Ava Max – Don’t Click Play Review

Diamonds and Dancefloors, the previous album from Ava Max, proved she was a follower of trends, not a setter of them. No harm in that, though it was a rather stark difference between the pop icons of the present and her take on the genre. The same occurs for Don’t Click Play, though how much of it is her choice and how much is due to a multitude of alleged studio and label troubles, is up in the air. In any case, it’s a moment of madness defined by very little of quality. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last of these albums where the rollout and marketing are more important than the songs. But a botched social media deletion and a relatively lifeless selection of singles mean Max is far from their best. Don’t Click Play is more an instruction for potential listeners than a warning of new depths to her sound. There is no defiance of those old tones here, just tame synth styles.  

An energy-free collection of Lady Gaga riffs is what Don’t Click Play offers. That much is clear from the failed suggestiveness of the opening, title track. “Gaga imitation” is a telling lyric. At least Max is honest about who she rips from. Last time it was Dua Lipa, this time it’s Gaga. A follower of trends, not a setter of them. Don’t Click Play has a production and writing style which feels like a rush to capture the popular tones of last year. Coldplay does this, but at least accepts they are a mirror to the charts. Their success and chart-topping ways are happenstance occurrences, and at least Chris Martin has his moments. Max, however, is more about falling for a relatively tame pop image, irrespective of the lacking musical quality. The “la, la, la, la,” additions to How Can I Dance are miserable, and the self-care of follow-up Lovin’ Myself lacks the subtleties which make Max’s peers far more interesting.  

Heartbreaks and hopelessness is no unique feeling, but the best in class can make it a catchy lesson to learn from. Max is far from that. Every lyric a cliché, every note recycled. Songs through Don’t Click Play are stretched to their very limit. Sucks to Be My Ex feels like one line of another song stretched to three minutes. Miserable examples of Max trying and failing to find new life in her music can be heard on Fight for Me, a song focused on dancing with uninterested partners. Nothing Max sings of here is worthy of a standalone song. Pair that lack of interesting material with an unchanging instrumental style and Don’t Click Play fast becomes a miserable, tiring effort. Failing to capture the nuance needed to carry songs from the heart and falling short of danceable disco-adjacent songs is a death knell for any pop artist. Max, somehow, comes across worse here than she did on Diamonds and Dancefloors.  

It’s a failed chase of the sound of the times. A little flicker of Flashdance without the flashiness heard on Wet, Hot American Dream, an underwhelming lead single with Lose Your Faith. An artist who fails to take a read of the world around them is asking for failure. Max suggested in interviews ahead of this album there were “no heartbreaks” to draw from. We are listening to mouldy material, then, as every song here is the usual run of empowerment in the face of ending relationships. Those Gaga comparisons are addressed by Max, who in turn fails to separate her sincere differences from the artists she is frequently compared to. It’s not as though Don’t Click Play has an image or idea of its own to share. Pop noise at best, but even then, the muddy sound which comes from these half-hearted, ’80s-influenced bops, is as disappointing as expected.