When an album rollout commences with a beat that’s eerily reminiscent of “Blue Monday,” it’s a harbinger of either a banger or an unimaginative bust. And Allie X already demanded “off with her tits,” so there goes the latter outcome. That rhythm, a muscular new wave powerhouse fueling lead single “Black Eye,” is the heartbeat of the pop artist’s new record Girl With No Face, a decidedly corporal body of work and, perhaps, her finest yet. As Allie X (born Alexandra Hughes) coyly dons various masks for the record’s artwork and social media teases, she delivers a record shaped by every aspect of her multi-pronged skillset—from borderline operatic vocals to synthed-up songcraft.
Girl With No Face marks Hughes’ first self-produced record, a feat that displays intimate bursts of brilliance from the woman obscured by papier-mâché. The caustic wit that intensifies Hughes’ lyricism is as present and biting as ever—but time and time again, it’s her immaculate production that upgrades tracks from Girl With No Face from great to golden. “Oh, the light shines through the linen,” she observes to kickstart the album, linking first track “Weird World” to “Fresh Laundry,” the opener of her 2020 record Cape God.
But where “Fresh Laundry” found her yearning for pristine sheets, delicate jewelry and nice parties, on “Weird World” Hughes admits that she’s since dropped dreaming like a futile hobby. “I used to be a dream girl / But the world interfered / At least now I know why / Now I know why / Now I know I’m weird,” she confesses over a sweat-drenched 80s workout beat without a morsel of mourning. From there—as if to say “I warned you”—Hughes brandishes anatomical imagery throughout the record, offering the antithesis of the body parts society practically begs women to reveal: bruised eyes, flat chests and insincere smiles. Leading the trilogy is “Off With Her Tits,” a camp-driven narrative that suggests casting off the male gaze with cosmetic surgery. “Stop the ridicule,” Allie X deadpans repeatedly, as the song’s fictional protagonist withdraws “10K in cash” to snip off her pair of assets. Hughes delivers the tale with a wink, but no amount of cheekiness can alter its inherently tragic core: The desire to forfeit a chunk of your body because leering strangers can’t control theirs.
In the face of “something bad”—objectification or otherwise—she strikes back with lead single “Black Eye,” a razor-sharp request to be bludgeoned by a meaty beat as a form of reprieve. “Hit me with that super bass / ‘Cause I want tonight to slap me in the face,” she beckons with vigor, leaping onto the dance floor like an overzealous boxer entering the ring. Dauntless as it is danceable, the New Order-adjacent “Black Eye” is undoubtedly one of pop’s most robust offerings of the 2020s, fortified by a pick-your-pain concept that resonates all too well in a world brimming with ills but lacking solutions. Cynical ballad “Saddest Smile” tags along in the trilogy to bear Hughes’ allegedly hardened heart, a far cry from the sentiments of 2017’s “Paper Love:” “Oh, I cry until I just dissolve / Come on watch my heart turn to pulp.”
Elsewhere, Allie X swipes language from the current lexicon to mull over musicians’ increasingly awkward position within the entertainment industry. She evaluates stan culture with “John and Jonathan,” a meandering portrait of devout fans that vibrates with synths worthy of Gary Numan’s The Pleasure Principle. Later, she adopts the internet’s ever-changing metrics for artistic failure and success to playfully contrast a fan’s gravest sin (“sleeping on” an artist) with a pop star’s greatest attributes (creative longevity) on “You Slept On Me” and “Staying Power.”
You can practically hear Hughes smile through the satire, although her lips don’t appear to curl into anything resembling optimism until album closer “Truly Dreams,” a soaring postscript emphasizing “Everything is fine, really.” “Truly, dreams never die,” Hughes reassures listeners on the chorus, dropping the curtain on her prior bleak observations. Light radiates through this lone crack in Allie X’s mask, emitting a palpable glow in spite of, well, everything. Ironically, such radiance dims the sufficient—but ultimately inferior—shine of tracks like “Galina,” “Staying Power” and “John and Jonathan.” Nevertheless, with career standouts like “Black Eye” and “Off With Her Tits,” the record signifies the formidable maturation of Hughes’ career and pop prowess. Allie X can masquerade as the Girl With No Face all she wants—but there’s no hiding this album’s serious legs.
Victoria Wasylak is an award-winning music journalist and editor with bylines in Vanyaland and The Boston Globe. She’s also written over a dozen episodes of the world-renown music and true crime podcast, Disgraceland. She recently appeared in Forbes’ inaugural 30 Under 30 list for Boston. You can find her on Twitter @VickiWasylak.
