Meghan Trainor - Title

‘All About That Bass’. It's one of those tunes, a bit of cultural phenomenon that came from nowhere from an artist with no profile at all. But everyone knows Meghan Trainor now, whether they want to or not. The girl from Nantucket hit the big time with that body positive worldwide number one, a personal triumph after her struggles in Nashville as an unknown songwriter. But with her gaze now firmly fixed on the future, her debut album is one of pastel painted pop, colourful singalongs and (un)cautionary tales.

Trainor has a hand in writing all of the tracks - though that’s not necessarily a positive (“The dumb drummer / Sicker than the swine flu” from ‘Bang Dem Sticks’) - but there are numerous reasons Title doesn’t make much of a name for itself: the overly auto-tuned vocals, the too frequent out-of-place attempts at rapping, the shallow subject matter (boys). Basically, the rot-you-from-the-inside sugariness of the whole experience is hard to like. ‘Dear Future Husband’ and 'Lips Are Movin’ simply try to repeat the success of her hit and though ‘3am’ is reasonably cute, the goodwill soon fades with the likes of the loathsome ‘Walkashame’ (“Oh my god / I put my pants on inside out / I couldn’t tell ‘cause the lights were out”). Parents will be scrambling to put the Frozen CD on again. Bubblegum pop should and could, aim higher. Lorde and Taylor Swift have nothing to fear.



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