Hugely unmemorable: Billie Eilish’s Happier Than Ever reviewed

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Julie Burchill

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Time to get the razor out again — Billie’s back. The slurred and affected can’t-be-arsed-to-get-out-of-bed vocals. The relentless, catatonic introspection, self-pity and boilerplate psychological insights. The queen of sadgurls has a new album — and yes, of course, the title is the closest Billie has ever come to making a joke. Of course she’s not happy — that would be her schtick sold down the river. If Billie ever professed herself really happy her fans would quickly go elsewhere to slake their misery jones.

Eilish has talent, along with the over-weening narcissism that comes with affording your every feeling a sense of great, dramatic import. But it is spread very thin here. There are too many boring monotone monologues set to boring minimalist one-note electronics. Where there is melody it too often drifts away into nothingness: this is a hugely unmemorable album.