Meghan Trainor is a little late to cash in on the Barbie hype, but it takes time to draft a team eager to write new music. Toy With Me is three years too late and, had there been a just and kind God above us, would have remained in the Epic Records vaults until Armageddon. Perhaps we’ve gone beyond. This is Hell, and Trainor is penance for that time you accidentally stole a garlic clove or engaged in an arson plot. Who knows. We can never be certain of what the world has in store, and we can never be sure still on what Toy With Me sets out to do other than capitalise on a moment which has long passed Trainor by. Pop is reaction. Whatever tops the charts is a read of the cultural moment and it appears Trainor, though not quite at the top of the charts, wants to be that narrator. Stuck inside watching the beautiful sun slowly fade, that’s the right time to listen to Toy With Me.
For all the resentment that may be felt from being stuck inside a cold room, a state of mania closer than a state of bliss, it’s hard not to enjoy just how catchy Toy With Me is. No, there is no gas leak coming from the radiator. Not a major one, anyway. Opening track Get in Girl has the affable pop action necessary to any hit with a soulful tone. Take that anger out on the dance floor. That’s an actionable plan, and it’s backed with saxophone, no less. A sole highlight, but a highlight nonetheless. Toy With Me derails from there into catchy and clinical pop slop, the usual run of self-preservation in the face of people whose thoughts and feelings may differ from the protagonist’s. Kaiser Chiefs of all artists did what Trainor has done with Toy With Me, though admittedly with much less success. These are the artificially sweetened pieces of pop work which appeal to those who need an optimistic trimming for their social media presence. At least Trainor is backed by some lighter stylings that don’t offer up such a headache-inducing experience.
They’re still going to rattle your brain like a man attempting to dislodge an overly-sized piece of bread from a toaster, but they’re having an impact, are they not? You would be hard-pressed to tell the difference between Still Don’t Care and Potential, for instance, but Chef’s Kiss, dated it may be in its profiling of its titular action or compliment, is catchy. Trainor is not setting out to mark a cultural commentary, at least we must hope she is not, and it shows across Toy With Me. What may have sounded like praise prior to this sentence was, in fact, delirium brought on by hunger. Listen to the lyrics and you’ll find some of Trainor’s putrid worst, hidden away by advertiser-friendly music. Pink Cadillac is one of the worst songs you’ll hear this year.
All those usual pop markers are hit and buried poorly by Trainor here, from the soppy sentiment preying on listeners all too invested in the Made You Look songwriter to a nasty and faux body confidence message on Princess. This is pop at its most gruesome. Play a better album in another room of your home to ward off the permanent stench of bad songs if you need to. Trainor would have some solid songs on her hands if she weren’t so hellbent on being a reflection of the times, vapid and quick to change they are. It means much of Toy With Me is the same, though this is no surprise given Trainor sees her music as a brand rather than an artistic endeavour. A Candy Crush partnership is more important to her than expanding on the comments made across Toy With Me. Art is dead and the sweet-toothed puzzle game community, likely, played a part in its death.
