The word “yeah” is a noncommittal affirmation, the preferred response of huffy teens across the English-speaking world. But on the lips of Avril Lavigne, “yeah” is a powerful tool: On 2007’s “When You’re Gone,” it’s a plea for reconciliation; 2011’s “What the Hell” uses them as a makeshift Greek chorus. The “yeahs” from her 2002 track “I’m With You” were so brightly evocative, Rihanna sampled them. Beyond their utility as emotional beacons, Avril Lavigne’s “yeahs” belied her faux-punk affectations. They were a conduit for diva-level high notes and a platform for the voice that got her a record deal with L.A. Reid at 15. Seventeen years after her 2002 debut Let Go defined her as the enfant terrible of the Radio Disney crowd, Head Above Water is the pared-back, serious record that she’s been hinting at in her years of belted affirmations.
It is striking to hear her new album open somewhat maturely with sparse piano and Lavigne’s throaty roar. After all, Lavigne seemed to be on a Peter Pan trajectory: “Here’s to never growing up,” she cheered on her 2013 self-titled record. But her health had other plans. In the middle of a worldwide tour, she began to feel exhausted, so weak she could barely stand. After months of quiet suffering, Lavigne was diagnosed with Lyme disease in 2014. She spent the next two years bed-ridden, recovering.
In those intervening years, her voice seemed to grow stronger, and Lavigne saw it as a divine signal: “God was like, ‘Nope, you’re going to keep doing music,” she said in one interview. Head Above Water, then, is an album about resilience, one that explores the range of her vocal chords, with little time for the scream-singing that once defined her sound.
On the title track, her voice cuts above swooning strings, while the lyrics attribute healing qualities to her singing: “And my voice becomes the driving force/I won’t let this pull me overboard.” Then, right before the chorus hits, the background cuts out, and Lavigne’s mezzo bursts into a booming prayer: “God keep my head above water.” The result is a ballad that is larger-than-life, but stops short of maudlin sentimentality. Its plainly religious message also helped Lavigne discover a surprising new audience—the song quickly climbed to the No. 2 spot on the Christian songs chart.
Throughout the record, Lavigne freely explores her past as a choir girl and Canadian folk singer. “Tell Me It’s Over” is a brassy retelling of a swinging-door relationship, complete with a horn section and gospel choir, while “Crush” is a warm ode to the more fluid moments of early love. At its best, Head Above Water is a vehicle for rediscovering Lavigne’s own voice. On “It Was in Me,” she echoes the quiet-loud pattern of “Head Above Water,” letting her voice crack on the verses before breaking out the high notes. She wields her verses and choruses like a Swiss Army knife, at times using them to boldly make a point, at others letting them unspool, like on the sun-drenched love song “Souvenir.”
Unfortunately, many of the statements she makes are, by contrast, stale and uninspired. Even in its strongest moments, there is nothing revelatory in the lyrics, which have a tendency to run out of steam. The worst offender might be “I Fell in Love With the Devil,” which recounts the story of a wayward lover with metaphors that seem plucked from a LiveJournal entry: “Got me playing with fire/Baby hand me the lighter/Tastes just like danger.” Equally mind-numbing and featuring Nicki Minaj is “Dumb Blonde,” which haplessly reinforces the stereotypes it attempts to subvert. Lavigne crafted these songs with a team of at least nine writers, but most seem comfortable writing to the most generic form of an emotion rather than giving it specificity. Musically, Lavigne hits the same notes over and over again; her belting is impressive, but by the final song, her depth-defying wail loses its charm and becomes desperate and exhausting.
Lavigne could be forgiven for producing a conflicted record, one that displays potential but falls short of the statement it hoped to achieve. She said that she felt restricted from making the records she really wanted due to pressures from her record labels; the five years in recovery forced her out of the industry cycle that had gripped her entire adult life. It is unsurprising that when given full access to her own creative desires, she stumbles, lost in her newfound musical freedom and a second lease on a career. Head Above Water marks a new chapter in the singer’s lengthy body of work; it’s a shame that Lavigne thinks her high notes are all she has to give.
