest of GUTS; however, I was pleasantly surprised to find that GUTS had plenty of sonic innovation to spare – it was just saving the best for the later. So, it was only fair to give “The Secret of Us” the benefit of the doubt as I listened to it from start to finish.
The album does not get off to a strong start. Its opening track, “Felt Good About You,” is at best underwhelming, and at its worst, mind-numbingly repetitive. With simple, unimaginative lyrics, “Felt Good About You” is arguably the album’s most forgettable song, which feels like an odd choice for a first track. Moreover, it doesn’t musically nor thematically flow at all into the second track, “Risk,” making the album order seem already ill-planned only a couple songs in. What saves this opening track is Aaron Dessner’s subtly poignant trademark instrumentals (think Taylor Swift’s evermore) that craft a delicate, wistful, intimate setting – but even then, good instrumentals can’t hide unremarkable songwriting.
The next five songs after “Risk” are the highlight of the album, albeit still samey. In “Blowing Smoke,” Abrams channels her frustrations at a shallow ex into a somber takedown. The chorus has a memorable melody, and its lyrics pack a pretty good punch: “Tell me if she takes you far enough away from all the baggage you’ve been carrying / up another hill to all the girls who’ll help you bury it.” Meanwhile, “I Love You, I’m Sorry” is a conflicting listen as it is arguably the most musically-compelling track on the album, but also incredibly lacking in the lyrics department. It’s a classic singer-songwriter ballad – the kind I imagine playing at the slow dances of proms and homecomings I never attended because I went to a British girls’ school. Its swooping melodic contours and romantic instrumentals create a beautifully melancholic scene, which gets unceremoniously interrupted by mediocre lyrics like “You were the best, but you were the worst,” and “I was a dick, it is what it is.”
The next track, “us. (feat. Taylor Swift)” if anything, serves as a shiny accolade under Abrams’ belt, with Swift being a highly rare feature for even the biggest of artists. The song has Swift’s fingerprints all over it: it is a sonic twin of Swift’s “I Hate It Here” (off her latest album, The Tortured Poets Department), with undeniably Swiftian imagery in the lyrics, “Babylon lovers hanging lifetimes on a vine.” However, Swift’s signature is so powerful on this song that Abrams ends up sounding like she is merely covering a Swift original. Abrams sings most of the song, but in the latter half of the second verse that Swift performs, it becomes apparent that “us.” is far better suited to Swift’s voice. Abrams’ constant forced voice cracks make it difficult to make out what she’s saying, whereas Swift’s smoother, clearer delivery places emphasis on the lyrics. “us.” is not a bad track, but you can’t shake the feeling throughout listening that you’d rather hear Swift sing it.
“Let It Happen,” is just another typical Gracie Abrams track on the musical front. At this point, it becomes clear that the tried-and-true formula of slow-burn verses, dramatic chorus, and climactic bridge is the ship Abrams is willing to go down with – even if it means the whole album sounds the same. Granted, the lyrics break new ground and show Abrams at her most vulnerable yet: “I could die knowing that you’re probably out somewhere while I’m in my underwear / Eating through my feelings, I’m still reeling, but it’s fine / Oh, thank God that you’re not seeing this.” Abrams bears her insecurities to explore feelings that have become ever more common with modern dating: losing your mind over someone who you don’t even love yet, and craving their validation while simultaneously knowing it will probably end terribly. Who’s been giving Gracie Abrams notes on my love life?
In contrast, the carefree breakup anthem, “Tough Love,” is Abrams’ pledge to no longer “waste [her] twenties on random men.” Breezy and uplifting, it brings a sense of closure to her hard-fought battles with previous lovers, serving as an appropriate end to the first half of the album. The song itself is nothing special, but is a much-needed ray of sunlight – a token happy song, if you will – in Abrams’ otherwise emotionally downcast discography.
I wish I could say that things look up from here, but I can’t. The second half of “The Secret of Us” is largely forgettable, with more of the same as the first half. “I Knew It, I Know You,” “Gave You I Gave You I,” “Normal Thing,” “Good Luck Charlie,” and “Free Now,” all merge into a half-whispered vanilla haze. The album lasts 47 minutes and 39 seconds, but once you’re knee-deep into its second half, it feels like over an hour has gone by. It begs the question: why are these songs on the record at all? Could the album have been an EP instead? In this case, less would’ve been more.
The album concludes with a final track that can only be described as a jumpscare. “Close To You,” is about as close to a feel-good summer party track as we’ll get with Abrams, complete with bass drops, bubbly synths, and an anthemic hook. Like the album’s opening track, “Close To You” is extremely lyrically repetitive; however, this is not even my main qualm with it. What really confuses me is why Abrams chose this to be the final song. Its lyrics like, “I burn for you and you don’t even know my name,” purport a sense of naivete and recklessness that undermine the ideas of maturing and growth from the preceding tracks. As a sophomore album, we expect “The Secret of Us” to ideally demonstrate Abrams’ personal and artistic growth since her last project, and “Close To You” only underscores how she fails to accomplish either of these things.
As we wait to see if Abrams will announce a deluxe edition of “The Secret of Us” in the coming weeks or months, I genuinely wonder if I’ll be able to sit through any more of the same. For now, I’m incapacitated with vanilla fatigue. In the same way that some meetings could’ve been emails, this album could’ve been an EP: an intermediate stage on the way to a more developed, mature demonstration of artistry. In the end, “The Secret of Us” remains a secret – one that leaves us searching for more substance and less style.
