It’s not immediately obvious why certain corners of the internet have so taken against Benson Boone. He’s sort of the Lidl Harry Styles, and everyone loves a bargain. The 22-year-old seemed to hit the mainstream out of nowhere when he had his tux torn off at this year’s Grammys, front-flipped from a piano and – shock, horror! – grabbed his crotch.
In fact, he’d spent a few years cavorting on TikTok, made a brief but much-discussed appearance on American Idol and released an inoffensive but unremarkable debut album in 2024’s ‘Fireworks & Rollerblades’. That record’s gargantuan breakout single, ‘Beautiful Things’, seemed to sum up his music, which is generally hooky, guitar-driven and wrapped around a speaker-busting talent show vocal that signifies emotion rather than actually conveying it. This brief, 10-track new album was written in 17 days with collaborator Jack LaFrantz and seems to have been rush-released to capitalise on the Grammys moment.
Despite its jingoistic title and a cover that sees him wrapped in an American flag, looking like he’s just finished up fixing your truck, Boone recently told Jimmy Fallon that ‘American Heart’ is actually a love letter to his younger, idealistic self. Not that he’s exactly become an embittered music industry veteran: this is a guy who doesn’t drink or do drugs (though he recently intimated to Rolling Stone that he’s addicted to “candy”) and has written a song about how much he loves his mum. So album two is a wholesome coming-of-age story about the boy who dared to dream of one day wearing a jumpsuit and grabbing his knob at the Grammys.
It’s a more distinctive record than his debut, opening with the catchy, pulsating ‘Sorry I’m Here For Someone Else’, a fizzy pop-rocker that Brandon Flowers wouldn’t be embarrassed to release as a solo B-side. About half of the tracklist follows in this vein, with less memorable but shoutier results (special mention for the monumentally annoying ‘Magical Mystical’, which persists like a musical theatre kid who just won’t let up). The real problem is the gloopy, mush-mouthed ballads that take up the rest of the album.
Benson Boone is Springsteen with a Huel subscription, Freddie Mercury if he preferred Tangfastics to coke. ’American Heart’ is essentially a slicker, more iPhone-friendly version of stuff that’s been done more edgily in the past; while there’s a place for that, it’s hard to shake the feeling he’s just filling in while Harry Styles works on his next clothing line. There are occasional bright moments, such as the galloping drum beat that drives ‘I Wanna Be The One You Call’, but then you get to the maudlin American Idol tearjerker ’Momma Song’ and just want to flush your phone down the toilet.
It would be easy to say he’s landed on his face, but it’s not even that: the boy wonder’s stuck the landing he was aiming for. This is bombastic, overproduced pop-rock with an attention-seeking, theatrical bent and broad brushstroke lyrics everyone can relate to. Boone summer 2025 looms on the horizon. Take cover.
