The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess Review

The album opens with its thesis statement: a synth bass line, a verse about attraction to women that refuses to soften the details, and a chorus that sticks because the melody lifts exactly when the lyric does. The song establishes the template, specific situation, undeniable hook, that the best tracks here follow. The production stays minimal in the verse to let the vocal carry the setup, then adds layers for the chorus without cluttering the mix. The writing is sharp enough to turn a one-word title into a hook that earns its absurdity, and the performance sells it without overselling it. The sequencing choice to open the album here instead of on a safer single shows confidence: Roan is announcing what the record is about in the first three minutes and trusting the listener to keep going.

The best pure pop song on the album. The verse sits on a single synth line and a kick drum, the chorus adds a bass synth and a counter-melody, and the lift works because the arrangement built the space for it. The writing turns a hookup into a hook by naming the small details, the conversation, the attraction, the momentum, and the chorus condenses all of it into a question that sounds like a dare. Nigro co-produces with Noah Conrad and Iixa, and the additional hands show in the density of the arrangement: more elements than most tracks here, but nothing that does not serve the song. The vocal performance is playful without being cute, and the song holds up through dozens of listens because the hook was built to last.

The production aims for a rock edge with distorted synths and a driving beat, but the song does not need the aggression and Roan oversings it. The verse melody is strong and the lyric does the work, but the vocal strains for intensity the arrangement already provides, and the result feels like a song trying too hard to prove it belongs in the sequencing slot between two stronger tracks. The chorus hook is there, but buried under a mix that pushes too hard, and on repeat listens this is the first skip in the album's opening run.

A mid-tempo song about desire that works because it underplays instead of overplaying. The production keeps the verse sparse, synth pads and a simple drum pattern, and lets Roan sing the situation plainly: the attraction, the hesitation, the moment before the move. The chorus is less a hook than a statement, and the song earns its place in the sequence by shifting the energy down without stopping the momentum. Not a single, but a necessary pivot that sets up the emotional turn into "Casual".

The album's sharpest piece of writing. The song tells the story of a situationship from the perspective of the person getting used, and every verse detail, being introduced as a friend, not being invited to the wedding, sleeping over but leaving before dawn, is a small cruelty that the chorus turns into a question: how is this casual? The question lands like an accusation because the song built the case in the verses, and the bridge, which names the asymmetry plainly, is devastating because it was earned. Ryan Linvill co-produces with Nigro, and the arrangement supports the lyric by staying out of the way: minimal in the verses, full in the chorus, and the vocal performance plays it straight, no irony, no wink, just the ache of being someone's secret. The song works as both a single and a centerpiece, and it holds up because the specificity makes it universal.

A song aiming for playful energy that does not quite land. The production, co-produced by Nigro, Mike Wise and Shy, pushes the treble too bright and the mix fatigues by the second chorus. The melody does not match the energy the title promises, and the lyric leans on a concept, the modern girl as a character, that does not develop past the hook. The vocal performance tries to sell it, but the song feels like it is working harder than it should, and on an album where most tracks make pop sound easy, this one makes it sound like effort. Passable, but skippable.

A cheerleader chant built into a synth-pop song, and it works because the production treats the absurdity seriously. The bass synth could have been written in 1983, the beat is a stomp, and the vocal delivers the chant with full commitment, no wink, no apology. The song is a novelty that does not sound like a novelty because Nigro built it like a real song: verses that set up the chorus, a bridge that shifts the energy, and a mix that knows when to add elements and when to let the hook breathe. The sequencing choice to place it at track seven, right before the album shifts into its slower middle section, is smart: it is a peak, and the album knows it.

A one-line concept that does not develop into a song. The verses fill time rather than build tension, the chorus repeats the title without adding meaning, and the production, sleek and minimal, cannot disguise that the writing is thin. The vocal performance sells the joke in the first chorus, but by the third repetition the joke is done and the song is still going. The weakest single on the album, and a sign that Roan is better when she writes about situations than when she writes about concepts.

A mid-tempo ballad about longing that works on its own but suffers from its sequencing. Placed back to back with "Kaleidoscope", another mid-tempo ballad, it stops the momentum the album built in the first half, and neither song justifies running at this length at 41 minutes into a 50-minute record. The production is restrained, synth pads and a simple beat, and the vocal performance is strong, but the song does not reveal enough on repeat listens to earn its position.

The second ballad in a row, and the sequencing mistake becomes obvious. The song is well-constructed, with a verse melody that builds and a chorus that opens up, but it occupies the same emotional space as "Picture You" and the album would have been tighter if one of these two had been cut. The strings in the arrangement are tasteful and the vocal performance is controlled, but the song does not do enough work to justify its presence this deep into the tracklist. Solid writing, wrong placement.

The best song Chappell Roan has released and still the centerpiece of this album three years after it was first issued as a single in 2020. The song is a queer exit fantasy, small-town kid leaves for Los Angeles and finds a community, and the writing earns every moment of its four minutes. The verses establish the stakes with specific details, the shame, the secret, the escape plan, and the chorus is a declaration that sounds like both a dare and a relief. The bridge reframes the whole narrative in four lines, and the song pivots from doubt to defiance in the space of eight bars. The production builds slowly, starting minimal and adding strings and synths as the song opens up, and the arrangement knows exactly when to peak. Placing this at track eleven instead of earlier in the sequence is a bold choice that works: it feels like a reveal instead of a retread, and the sequencing makes the song feel like the emotional climax the album was building toward. Essential.

A song about intimacy that works because it underplays. The production is sparse, synth pads and a quiet beat, and the vocal plays it straight, no theatrics, just the lyric doing the work. The writing names the vulnerability plainly, the exposure, the risk, the hope, and the chorus is less a hook than a statement of fact. The sequencing choice to place this after "Pink Pony Club" is smart: the album needed to come down from that peak, and this song provides the space to breathe before the final track. Not a standout, but a necessary piece of the album's arc.

The closer, and it sounds like one: exhausted, reflective, and final. The song was released as a single in 2020 alongside "Pink Pony Club", and it works as both a companion piece and a counterpoint. Where "Pink Pony Club" is an exit fantasy, "California" is the aftermath, the realization that the escape did not solve everything and the dream is harder than it looked from a distance. The production is minimal, mostly synth pads and a simple beat, and the vocal performance sounds worn in a way that makes the song feel honest. The writing does not offer resolution, and the album ends on a question rather than an answer, which is the right choice. A strong closer that earns its position by refusing to tie the narrative into a bow.

A bonus track on some editions that does not add much to the album. The production is clean and the vocal performance is solid, but the song does not do enough work to justify extending the runtime past "California", which is the natural ending. The writing is fine, a mid-tempo pop song about desire, but the album already covered this ground in stronger songs. Skip this and end on "California".