It’s bad enough to put up with her constant hokeyness, her clichés and mangled metaphors, but when she takes an audible breath and tearily declares her decision to… save the email as a draft on the Lorde-jacking power-ballad “Save As Draft,” you will question her ability to separate modern mundanity from actual depth. Or perhaps it's that as soon as you get into a groove, Perry goes and says something truly cringe-worthy to pull you right out. For as omnipresent as executive producer Max Martin is, the hooks just don’t sink in the way they used to. To her credit, Perry’s sound is more consistent and tasteful here than it has ever been, as she explores the midtempo via atmospheric electronics and bleeding-heart pianos. (Seriously: I got a press release about watching Perry’s “shockingly honest” therapy session, the canned nature of which made her 2012 doc Part of Me resemble Don’t Look Back.) Not thoughtful enough to be album pop, not catchy enough to be singles pop: there is no real way to root for Witness- tone-deaf PR campaign included. Her attention to detail pales next to that of album-minded peers like Beyoncé, Drake, and Lorde, and her poorly chosen singles often rely on eye-rolling gimmicks, even for someone who used a large poop emoji as a live prop. Katy Perry now finds herself in this position, and the reason is twofold. So what happens when your fourth record kinda sucks, too?
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