debtFor six long years, Normani was the most overlooked member of Fifth Harmony, the so-so girl band that formed in 2012 on a forgotten American version of The X Factor. When the band broke up in 2018, she quickly became pop snobs’ choice for a solo breakout star, a judgement that’s been borne out by a string of collaborations since with artists like Khalid, Sam Smith and Calvin Harris.
In the summer of 2019, she released the ’00s pop-infused hit “Motivation,” with help from Max Martin. Flashy video It’s reminiscent of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love” solo superstardom. From the outside, things looked rosy. Then Normani disappeared, her songs were sporadic and off the charts overall, and fans trolled her online, lamenting that she’d squandered an opportunity to ride her momentum. She resurfaced in February, setting up a website to troll her fans back. source:where she released that album.
Searching for an identity after coming out of a manufactured pop band is natural, but Normani’s case involved an additional problem: After 19 years in remission, her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2020, followed a year later by her father with prostate cancer. Naturally, music took a back seat.
Now, on Dopamine, the bright pop of Motivation—recently dismissed as a “medium” song her label chose for a single—is replaced with a deftly curated dig at R&B passion. After years of appeasing the musical whims of others, both in a band and as a solo star trying to make a name for herself, it felt like she needed to draw a line, and Dopamine, at least, feels like that statement of intent.
Things start brightly with the dashing Big Boy, a Southern rap-influenced head-knocker accented by sappy horn blasts and a rattling beat that Timbaland would die for in 2024. Interspersed among boastful lyrics about platinum hits and “Billboard shit” are kiss-offs to people who don’t deserve Normani’s attention. Recent single Candy Paint follows a similar path, with a hypnotic, gritty beat that sounds like it was made by banging pots and pans, and a triumphant Normani riding a minimalist wave with the confidence of B’Day-era Beyoncé. The nonchalant Little Secrets more directly channels the 2006 album, referencing the chorus of Upgrade U, but the focus switches from elevating men to dismissing current partners for future lovers. “Let me outdo you bitch,” Normani says with airy confidence.
Though the 28-year-old said she didn’t have the confidence to record a song like “Big Boy” when work on the album first began in 2018, there’s a clear sense throughout Dopamine’s 13 tracks that Normani is trying to find her artistic identity. At times, she’s overwhelmed by her own musical reference points and the sonic imprints of her collaborators. The sensual slow jam “Lights On” could easily have been on Janet Jackson’s Damita Jo album, with its whispered backing vocals, tactile sensuality, and orgasmic moans. It’s not a bad song, but like Jackson, Normani is able to perfectly distill the mood, but it feels too familiar. Meanwhile, “Insomnia” is so similar to classic Brandy, mid-tempo and wrapped up in finely layered backing vocals and broken emotion, that you forget about Normani altogether when the real Brandy takes over in the final third. “Tantrums,” a collaboration with James Blake, is flawless, with its thick bass and swirling sense of foreboding, but Blake’s raspy screams end up taking up too much airtime.
After newsletter promotion
It’s also one of the few moments when the album’s lyrics stray from its two core moods: head-spanking confidence and loved-up sensuality. On “Tantrums,” about the breakup of an old relationship, there’s at least a sense of raw emotion bubbling to the surface, and there’s just a hint of a tremor in Normani’s voice when she sings, “When they ask me if they love you like I do, baby, don’t say my name.”
In a music industry that rarely gives second chances to female artists in pop, and even fewer to darker-skinned women across both pop and R&B, debut albums can sometimes feel like definers.
Dopamine’s natural desire for perfection can sometimes feel oddly anonymous — Distance, for example, crushes a longing for a faraway love under a polished sheen — but when Normani fully lets loose, as on the swirling Grip and house-tinged Take My Time, it feels like the superstar we all hoped to see in 2018 has finally taken center stage on his own album.
