Kelly Clarkson’s “Chemistry” draws on familiar formulas
When a musician known in part for her fiery breakup anthems announces the dissolution of her marriage, fans can sometimes react with an impolite if somewhat understandable presumption: “Well, at least the divorce album will be good.”
That was the response in 2019, when Adele separated from her now ex-husband Simon Konecki, though she certainly fanned the flames: In the promotional cycle for her 2021 album “30,” when a fan asked what her new record would be about, Adele replied with the instantly memed quote, “Divorce, babe, divorce.” Still, she rose to the challenge: “30” was her most radically honest and stylistically adventurous album yet.
Earlier this year, when Kelly Clarkson — another beloved, recently divorced powerhouse vocalist — announced the release of “Chemistr y,” expectations were high for some scorched- earth catharsis from the woman who unleashed the feel- good breakup song of the millennium, “Since U Been Gone.” After a holiday album and a covers EP, “Chemistry” is the first album of original pop material Clarkson has released in six years, following the debut of her popular, Daytime Emmy-winning talk show and her 2020 split with her husband, Brandon Blackstock. The track list — featuring song titles like “I Hate Love,” “My Mistake” and “Red Flag Collector” — practically screamed divorce, babe, divorce.
But Clarkson, 41, said she wanted “Chemistry” to depict a full arc of a relationship, including its high points. “Favorite Kind of High,” an upbeat, electropop tune that Clarkson wrote with producer Jesse Shatkin and Carly Rae Jepsen, attempts to capture the fizz of new infatuation. (A remix by David Guetta kicks the song into an e ven h igher gear.) The slower, sultry “Magic” addresses a more long-term devotion: “Magic takes time, and I’ve got my sights and they’re set on you,” she sings breathily. Clarkson delivers these vocals with her signature virtuosity, but she doesn’t quite inhabit these relatively faceless songs as fully as she does when she’s singing about love gone wrong.
Clarkson has always brought a sharp authenticity and feisty independence to her recording career. The popular “Kellyoke” segment on her daytime program has become a showcase for her genuine appreciation for all sorts of music and proof that she can sing expertly in just about any genre.
“Chemistry” never quite lives up to her reputation for excellence, though, and it fails to find a sound that fits the rawness of much of its subject matter. The album is often a showcase for the elemental power of Clarkson’s voice and occasionally for her clever turns of phrase as a lyricist, but the arrangements too often rely on modern pop clichés rather than push for innovation or reach back to the soulful traditionalism of her 2017 LP, “Meaning of Life.”
The production — helmed by Clarkson’s longtime musical director Jason Halbert and her frequent producer Shatkin, along with new collaborators Rachel Orscher and Erica Serna — often feels excessively compressed and synthetic, keeping Clarkson’s voice and emotion at an unfortunate remove. “Down to You,” with its sassy, hairflipping energy, has a few zingers — “I tried to be your friend/i won’t make that mistake again” — but its sputtering, faceless chorus demands about 1% of her voice’s potential wattage.
The wrenching, pianodriven torch song “Lighthouse,” on the other hand, gives her a little more breathing space and puts a spotlight on one of the album’s most impassioned vocal performances. “My Mistake” relies on a more synthetic pop sound, but its swooping melody gives her more room to vamp. It’s one of only two songs on the record Clarkson didn’t help write; she imbues the other, the booming, ‘80s-inspired pop-rock standout “High Road,” with a lived-in weariness and convincing emotional maturity: “To become stronger, you have to listen/ Keep it open, don’t try to hide it/and if you need love, don’t try to fight it.”
Perhaps surprisingly for a record born from the heartbreak of divorce, “Chemistry” is at its most distinct when it abandons the weight of pathos and allows Clarkson to get loose. Across the final trio of songs, starting with the octave-leaping “Red Flag Collector,” she switches gears into a more conversational delivery — teasing out a sensibility shared by country, cabaret and Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never, Ever Getting Back Together” — and lets her quirky personality lead. Steve Martin, of all people, plays banjo on the stylistically restless “I Hate Love,” while Sheila E. provides percussion on the breezy finale “That’s Right.”
These three songs may still be about a breakup, but they’re not tear-jerkers: “Turns out I like things that you don’t,” Clarkson sings on the closer, before hitting the beach — which he hated, apparently — and reconnecting with herself. “Chemistry” ultimately feels like a missed opportunity for more depth and daring, but at least it sometimes sounds like a vacation.