Is Tate McRae a main pop girl yet? Let’s consider the evidence: She has an onstage alter ego (Tatiana) and a cheeky moniker for her fan base (“Tater Tots”). She got name-dropped by Drake. Her latest album leaked at the beginning of the year. Stans are shaking their fists at the sky declaring they were here first, and will wait patiently until the rest of the world finally catches up. But even with her 12.9 billion streams (and counting), extensive world tours, and co-signs from pop’s new guard, the Canadian performer’s onstage starpower consistently seems misaligned with her unprovocative take on pop. On her third album, So Close to What, the pop star amps up the 2000s pop-inspired tracks, dials up the sex, and sprinkles in the ballads, as a small treat. And while the result is more enjoyable than its predecessors, its nostalgic rush still can’t make up for its lack of originality.
McRae’s second album, THINK LATER, traded bedroom-pop ditties for club-ready bangers—a deliberate about-face that aimed to position the dancer and singer as the next Britney Spears (see her sweaty music videos and red carpet references). If that album felt transitional, overloaded with the teenage sentiments of her debut album, So Close to What represents her most mature record yet. Even her contemplations of returning to toxic exes, for the most part, feel more considered than the naive callouts of the past. “Revolving door” drives forward with a pulsing bass and finds McRae returning to an ex-lover time and time again. “I confess, I’m not that versatile,” she sings, knowing that even though the wound finally healed, she’ll willingly be maimed again. “Say I’m good, but I might be in denial.”
The pursuit of perfection usually leads to sterilized artistry—just ask any hardworking dancer who’s been given the cliché advice to loosen up and get messy—and So Close to What finds McRae mostly embracing life’s rough edges instead of skirting around them (it’s hard to imagine THINK LATER-era Tate listing all the places she’d like to get freaky with her new beau as she does here, on the Ying Yang Twins homage “Sports car”). So Close to What is chock full of danceable bops, including the standout “2 hands,” whose tinny, pitched-up refrain sounds like Calvin Harris’ “Slide”—another reminder, however catchy, of the album’s dependency on callbacks. The breakup track “bloodonmyhands,” meanwhile, is competent, but featured artist Flo Milli outshines McRae, plus the Miami-bass embellishments might have fared better if it wasn’t following in the footsteps of several others who embraced the rollicking 808s more impressively last year.
But over its runtime, So Close to What becomes tedious, Xeroxing elements that worked for other pop stars to less effective results. When a chopped and pitch-shifted post-chorus first appears on the sultry “Miss possessive,” it’s a serviceable earworm that will surely make for a flashy dance break onstage. But then she repeats the idea on “No I’m not in love” and “2 hands,” and each time its luster diminishes. On “Purple lace bra,” McRae voices her frustrations with the media and men for valuing her only when she caters to their sexual desires. While her convictions are relatable and clear enough, there’s a stringy Charli XCX intro, FKA twigs inflected yelps, and a breathy Addison Rae–esque melody, all within the first 45 seconds. There’s no harm in taking inspiration from others. But here, it sounds like McRae and her writing team hopped on the left-of-center-pop bandwagon without building out something new and wholly Tate—and it’s hard to make leftovers taste as enticing as when they were first served hot and fresh.
Given the underdeveloped mimicry of So Close to What, is it possible that McRae—a talented dancer who seems to put performance first and music second—would fare better as the highlighted dancer of a girl group, like Lisa of BLACKPINK or Megan of KATSEYE? In the music video for “Sports car,” Tate McRae dons 12 high fashion looks, from Vegas showgirl fantasies to Roberto Cavalli cheetah-print corsets. As she taste-tests every type of pop star she can be, it feels like a microcosm of So Close to What’s shortcomings. While the video is visually stunning, all its quick cuts mean that it never lingers too long on a single moment—never giving McRae enough time to fully embody any one character, and never giving the viewer a clear, close look at the performer at its center.
