Remi Wolf has expressed a desire to “erase the rules of pop,” a mission she still seems set on— only five years out from her debut record ‘Juno,’ the singer has already changed up her style and image considerably, and if new album ‘Mud’ is any indication, she has no plans of sitting still just yet. This crop of eleven tracks is an endearing peek into the addictions and setbacks in Wolf’s life: we just wish the project had managed to commit to its own messiness.

This follow-up to 2024’s ‘Big Ideas’ has a greater emphasis on live instrumentation, lending these songs a more human touch than the programmed drums of albums past could find room for: as the title ‘Mud’ implies, this isn’t intended to be the cleanest tracklist of the year, instead aiming to mirror the turbulent life of Wolf herself. There’s quite the range of topics on the table here— addiction, romance and insecurity being the main trio you’ll find yourself thinking over across these 43 minutes— all colliding across this scattershot project. It’s almost unthinkable that the emotional outpouring of ‘Twiggy’ and the seductive bass lines of ‘Jamie’ (which truly might be one of the most overtly sexual tracks you could hope to catch on the radio) belong as part of one album: in some ways, that turbulence is the concept ‘Mud’ is wading its way through.

The moments that stand out most obviously are undoubtedly the brief outbursts of emotion that Wolf lets loose with, not that that’s much of a surprise— she’s a hell of a vocalist, first off, and one tackling some weighty subjects here. However trite its verses may be, the sheer intensity afforded to the ending of ‘Jamie’ really does sell this adorable romantic cut, and you could slap the exact same comments on the peppy organs that come to dominate ‘Covered In Mud.’ This may be a record full of sing-along choruses and conventional song structures, but its greatest successes actually stem from its leading lady and the humanity she’s able to convey on tape. It’s for this reason that the heartbreaking ‘I Won’t Cry’ is such a show-stopper, captivating you even in its most withdrawn passages.

If anything, it’s hard to shake the feeling that Wolf’s relationship with mainstream pop and country music may actually be what’s holding her back from penning more true-blue tearjerkers. The first half of ‘Mud’ is the more predictable of the two, and also the one that works so hard to disguise the messiness the album is proudly displaying on its cover— opener ‘Bottle,’ for instance, is a staggeringly dark look at alcoholism and mental health, but you’d hardly know it from its shimmering guitar tones and cliché of a chorus. Remi Wolf does show off some experience in the genre as she flies her way through the solid melodies of ‘Champagne’ and ‘Burn Me Blue,’ most certainly, but neither cut feels primed to indulge in its own vulnerability. Oftentimes, ‘Mud’ looks to be running away from its own strengths, a problem that comes to a head on indisputable lowlight ‘Wine Drunk.’

The project is ill-equipped to act as some left-field pivot into raw singer-songwriter music then, this much is clear: if the record had to be so blindingly bright on its surface, at least Wolf manages to conjure up some softer (and ultimately more successful) material for the second half. ‘Moon So High’ is a sweet inclusion that sees the artist finally getting to work with John Mayer— one of her greatest influences, by her own admission— and the collaboration makes for easy listening, at the very least. Neither ‘Guess’ nor ‘Yellow Rose’ at the end of the album are bold reinventions from what came before, but the wistful country of the former and the blown-out presentation of the latter does leave you with more to grasp onto than, say, ‘Bottle’ does. It’s just painfully ironic that ‘Mud’ suffers for being so plainly pretty.

Remi Wolf’s third studio album promises intimacy, and the frustrating thing about it is that it delivers… on occasion. The standout tracks on offer here— ‘I Won’t Cry,’ and ‘Moon So High,’ most notably— are excellent, but they almost feel out of place on a record tied down in convention. ‘Mud’ is either touching or banal, depending on where you’re looking: it’s not so much messy as it is inconsistent.