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Photo by Larry Arm

Everyone knows Rebecca Black from the internet. She’s been established as a meme and had to carry that label and branding for years, regardless of the fact that it has nothing to do with her actual artistry. The beauty of Rebecca Black however is that she was brave enough to actually rebuild herself from that internet infamy that would’ve been enough to stop other artists dead in their tracks. On Age of the Exhibitionist, she’s ready for her close up. She’s Rebecca Black and she’s here to stay. 

Age of the Exhibitionist doesn’t lean on hyperpop’s chaos as a shield, it trades that jitteriness for something more controlled and considerably more confident in the form of a glossy, maximalist strain of electropop that hits exactly the right combination of Born This Way-era Lady Gaga and Slayyyter’s unapologetic sleaze, all dialed in perfectly through Black’s own sensibility making it feel as satisfying as unlocking a combination lock perfectly on the first try. 

The album’s best moments recall this incredibly woven tapestry of peak early-2010s party-pop excess, it’s less a pastiche of influences but instead a synthesized formula only Rebecca Black could produce in her own neon-lit, slightly unhinged energy on tracks like “Speakerphone” and “Anaheim Star.” Listening to this record really calls back to being at the club during Kesha’s Animal era. Despite the fact that I was nine when said era was happening, this is what I imagine it would have felt like. 

Consistency is really where Age of the Exhibitionist separates itself, there isn’t a a song where the momentum drops. It’s exactly what you want out of a pop record, it’s a party from start to finish, and leaves you happier for having listened to it much like going out to the club with your friends on a summer night to a rave. The ‘it girl’ of this record is definitely “Waschesalon,” a manic hyper-stylized cut that plays like Olivia Rodrigo’s angst but if she were playing at a rave instead. It’s kind of like your friend who you bring to the rave who looks so good and is slaying so hard that the night is just hers. 

Now setting aside the club metaphors for a moment, lyrically, this album leaves you with a clear statement of Rebecca Black’s songwriting ability. She’s a cheeky, capable writer, and this record is bedazzled with wit throughout its tracklisting. What Age of the Exhibitionist does really well is it gives us a contrast to a lot of what the electropop albums this year have had to say. Age of the Exhibitionist doesn’t always reach for that same emotional register, it’s largely what you see is what you get, and that’s okay because it was never trying to tell you that it was anything deeper. 

This album is about an arrival, the arrival of an artist who spent years being underestimated but finally understands how good she can be and maybe has been all along. Rebecca Black is done sitting at home, she’s come to party, and it’s a party you won’t want to miss. 

Listen to Age of the Exhibitionist below: