Credit where it is due, being a pop sensation is a tricky tightrope to walk. Few will maintain themselves in the spotlight with continuous, contemporary growth. Fewer still will find themselves in the bright spots and top the charts with work worthy of being there. Neither has happened for Katy Perry on 143, an album which has all the sounds and desperations of clawing your way back to the top. Senseless and all over the place this latest endeavour from Perry is, the sole purpose of it is to put her back to where she was a decade ago. But even then, she fell out of favour for all the right reasons. Listeners moved on. Perry has not. Here she peddles the same sound to smaller groups in the hopes of goading them into supporting her. It has worked on pockets of Twitter, but not in the real world.
Generally unrelatable or uninteresting pop filler flies through this one. Faux female anthem Woman’s World lingers as one of eleven attempts Perry has in trying to fit her sound into some sub-category of sound. It does not work. She is an opportunist in the worst, most unforgivably dire way. Partnerships with 21 Savage, Kim Petras and Doechii feature, back-to-back-to-back, in the slim hope of attracting fans of the other artists. Not one moment of interest between Gimme Gimme, Gorgeous or I’m His, He’s Mine. Everything from the repetitive production of these trap-hop beats to the condescending tone taken, as though Perry championing a certain narrative is an achievement for said issue rather than an opportunity for her, is numb. 143 has not a second of interest to it. It may be one of pop music’s greatest misfires.
At a time when pop music is dominated by daring artistic choices in the form of Billie Eilish or Chappel Roan, an album as bland as 143 is a sign of being unable to keep up with the times. Even those who have run this course before, releases by Sabrina Carpenter or Ariana Grande, while unavailable lyrically, do have credible mixtures within. Perry has neither. No daring moment, no out-there single to latch onto. Nothing which should, or could, break the upper reaches of the charts. Artificial feels like quite the ironic song. Perry is not a pastiche of her old self, the popular powerhouse who dominated with a sound worth, at the very least, playing at a BBQ. She is now a parody of those who are reaping the rewards of a genuine sound. 143 is an empty endeavour, soulless in the worst ways possible.
Horrible adaptations and samples throughout, lingering in the past as much as they hope for the nostalgia pop to pull them through, Perry has exhausted what she can of the genre. Music for the masses, but they are already catered to. The trough is full. All Perry can do is hope people tire of the dreck and drown elsewhere. Not a second worth salvaging. No part of this feels genuine or heartfelt. Pop music at its worst at least has a purpose, a reason to move on and exist. 143 is as vague as it is intensely dire. Clunky selections, a producer causing a stench and a series of musical moves which conjure only pity, at best.
