never hesitated to place a veiled version of herself at the center of her songs, but is her first record specifically about " Superstar," not the singer/songwriter who grew up in public. dispenses with the notion that is a babe in the woods, swapping naivete for calculation, leaning hard into the idea that she plots her every move. In that light, it's difficult not to read as 's first self-consciously "adult" record, one preoccupied with sex, betrayal, and the scars they leave behind. Appropriately, she dresses in dark, moody sounds, dwelling on drum loops and synthesizers. Working with , , and -- all veterans of 2014's -- her official pop makeover -- achieves a steely, nocturnal sound, one that appears to exist on a gray scale: Apart from the delicate closer "New Year's Day," every song on has a cool, gleaming patina that's designed to put an alluring distance between and the listener. That sense of remove can highlight how clumsy can be in regard to carnality -- whenever she writes about sex, she tends to be a bit on the nose -- and occasionally her attempts at villainy veer toward the absurd ("This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things"), an awkwardness that's distracting upon first listen but less so on revisits. Upon repeated plays, these lyrics fade, as does the monochromatic production, and what's left is a coming of age album anchored by some strong songs, most of which are bunched at the end of the record. "Getaway Car," "Delicate," "Dress," and especially "New Year's Day" carry 's trademark blend of vulnerability, melody, and confidence, but they are deeply felt and complex, signs that all of the heavy-handed persona plays of were a necessary exercise for her to mature as a singer/songwriter. ~ Stephen Thomas Erlewine