PRISM

“It’s going to be a darker album,” Katy Perry confided in l’Uomo Vogue, all the while biting her tongue at the fact that this claim was a complete lie. PRISM was expected to be this one of this year’s biggest albums, hyped beyond belief thanks to soundbites such as “Katy is back with a vengeance!” “She’s going to release herself from the shackles of Dr Luke and Max Martin and create an effort so solid and insightful!” “It will blow away the competition!” Sadly, we are still waiting for this album. In the meantime, we’ve got PRISM.

The majority of the album can be epitomised by the first track and lead single, ‘Roar’, which has a suspiciously similar chord progression and production of ‘Brave’ by Sara Bareilles. The lyrics, clearly masterminded by Ms Perry and her team of writers, seem to have come from an age-old book of clichés. If that wasn’t enough to satisfy the hungry DJs, the song can also be added to the ever-growing pile of “self-empowerment anthems” which today’s generation of radio stars can never get their claws off.

There is a slight improvement with the Indian-inspired ‘Legendary Lovers’, with plenty of pan-Asian references like “blood-orange sun”, “scripture and “lotus” colliding in one of Perry’s great lyrical triumphs. Yet the execution of the song is the singer’s worst enemy: there is a strong sense of emptiness behind the words and production; perhaps due to her vocals lacking in depth or emotion.

‘Walking on Air’ is a rare gem which has found itself in the unfortunate position of being surrounded by filler. The ’90s-tinged dance anthem echoes the likes of CeCe Peniston and Chaka Khan, and remains fresh in doing so. Another highlight is the trap-pop ‘Dark Horse’, which encapsulates what many fans originally thought PRISM was going to sound like on the whole. Despite Juicy J‘s maligned rap (“She’ll eat your heart out / Like Jeffrey Dahmer”), the track is definitely single-worthy.

Especially cringeworthy are the shout-outs to random, generalised groups within Perry’s fandom.

Yet the album severely lags in the latter half of the standard edition: ‘This is How We Do’ is an offensively stiff effort at being fun, instead coming off as insincere and ridiculous. Especially cringeworthy are the shout-outs to random, generalised groups within Perry’s fandom. ‘International Smile’ should have been renamed ‘Forced Smile’, as the vocal delivery on the refrain sounds like neither the producer nor Perry herself particularly enjoyed the recording process. In an attempt to secure some serious balladry at the end of the album, there are various failed attempts at emotion or obscure forms of religious devotion – most markedly in ‘By the Grace of God.’

In fact, the track which makes the entire listening experience remotely worthwhile is hidden away on the deluxe edition. ‘Spiritual’ has cold and heartless nuances, but a strong emotional yearning. The trippy drum-laden instrumental whips back and forth while Perry trills beautiful lyrics co-penned by John Mayer. It is quite bizarre to consider that this track was not taken as the template for the entire album.

Whilst listening to PRISM, it is clear that “happy!fun!pop” is not the avenue which Katy Perry wants to go down, and nor should it be. The upbeat material is pedestrian and characterless, and a world apart from the “fun” aspects that were perfectly manifested in her last album. Yet the areas where she does shine are those on which darkness is present. Perhaps this ought to provide the backbone for Ms Perry’s next venture. For now, however, PRISM ought to have produced many colours, yet it only refracts a few.