Jessie Ware: ‘Superbloom’ – Album Review

The English diva is taking the final lap in her disco trilogy. What a send-off to a period that saw her bloom anew as a singer, a pop star and a woman.

It’s no news to say that women have never had it their way. Madonna might be one of the greatest examples of that. In her early years, she was blamed for lacking maturity and depth. Then she was torn apart for asserting her sexuality (1992’s Erotica). Once she hit forty – aka society’s expiration date for women – the girl has been increasingly criticised. For supposedly trying to appeal to younger audiences by chasing trends (2008’s Hard Candy, 2012’s MDNA). For daring to still don a sexual image despite having officially passed her prime and showing off her muscly body, which people took as not feminine (2005’s Confessions on a Dance Floor). Then she was castigated for getting cosmetic procedures. Ironically, one of her most acclaimed albums (1998’s Ray of Light) could be crudely summed up as her maternity album, despite being way much more than that (and a great fucking album, at that). So, basically, she can never win. Either she’s too young or she’s too old, too childish or too grown up, not doing enough or doing too much. But, hey, people will say, she can be whatever kind of woman she wants to be. Just as long as she’s right in the middle of the narrow confines of what’s acceptable from women. Plastic surgery is ugly and fake and she’s not accepting her ageing. But her toned body from hours of mental and physical discipline is too masculine, unsexy and over-the-top. Tackling desire is OK, as long as it’s PG-rated. Overt sex is a big no-no, but becoming a mother (which, in most cases, is inherent to sex) is a green flag. Essentially, she has to be the Virgin Mary. All women have to. They have to aspire to a fictional icon whose essence is unreachable.

On her sixth album, Jessie Ware says, ‘Fuck all that shit,’ and bridges two so-called opposites: her sexual nature and her position as a mother and a wife. Not only is she connecting them, she is stating that each fuels the other.

I have so many things to say about Superbloom, so bear with me.

With this new album, Jessie is taking the final lap in her disco trilogy, following 2020’s What’s Your Pleasure? and 2023’s That! Feels Good!, and what a send-off to a period that saw her, well, bloom anew as a singer, a pop star and a woman.

First, a bit of context.

Jessie truly was a revelation for me in 2020 and has become one of my most adored artists, one that I think people definitely should look into. (OK, I have yet to delve into her pre-2020 albums but the dance floor is calling me, I’m sorry. I did enjoy Devotion, though.) The multiple lockdowns of 2020 and 2021 were really harsh to get through, but What’s Your Pleasure? (and its Platinum Pleasure Edition) may very well be the album that I kept going back to, in search for light, escapism and just good fucking music. Then came That! Feels Good!, which kept the party going and hit even harder in terms of camp and danceability (although it didn’t fully hit the mark and needed its songs to be longer). Nowadays, with about everything about the state of the world being shit once again, Superbloom is a welcome reprieve. It feels like the natural continuation of Pleasure? and Good!, but also a sort of combination of both those albums.

What’s Your Pleasure? was a question, an invitation, it was seductive, elegant and sensual. Its songs bathed in lush instrumentation. Eleven of the twenty songs from the Platinum Pleasure Edition pass the four-minute mark (sorry, ‘Soul Control,’ but you’re just 3:59 – do better), and two largely pass the five-minute mark. At 3:35, its shortest song is still longer than the shortest from Good! and Superbloom. Then That! Feels Good! was a double exclamation, an answer to the first album’s query, a statement. It felt sexier, sweatier, more confident. It didn’t reach as high as Pleasure?’s highs but overall it was so fucking fun!

In 2020, Jessie was 36 and had recently given birth to her second kid. Now, as her new album is being born as well, she is a 41-year-old mother of three. Motherhood and marriage already were themes surrounding her previous albums with songs like ‘Adore You,’ ‘0208’ and ‘Lightning’, though all of them felt sort of out of place or clashed with the rest of their respective albums. However, those themes feel more prevalent, explicit and coherent this time around (‘Love You For,’ ‘16 Summers’). Yet, at the same time, these tracks coexist along sensual four-on-the-floor bangers. Superbloom aims for maturity while still shaking it on the dance floor. It’s about connection, not only to others or to yourself, but to all the parts of your life that make it uniquely yours.

Superbloom definitely lives up to its title and cover. It does feel like Jessie is singing in the middle of a garden surrounded by hundreds of colourful flowers, her planted as an ethereal figure. Each song abounds with musical flourishes. Lavish and luxuriant instrumentations make up most of the songs, harkening back to the 1970s’ dramatic soul-infused disco. Strings, horns, flutes, you name it – it’s all there. Notably on ‘I Could Get Used to This’ (with its delicious progression), the title track (which is musically immaculate), ‘Automatic,’ ‘No Consequences’ and ‘Mon amour.’ And at the same time those songs flirt with the electronic touches of ‘Mr Valentine’ (a pop punk-disco hybrid), the aptly sweaty ‘Sauna’ and cowboy–themed ‘Ride.’

The first third of the record could mislead and make you think Jessie has settled for midtempo middle-of-the-road music. But don’t be fooled. Superbloom is so camp. On ‘Sauna,’ she sits on ‘sweat-dripping cedar’ and ‘[wants] the boys who seek the joy in every corner of the spa,’ before stating, ‘If you wanna last longer, I don’t need faster, I need stronger, take it to the sauna.’ Damn, Jessie. Then, there’s ‘Ride.’ I didn’t think I would hear the theme tune from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly turned into an 80s sex anthem. And, it actually works? Girl.

It all works because she doesn’t take herself seriously. She’s not a pop product. She’s never been a pop star per se, there was no expectation for her to be. That’s why her pop reinvention has been such a wonderful success. She allowed herself to be this pop diva she never thought she could be before. That’s the reason it sounds genuine and fun to hear her channel icons Shirley Bassey and Gloria Gaynor (‘Don’t You Know Who I Am?’), Diana Ross (‘Mon amour’) and Donna Summer (‘Ride’). It’s real evidence of the newly found confidence she’s acquired thanks to her musical renaissance: Jessie is so comfortable in her skin and her mind that pretending to be someone else doesn’t read as a lack of identity.

Moreover, as always, the common thread of this album is Jessie’s vocals, which are a testament to her craft and mastery. They truly are heavenly! She knows when to go quieter, fiercer, when to belt or when to whisper. And, unlike many, Jessie has the ability to always hit it just right. When she goes for it, her notes never overextend nor do they give too little. Her belt before the final chorus of ‘Ride?’ Impeccably dramatic. The final stretch of the title track? Eargasm. The key change in ‘I Could Get Used to This?’ More, please. And then there’s the background vocals work that’s, as usual with her, flawless. Maybe she draws from her own beginnings as a backing vocalist. The way she works with multiples other voices to create those choirs she blends into adds so much heft, warmth and humanity to her songs. That’s her thing as an artist, and it’s so good to listen to. Don’t tell me that choir on ‘Sauna’ didn’t make you ascend to heaven!

And yes, it all sounds kitsch. That’s the point. It’s escapism from the here and the now to a bygone era. She’s offering a fantasy. Partly at least. Because for all the lyrical and production frivolity, Superbloom is more grounded than What’s Your Pleasure? and That! Feels Good! She takes us into her fantasy (‘Step into my secret garden,’ she says at the top of ‘I Could Get Used to This’) and at once brings us back down to Earth, her roots firmly planted into the ground.

This is most evident with ‘16 Summers,’ the third-to-last song. It’s a gorgeous and elegant ballad about her fear of time passing by too quickly, so much that she misses out on seeing her children growing up. It’s the most vulnerable and heartbreaking track from the album. At this point, she’s spent about thirty minutes singing about her fantasies. But before going back to dancing (with a grandiose duo of songs), she offers a moment of humanity with ‘16 Summers,’ which includes the defining instant of this whole album. At the 4:07 mark, her voice cracks on ‘can’ as she asks her children one last time, ‘Can I spend every summer I’ve got left with you?’

In the final track ‘Mon amour,’ Jessie insists, ‘We’ll talk in the morning, but right now let’s find out what nights are for.’ She longs for a carefree connection to her partner, physically and emotionally. Having expressed her love and devotion to her family earlier allows her now to bloom. Ultimately, for all the hedonism of Superbloom, what makes Jessie a unique and human diva is her endless love that nurtures her most precious flowers.

★★★★☆