Charlie Denis
Audio By Carbonatix
Lily Allen has never shied away from the uncomfortable.
Still, the British pop star whose breakout 2006 hit revels in the pain of an ex — “At first, when I see you cry/Yeah, it makes me smile,” she sang on her fizzy, insouciant single “Smile” — confronted an altogether more lacerating and humiliating discomfort on West End Girl, her first album in seven years.
News of the project came as a surprise, announced just four days prior to its release, and it soon became clear why stealth was employed. The 14-track album sifted through the ashes of Allen’s marriage to actor David Harbour. Allen, as is her wont, spared nothing in the recounting of the relationship’s demise.
Uncharacteristic is how Allen has carefully positioned Girl in numerous interviews she’s conducted in the British press since the record’s October release. “I don’t think I could say it’s all true. I have artistic license,” Allen told The Times in late October. “But yes, there are definitely things I experienced within my relationship that have ended up on this album.”
Will you step up to support Dallas Observer this year?
At the Dallas Observer, we’re small and scrappy — and we make the most of every dollar from our supporters. Right now, we’re $15,250 away from reaching our December 31 goal of $30,000. If you’ve ever learned something new, stayed informed, or felt more connected because of the Dallas Observer, now’s the time to give back.
True Enough
The ultimate truth of it all is a bit beside the point. What matters is West End Girl feels true to the implosion of a marriage, the sickening slide of domestic stability into chaos, recrimination and cruelty.
It all gives the album weight and has clearly resonated with a slew of listeners, some of whom may only just be discovering Allen and her catalog.
Gen Z pop star Olivia Rodrigo did her part to keep Allen in the conversation, bringing her out during a 2024 London date at the O2 Arena, a gesture that Allen credited with shaking her back into an artistic headspace. “Those performances with Olivia Rodrigo triggered me, in a way,” Allen told Perfect magazine earlier this year. “When I’ve been up on those stages with those audiences, I’ve thought, ‘I really enjoy this.’ It was just annoying that I couldn’t come up with anything good enough to justify doing it.”
Indeed, Girl’s sense of veracity dovetails with the relative speed — 10 days — it took Allen to write and record her first full-length release in seven years.
Despite a small army of producers (among them Blue May and Kito), there is a fleet surety to the flow of Girl, which pulls listeners inside the frazzled mind of a worried spouse (“Ruminating”) before spiraling into irritation (“Sleepwalking”), creeping suspicion (“Tennis,” “Madeline”) and ultimately, grim realization (“Pussy Palace,” “4chan Stan”).
The album, which stands as the year’s best pop release, reaches back to Allen’s equally masterful 2009 LP, It’s Not Me, It’s You, which likewise found its creator sifting through the wreckage of a relationship.
But where You dusted itself off and found hope in moving forward, there’s an undercurrent of faintly bitter resignation throughout Girl. This barely contained frustration reaches its apex on “Dallas Major.” “I’m a mum to teenage children, does that sound like fun to you?” she seethes to prospective lovers. What is a stumbling block in your late 20s can feel like an insurmountable obstacle in your 40s.
Allen is enjoying a career resurgence thanks to Girl. She appeared on the Dec. 13 episode of Saturday Night Live, her first appearance on the program since 2007. She’s also readying a North American theatre tour — Allen’s first Stateside headlining jaunt in eight years — to support the record, which is also reportedly being considered for adaptation into a play. Given some of the LP’s particular details, that is a decidedly rich and just irony.
While it is remarkable to behold how deftly Allen processes pain and the sleek, vibrant pop songs she conjures with her collaborators, there is also hope. West End Girl draws to a close with the bruising, self-aware “Fruityloop,” with Allen hoping she won’t have to endure another bout of emotional brutality in order to remain a vital piece of the pop landscape: “Wish I could fix all your shit/But all your shit’s yours to fix,” she sighs.
Lily Allen has never shied away from the uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean she should have to dwell in it. As brilliant and vulnerable as West End Girl may be, it’s not a headspace any artist, however deft at synthesizing pain, should have to permanently call home.
