Back in December, when Switched on Pop first interviewed Chappell Roan, she was averaging 2 to 3 million streams per week as her 2023 album, The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess, continued its slow burn. Since then, things are … different: That burn has become an inferno in the form of 68 million streams per week, star-making appearances at Coachella and on Jimmy Fallon, and a Lollapalooza performance that may well have drawn a record-setting crowd. It’s little wonder that Roan herself is struggling with the enormity of that sudden superstardom.
Considering how much has changed since December, Switched on Pop hosts Nate Sloan and Charlie Harding decided to devote another episode to Roan, this time to deconstruct four (of the seven!) songs she has on the “Hot 100” right now and understand exactly why her sound is so perfect for 2024.
“Good Luck, Babe!” (No. 6 on “Hot 100”)
Nate Sloan: “Good Luck, Babe!” is not only the most popular of Roan’s songs right now, it’s also a great place to start to try and understand why she has captured our collective imagination. Really, you need look no further than the title, which is also the chorus: “Good luck, Babe!” It’s ironic and detached, yet sung with so much passion. But let’s go to the beginning of the track and set the scene with the opening verse:
“It’s fine, it’s cool
You can say that we are nothing but you know the truth
And guess I’m the fool
With her arms out like an angel through the car sunroof.”
The lyrics are hyperspecific and imagistic, and they roll off the tongue effortlessly. They’re perfectly matched to the melody — in a way they sound like normal speech. So there’s this combination of being these perfectly chiseled turns of phrase that get etched into your memory, even while they sound so casual.
There’s also the presence of a dynamic that we hear throughout Roan’s discography, which is the tension between her desire and the object of her affection looking somewhere else. There’s a star-crossed quality to a lot of these songs that you can hear right from the start: These two people, Chappell Roan and her lover, are not in the same place. And that tension just ratchets up as we get to the pre-chorus:
“I don’t wanna call it off
But you don’t wanna call it love
You only wanna be the one that I call baby.”
I love how short this pre-chorus is — only four measures! But it does its job, because at the end, you get this tension, and then Roan sails up her vocal register for the chorus. By the time she gets to the title line, “Good luck, Babe,” she’s ascended a full octave: That first line, “It’s fine, it’s cool,” was down at the pitches D and B in the bottom of her range. Now, she’s at F# and D a full octave up. That’s not easy to do, and it sounds so clear.
Charlie Harding: The performance also mirrors the directionality of the music. When at the beginning, she says, “Eh, it’s fine, it’s cool,” the music is simple: basic indie drum groove, nice little synth keys:
And, gradually, moment by moment, the song and performance build to this point of feeling like a symphony.
N.S.: I love that you pointed that out, because as we listen to these songs, the presence of Dan Nigro in the background is so important. He’s been collaborating with Roan since 2020 and is co-songwriter and producer of “Good Luck, Babe!” He’s masterful at not drawing attention to himself. There aren’t a lot of musical choices that make you go, Oh, wow! What was that sound? His production is so subtle and effective. Listen to how the voices — the instances of “good luck, babe”— overlap on the chorus:
C.H.: There’s her voice layering on top, one after the other, with a symphony orchestra building behind her supporting it. You only really notice it when it suddenly drops out in the second verse:
N.S.: There’s a lot of care and craft that goes into these songs, and a sterling example comes when we get to the bridge:
“When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night
With your head in your hands you’re nothing more than his wife
And when you think about me all of those years ago
You’re standing face to face with “I told you so”
You know I hate to say it, I told you so
You know I hate to say, but I told you so …”
It’s like a cresting wave that you just get caught up in — and when it crashes, all those beautiful symphonic strings in the background get replaced with what sounds like panting. It’s so primal. There’s, like, so much delicacy and sophistication here, and then it’s also kind of naked and raw. Her songs often contain currents of queer desire and sexual awakening, and pairing those themes with that mode of vulnerable vocal performance is so effective.
“Hot to Go!” (No. 17)
N.S.: Once again, at the start of this song, we have a line that is just cut from marble:
“I could be the one, or your new addiction
It’s all in my head, but I want non-fiction …”
It’s clever, but it doesn’t call attention to itself. There’s a lyrical density to Roan’s songs that rewards repeat listenings. Meanwhile, the harmony is nefariously simple.
C.H.: Just two chords oscillating back and forth.
N.S.: The one and the four. The tonic and the subdominant. It kind of gives you that nostalgic simplicity that you crave.
“I don’t want the world but I’ll take this city
Who can blame a girl? Call me hot, not pretty.”
And then you get to the frickin’ chorus:
“H-O-T-T-O-G-O
You can take me hot to go”
I have no profound reading of the lyrics. That’s not the point. The lyrics continue this theme of one-sided affection, of yearning unrequited, of explicit sexuality. It is so relatable, and she makes it so fun.
“Hurry up, it’s time for supper
Order up, I’ve got to go
What’s it take to get your number?
Hurry up, it’s getting cold.”
This playbook works so well because it’s kind of this universal experience of wanting someone so badly that you’re, like, burning up, but it’s delivered in this way that’s fun and cheeky and empowering at the same time.
“Red Wine Supernova” (No. 47)
N.S.: The song titles across this album are works of art unto themselves. “Feminomenon,” “Red Wine Supernova,” “Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl.” There’s a specificity to them that is immediately apprehensible and draws you into their world.
Another thing that draws you into the world of this song is the way that everything drops out for the chorus.
What at one point in time, Charlie, we might have even called an anti-chorus — at least until Roan says, “Let’s pick it up now,” and the beat comes right back in.
“Let’s pick it up now!
I don’t care that you’re a stoner
Red wine supernova, fall right into me”
It’s a moment that accentuates that recurring theme of yearning that we’ve noticed throughout these songs, because it finds Chappell kind of alone with her desire. And then, just when things could get kind of too bleak and lachrymose, the beat comes back in and it’s that balance of triumph and trial that is, like, always animating these songs. I think the power of this chorus is also intensified by some very deliberate rhyme schemes in the verse. Like, if we go back to the pre-chorus, the first line we hear is, “I’m in the hallway waitin’ for ya …”
Then skip ahead a little bit and you get, “I just want to get to know ya …” It’s still building to the chorus, and sure enough, before long we get, “Baby, why don’t you come over? Red wine supernova.” She’s been laying the groundwork for this chorus.
C.H.: The anticipation she introduces with “I’m in the hallway waitin’ for ya …” is fulfilled when the chorus arrives.
N.S.: Except, is it? I feel like that’s the puzzle of this song. Is this fulfillment or is it a dream of fulfillment? Check out the bridge:
“Back at my house, I’ve got a California king
Okay, maybe it’s a twin bed
And some roommates —
Don’t worry, we’re cool!
I heard you like magic
I’ve got a wand and a rabbit
So baby, let’s get freaky, get kinky
Let’s make this bed get squeaky!”
I don’t know — I feel like this song is pleading for someone to come over, and we never know if they actually do. It’s so perfectly Chappell Roan.
“Pink Pony Club” (No. 29)
N.S.: This is a perfect song to end on because in many ways, it’s Roan’s origin story. This was the first collaboration between Roan and Nigro, back in 2020. Even though Roan seems like this kind of overnight success story, it’s not that at all. It’s been a slow grind to the top. I remember last year, she performed at a student music festival at USC. One of my students told me about it; they were so excited: “Chappell Roan is coming!” I was like, “Who?” Fast-forward a year and here we are.
C.H.: You have a song from 2020 about her coming into her own sexuality and talking about going out to a club in West Hollywood, a famously queer-positive space. These are themes that continue to unwind in the songs we’re hearing that are more contemporary. But she’s been doing this for years.
N.S.: Our colleague at Vox, Constance Grady, wrote a great explainer about Roan’s story, and she points out that this song also was a new musical direction for Roan. Before “Pink Pony Club” and this collaboration with Nigro, this is not how Roan sounded. If you listen to a song from 2017 called “Good Hurt,” we hear a very different kind of sonic approach.
“I know I’m impatient
Bite your tongue while I do it for ya
You can taste hesitation
Mouth to mouth conversation
And I’ve even tried medication
Cold hearted frustration
You can call it foundation
I’ll call you when I’m wasted.”
C.H.: It sounds like something you’d find on an indie-pop Spotify playlist: intense cursive singing, a lot of Auto-Tune. It’s generic.
N.S.: You’re right, though that’s not to say it’s a bad song. I think it’s quite powerful in a lot of ways. But it’s not distinctive in the manner of her current music. It’s her performing an established style.
C.H.: Exactly. She’s performing pop rather than being a pop star.
N.S.: So, “Pink Pony Club” is both a personal coming-out story, and it’s also kind of this musical coming-out story.
“It’s gonna cause a scene
She sees her baby girl
I know she’s gonna scream
God, what have you done?
You’re a pink pony girl
And you dance at the club
Oh mama, I’m just having fun …”
It’s a pivotal moment. This album is called The Rise and Fall of a Midwestern Princess, and I feel like this moment is the fall, so to speak: The fall of an old identity and the birth of a new one. You know, shedding the past, rebuking your parents to a degree, and embracing this new identity, this new community, and this new distinctive sound. She’s created an exquisite formula for success — but it’s bigger than that. If we zoom out, her music comes at a key moment in our sociopolitical landscape, when queer and trans rights are under assault all over the country. That makes these songs about unabashed yearning and queer desire not just personal stories. They’re political ones as well, and they’re so effective because of their unbridled power. That, and they’re just so much fun.
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