Kim Petras – Detour Review

There are whole worlds out there that’ll pass you by if you aren’t keeping your ear to the beating heart of culture. Responsibility beckons and that means learning of Kim Petras, the dance-pop powerhouse who has made a name for herself five albums in. Detour is apparently the turning point. Start here, her fans seem to say. No need to course correct. Proceed to the route laid out by the fan equivalent of SatNav. Detour is a chance to hear Petras speeding down the highway rather than upturned in the layby or stalling at a green light. This bounding, bouncing revival of indie sleaze goes a long way in presenting Petras as a figure of influence, not as a songwriter. But then that is the point. Few artists would opt for the latter given the life cycle of a popstar now, unless you’re hitting the top of the charts consistently, doesn’t give you much in the way of verifiable success. Being the brains behind Detour does, though. Sick bitches are to the front, according to the title track.  

Once we’re all seated, front and centre, there isn’t much to hear that Petras can offer beyond adaptations and stifling ones at that of what electropop has already done. Several leaves from the Brat book can be felt here, the seismic influence of Charli XCX’s 2024 runaway hit are clear here. There’s some creativity spilling out of Detour though the repetition and overlap of cutting up a few lines here or there is hell to play on a listener with tinnitus. When the instrumentals are a tad grating and play the part of a stereotypical club styling popularised again by a Glastonbury Festival headliner, all you’re left with is words. It’s bad bitch music without the sustainability or instrumental variables needed to make it stick. Grand Theft Auto references and a fascination on driving around is what sinks Detour. “Car” is not a concept, certainly not enough for an album. There’s only so many times you can think of a motorised vehicle as a metaphor for love, sex, or clubs. That number of times is once per album, as Queen found with I’m in Love With My Car and The Beach Boys heard with an album worth of motoring misfires, Little Deuce Coupe.  

If you’ve found yourself caught up in the hyperpop fundamentals, then Petras plays with those well and doesn’t change much of what you love. Detour walks the line and doesn’t ever question why it would want to follow in the footsteps of what has fast become a criticism, albeit an accidental one of the modern-day club scene. Occasionally, that repetition works. Check It grates a little but at least it’s a catchy two-word pairing where the repetition is sandwiched between some bizarre mentions of Jesus Christ and a slightly slower tempo that allows the instrumentals to thrive. No prize for guessing what Polo is about. Detour becomes a little too reliant on lust being the main driving force for listening to Petras’ message. It’s the inevitable sexualisation that comes with the territory but isn’t ever a sound that evolves beyond what Meghan Trainor would write with her team. Pointing to a brutalist building and calling it beautiful, and later noting it was torn down, is hardly commentary.  

Occasionally catchy electropop is not enough to overhaul the relatively poor writing. Maybe having carpal tunnel in your wrists and therefore being unable to bump it as you once did is making for a curmudgeonly listen. Jeep is close to great and it would be had it not been for the simplicity found in the message of drinking your way to being a worse person than you are sober for those who know you most intimately. Strange songwriting and never lyrically dense or exciting enough to make a difference. A squeaking basketball court as a sound sample is only smart if the song around it follows suit. It doesn’t. Petras has some fascinating ideas but no way of articulating them in a convincing manner. A shameful waste as it puts Petras right in the middle of the road for a genre where launching the vehicle through the air and causing a burning wreck is par for the course. Tame and underwhelming lyrical appropriations with a few predictable, albeit energetic, instrumental tones.