Tove Lo doesn’t do coy. On “bitches,” an ode to bisexual liberation smack dab in the middle of the Swedish pop singer’s new album, she pummels through the first verse without an ounce of irony. “Let me be your guide when you eat my pussy out/’Cause I’ve had one or two, even a few/Yeah, more than you,” she asserts, as laser beam keyboards sputter around her. Even without the healthy levels of Lil’ Kim-grade raunch, “bitches” is a red-hot, gut punching song by an artist who is not afraid to resoundingly state what she wants, when she wants it. “Bitches, I don’t trust ’em/But they give me what I want for the night,” she sings in the chorus, succinctly illustrating the core philosophy behind Blue Lips, and its predecessor, 2016’s Lady Wood: gone are the days when sexual dominance was the realm of men alone.
Blue Lips is subtitled [lady wood phase II], and it comprises parts three and four of Lo’s pair of concept albums. Both albums chronicle the birth and death of a tumultuous love affair, doomed by an all-consuming, self-destructive passion. Although sex is absolutely the lens through which Lo explores this relationship, it never feels as if she’s performing for the male gaze, and although she flirts with camp, it’s in a self-aware way that conveys a certain seriousness.
The first half of Blue Lips, titled “LIGHT BEAMS,” begins with the lead single, an uptempo dance track called “disco tits.” It blends 1970s disco, 1990s house, and Lo’s penchant for humor and entendre all into one neat package dripping with erotic mirth. The musical apex of Tove Lo’s career thus far, “disco tits” uses clever structural elements—like a single-bar a capella pre-chorus that ramps up the track’s energy before the stinging pulse of the refrain—to create something that is slinky, cool, and relentlessly driving. “I’m wet through all my clothes/I’m fully charged, nipples are hard/Ready to go,” she sings, almost deadpan, once again presenting herself as the central focus of her lust. The track is the quintessential example of the effect Lo wishes to achieve—songs about the complexity of female sexuality that make their point through the irreverence of pop music. Case in point: in the “disco tits” video, Lo drives a convertible down a desert highway, while receiving road head from a furry yellow puppet.
Lo wears her influences on her sleeve here. “disco sits” is an homage to shimmering ’70s dance pop, calling to mind Andrea True, the late disco diva whose 1976 hit “More, More, More” brought second-wave sex-positive feminism to light-up dancefloors across the country. Blue Lips is not a straight-up disco record, but Lo uses that genre’s soft focus sheen to recall an era grown from the sexual liberation of the ’60s, while sheltered from the excesses of the ’80s. Coupled with her evocative songwriting skills, Blue Lips elicits an air of fantasy, a defined context in which the most potent desires can be explored and examined.
“LIGHT BEAMS” is the more upbeat side of Blue Lips, the final climax before the comedown. “stranger,” another highlight from this half of the album, is built around a funky, mock-Prince guitar lick, supported by echoing snare drums and some of Lo’s most powerful vocals to date. It’s the part of the narrative where, with her relationship already in shambles, Lo goes on the prowl for a one-night stand—and the yearning in her voice, almost cracking, is the deepest point of the record.
It sets the stage for “PITCH BLACK,” the final Lady Wood suite, where Lo winds down and bottoms out after her debaucherous journey. While its stark contrast to “LIGHT BEAMS” works conceptually, the transition is a little rough. Tracks like “romantics,” with its trendy trap beats and distorted vocals, pale slightly next to the wild ride of the album’s first half. “struggle” indulges in Lo’s puzzling love for millennial slang (“The struggle is real,” she sings on the song’s hook), but it also sees Lo at her most introspective and vulnerable. If Rihanna and her army of copycats popularized tropical pop in the past few years, this is a tropical depression, its bubbly demeanor completely tempered by an encroaching darkness. “Fuck, fuck, fuck some sense into me,” Lo pleads, definitely more of a supplication than a come-on.
With Lady Wood, it seemed like Tove Lo had found a way to separate herself from the ever-growing crowd of Scandi-pop artists, expanding on real, human themes instead of by-the-numbers love ditties washed over with icy synth production. Blue Lips continues in this direction, an explicit testament to Lo’s chaotic love life, an unashamedly sexual and emotionally impactful piece of work. Lo ends up baring much more of her soul than her body.
